Page 8 of Bride of Death

Ghost lifts a shoulder in a shrug and settles back into his chair. “All right, then,” he says. “Can I have another spider ale, please?”

I stare at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I repeat.

“Yes, I heard you the first time.” He gestures to his rounded ear. “Your decline is noted.”

“And accepted?” I ask slowly when he doesn’t elaborate.

His lips curl. “For tonight.”

I narrow my gaze. “I’m not sure I like that response.”

He shrugs again. “Not my problem, mystery.” He leans forward once more. “Now, about that spider ale?”

“You want me to give you a drink after you threatened to drag me off to a fiancé I’ve never even met?” I grunt. “No, thanks.”

I turn to go service someone—anyone—else at the bar and run right into a hard chest.

Jumping backward, I gasp as I stare up into a pair of golden irises.

The same ones that were behind me a second ago.

“I didn’t threaten you,” Ghost says casually. “Iofferedto escort you to your new accommodations.”

He takes a step forward, causing me to move backward another step.

However, he doesn’t advance on me. He simply pivots to his left and grabs a glass instead.

“And you definitely know your betrothed,” he adds as he toggles the spider ale to life. The smoky tendrils flow in ripples that build dangerously close to the rim. But he cuts off the essence just before it spills, then twirls the glass and vanishes.

I spin toward where he was sitting mere minutes ago to find him lounging in his seat once more.

“Cheers,” he says, toasting me before taking a sip and relaxing into his chair. “Thanks for giving me the night off, mystery. I needed a bloody break.”

I… I don’t know how to reply to that or to him. He’s obviously insane. Psychotic, even.And powerful, I think, shivering at the residual touch left behind by his overwhelming aura. It’s asthough he’s wrapped me in the shadows along with him, his essence bleeding into my exposed skin.

Only, a glance downward suggests it’s all in my head.

He’s playing with me.

Just like all fae do.

My jaw tightens.

This is ridiculous. I turn away from him again and resume my responsibilities behind the bar. That guy can go sit in a patch of thorns for all I care. I don’t have a fiancé. I’m not interested in any mating games. And I’m definitely not going anywhere withhim.

Ignoring Ghost, I go about fixing some refills for the regulars in Death’s Den. But all they do is gape at me as I bring them their drinks. No flirtatious banter. No comments. Just wide eyes as they study me through a new lens.

I do my best to act normal and simply smile while distributing the glasses.

Then I return to clean up what I can behind the bar.

All while everyone watches, including the one who ruined my night.

It takes all my energy to pretend like everything is fine when all I want to do is scream. A few words from this stranger has derailed my status.Bride of Death. What does that even mean? Does he think I’m engaged to a Death Fae? There are thousands of them here. Tens of thousands, even. How would I even begin to figure out which one he’s talking about?

Not that it matters.

Because I amnotengaged.