Page 16 of Bride of Death (Netherworld Fae #1)

Sera

Pip appears to my right as I enter my hut, his cloak swishing as he twirls in a circle of excitement.

I haven’t seen him since I snuck out last night. I asked him to stay here, mostly because I didn’t want to risk him touching my seeds—something that apparently wouldn’t have mattered.

Because the roses can’t grow here like the shopkeeper said they could.

I narrow my gaze in annoyance. I’ve been trying to create a rose for weeks. They were my favorite back home, and I miss the sweet fragrance that accompanies them, particularly when paired with the cold of a winter’s night.

So strange how specific that is. Yet I grew so many of them in the greenhouse, and every winter, I stepped outside to enjoy the scent when mixed with the crisp air that often coincided with an alluring snowfall.

I thought, perhaps, I could re-create it here since the Netherworld Kingdom is often chilly.

No snow, though.

At least not in the year I’ve been here.

Unfortunately, it’s impossible since the ground is apparently dead.

At least according to Morpheus, the God of Dreams.

Fae, when he appeared last night, I just about swallowed my tongue. All the beings of this kingdom are good-looking, but Morpheus took the standards to a whole new level.

I could see why he was in charge of a fantasy realm. He really shouldn’t exist at all. Not with those incredible blue-green eyes, perfect lips, and defined cheekbones.

With a sigh—one that sounds a bit too dreamy to my ears—I kick off my shoes and head toward Pip.

He’s currently hovering in the kitchen, making me a little nervous. I want to ask him how he knows Morpheus, as it’s been on my mind since last night. But Pip was gone when I returned home, and I hadn’t seen him at all today.

Until now, anyway.

However, the anxious little dance he’s doing has me preoccupied with a new concern. “Please tell me you didn’t try to cook again.”

He shakes his head in his cloak, then bounces.

I narrow my gaze, afraid of what I’m going to find.

When all I see is a pot, I carefully lean toward it. “Did you plant something in there?” I ask warily, noting the brown dirt.

Pip shakes his head with a vigor, causing his hood to nearly fall off his head. He quickly fixes it, the blue flames of his eyes going wide.

I don’t exactly know why he’s obsessed with that cloak, but I’ve gathered it has something to do with protecting me. Because every time it’s almost fallen off, he checks me over like he’s making sure I’m okay. Just as he does right now despite being several feet away.

“So it’s just dirt?” I inquire, my brow crinkling.

He nods.

Then disappears through the wall.

I frown after him. “Hey, we still haven’t talked about the kitchen episode from yesterday, and I have some questions for you about Mor?—”

A knock at the door cuts me off.

My gaze narrows. No one ever visits me.

Not until the last few days, anyway.

“Maliki,” I mutter, leaving the pot on the ground to go see what my stalker neighbor wants from me. But when I open the door, it’s not Maliki standing there. It’s the fae from the swap store I bought the roses from.

Sweat beads across his forehead as he holds out a bag for me.

“I… I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he stammers.

“I… I didn’t realize. I mean, I just, well, I.

” He bows his head. “I’ve brought you more seeds.

Every color I could find. And he told me you already have the dirt you need.

But I’ll find you more. I can. I promise.

I’ll go to the Human Realm myself to procure it. Just for you. If you’ll… if you’ll…”

I gape at him as he visibly shakes. “Are you okay?” I ask him, concerned.

He nods. “Yes, Y-Your Majesty.” He glances up at me and then away like he’s not allowed to look at me. “I’m so very sorry, Your?—”

“Sera,” I interject, not wanting to hear that Your Majesty phrase again. “I’m just Sera. And thank you for the, er, seeds. But what do you mean about dirt?”

He looks at me. “I’ll go the Human Realm and?—”

“No, sorry, you said I have what I need, as in the dirt?”

“Yes.” His eyes widen. “Wait, you do have it, right? He told me you did. I offered to get some, but he said it was already handled.”

“He who?” I ask.

He glances around and leans toward me. “You know. Him .”

“I… No. I don’t know who you mean. Maliki?”

He shakes his head. “No, no. Him . He said… he said a courier was bringing you the dirt in a pot. Did it arrive?”

“A courier…” I repeat slowly, then glance back at my kitchen. “I, uh, yeah. I do have a pot…”

“Oh, good,” the swap store fae says, sounding relieved. “Good, good. I’ll bring you more. I promise, Your Majesty. As much Human Realm dirt as you need.” He bows. “Every day until you forgive me. I vow it.”

“That really won’t be necessary,” I tell him.

Sure, I was annoyed before.

But now, well, I’m annoyed for different reasons.

“It’s very necessary,” he says, backing away from my door. “I must repent for upsetting the Gods.”

“Gods?” I echo, my brow furrowing. Then I realize what must have happened.

A courier— Pip —brought me the dirt.

He knows Morpheus.

And Morpheus knew about the shopkeeper telling me the roses would grow here.

“The God of Dreams came to talk to you,” I say, unable to hold the note of disbelief in my voice.

But the swap store fae disappears before I finish my statement, like I’ve scared him off by the title alone.

“I did,” a deep voice informs me as Morpheus materializes a few feet away. “I requested he make amends for lying to you. That sort of behavior isn’t tolerated among Mythos Fae. Omegas are meant to be worshipped and praised, not deceived or tormented.”

The door to Maliki’s— er, Tank’s —home opens. “I’m supposed to remind you that Persephone belongs to Hades,” Maliki drawls. “And now that I’ve completed my task, I can do this.”

My eyes widen as a blade sails through the air, only to be caught by Morpheus in a blink. He examines the silver, tilting it this way and that. “You shouldn’t waste such fine craftsmanship, Maliki.”

“I didn’t.”

Morpheus frowns, then hisses and drops the blade.

“Slug venom is very useful,” Maliki adds conversationally. “Don’t worry, though. The sensation isn’t permanent. Just like your fucking dream moss.”

I gape at him and then at Morpheus as his knees give out, sending him to the ground in what appears to be a very expensive suit.

Or it would have been expensive in my home realm, anyway. Though, it’s a bit sleeker and sexier than the fashion I’m used to.

Not that his suit matters.

The Alpha God is shaking, his silver-head bowed. “What did you do?” I ask in a whisper, the bag falling from my fingers as I dart toward Morpheus.

Maliki appears in front of me in a shadowy flash, his big body resembling a ton of bricks as I accidentally run right into him.

His hands catch my hips when I bounce backward, my bare feet tripping over themselves and tipping me off-balance.

But I don’t fall.

Because Maliki is holding me against him.

And I’m suddenly surrounded by the scent of leather and smoke. Masculine intoxication. Strength personified. Delectable male .

I nearly nuzzle into his chest, which I now realize is bare.

So warm. I startle at the thought, my eyes blinking rapidly. Why do I feel so dazed?

“Are you all right?” Maliki asks, his lips close to my ear.

“I…” I don’t understand what just happened.

“You were about to touch Morpheus,” Maliki tells me, making me wonder if I voiced my confusion out loud. I thought I’d kept it to myself, but now I’m not sure. “The slug venom spreads.”

“S-slug venom?”

“It’s from the Creek of the Dead,” he tells me. “They live in the decaying skulls and leave behind a sludge that basically electrocutes anyone who touches it. Kind of like a poisonous caterpillar, if you’ve ever seen one of those in your home world.”

I nod.

Because I am familiar with those colorful creatures and their spiky hairs.

“Caterpillars don’t leave sludge in skulls,” I reply, frowning and tilting my head back to look up at him.

Maliki smiles. “No, but some species of them leave behind a stinging or electrifying sensation if you touch them. Slug venom is kind of like that, but on the scale of being stung by a million jellyfish.”

He releases me, just to wrap an arm around my shoulders to guide me back toward my home.

“Morpheus will recover soon. In the interim, show me what’s in the bag.” He picks up said bag before pulling me through the open entryway.

The door seems to magically close behind us. But I barely notice it because I’m replaying the last however many minutes in my head.

Maliki’s warmth slowly leaves me, and I realize he wasn’t just touching me with his hands, but with his… his whatever the fae those tattoos are called, too. I watch them unravel from my body and seep back into his skin, the thick bands of energy leaving my skin tingling in their wake.

“Do you hypnotize your victims?” I ask slowly, trying to understand what just happened. Because I still feel dazed and I don’t understand why.

“No. But I do enjoy paralyzing them.”

My eyes widen. “Is that what this was?”

His brow furrows as he stares down at me. “What what was?”

“That,” I say, gesturing to the inky smoke crawling over his skin to form new tattoos.

He glances down, his frown seeming to deepen. “You felt paralyzed by my shadows?”

“That’s what they’re called?”

“Yes. To some. To most.” He shakes his head. “You felt paralyzed by them?” he repeats.

“No, just… just out of it? Like I was hypnotized.”

He stares at me and then his arms. “I told them to soothe you. Maybe it worked too well?”

“Soothe me?”

“Yeah. They…” He trails off and palms the back of his neck. “Have you seen what Reaper can do with his shadows?”

“Not personally, no, but I’ve heard he makes weapons. You do, too?”

He shakes his head again. “No. But my shadows function similarly in that I have a unique power tied to them, too. They basically operate as an extension of my mind and can manipulate things around me. They can also influence sensations, like calming effects… or pain.”

My eyebrows lift. “That’s quite a spectrum.”

He shrugs, the last of his inky strands disappearing into his arm.

“It’s who I am, mystery. I’ve not lied to you.

I’m an assassin. But I’m currently your assassin.

Which makes you the safest human in all the realms. Now, are we going to talk about what’s in the bag?

” He holds it up for me to see and gives it a little rattle.

“Seeds,” I reply. “For roses.”

He arches a brow. “Like the flower with the thorns?”

“Yes.”

“And where are we planting them?” he asks.

I scowl. “ We ”—I take the bag from him—“are not planting anything.” I stalk off toward the kitchen, which is unfortunately only a few feet away, and bend to grab the pot Pip left for me. He’s nowhere to be seen again, naturally.

Setting the pot and bag on the counter, I go to find a fork, then return to carefully draw it through the soil. Pip handled this, which means it’s likely hazardous.

However, as I dig through the pot, all I find is fresh dirt. It’s even a little moist, and the scent coming from it suggests it’s been recently fertilized, too.

Smiling, I grab the bag from the swap store fae and start going through the seed options.

When I find seeds for Autumn Damask roses, I smile.

“I used to maintain some of these in our village gardens,” I say, aware that Maliki is still here.

“I think they were sent to the Elite City to be used in various perfumes. Or perhaps as decorations.”

I don’t actually know, as I never visited the Elite City. I grew up in Nightingale Village, left on a train for Monsters Night, and then ended up in a dream.

Or a greenhouse, I suppose.

“The Elite City is like Chicago, right?” Maliki asks.

I shrug. “It’s not a city name I’m familiar with, but that’s what Alina’s mates told her, yes.” I don’t look at Maliki while I talk, my focus on the small pot and counting the appropriate number of seeds. “I’m going to need a much bigger plot once this starts growing.”

“Death’s Palace has miles of gardens for you to play within,” he tells me.

I snort at that. “I won’t be living there again.” I already stayed in Orcus’s wing for a year and barely saw ten percent of the massive residence. “I’m not mating Hades.”

“So you’ve said,” a deep voice replies, one that sends a chill down my spine.

Because it doesn’t belong to Maliki.

It belongs to the man from my dreams.

Dreams that have haunted me for my entire existence.

Dreams that could never be a reality.

Yet, I just heard him…

And Maliki is still here, standing on the opposite side of the counter, his gaze on something behind me.

No, not something.

Someone.

I spin around, my eyes widening at the tall figment of my imagination.

His intensely dark irises burn into mine, his dominant aura surrounding me in an all-too-familiar embrace.

Yet his cruel smile now isn’t familiar at all as he murmurs, “Hello, Persephone.”