Page 22 of Bride of Death (Netherworld Fae #1)

Maliki

Fucking Mythos Fae .

First, Hades upsets Sera and leaves me to fix it.

Then Morpheus mists Sera and me off to a dystopian Styx hole, knowing full well I couldn’t just shadow out of that realm without risking some serious consequences.

Shadowing to and from the Human Realm? Fine. Midnight Fae Realm? Cool. Pretty much all other Faedoms? Yep.

But the Mythos Fae Realm? The land without a Source? The fucking epitome of “should not exist”? Nope. No. Absolutely not.

I probably would have ended up in a fire geyser had I tried.

And now Hades has the fucking audacity to show up again. He’s had thirteen months to get to know his mate. Yet he chooses twice in the same day? When she’s already clearly traumatized?

“No,” I say before he can even utter another word. “Fuck off.” I look at Hades and then at Morpheus. “Both of you.”

Hades simply arches one of his fucking brows, his expression saying, Excuse me? Do you know who you’re talking to?

Yeah, I fucking do.

The God of Idiocy. The God Who Fucked Up. The God Who Doesn’t Understand Women At Fucking All.

I mean, Styx. I know it’s been a long time for him. But the way he spoke to Sera today was absolutely asinine. He’s lucky she didn’t slap him.

All that possessive Alpha shit.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Well, not tonight.

“Go home,” I growl at him and Morpheus. “Sera needs food and sleep. Because apparently you’ve both forgotten that she’s a fucking human .”

I’m usually the chill one who doesn’t give a Styx about much. But seeing the light dim in Sera’s eyes tonight did something to me.

She went from my feisty little mystery to a docile, broken lamb.

I’m not tolerating it.

And my expression must convey that because both Morpheus and Hades take a step back.

“We should talk,” Hades says, his words for the God of Dreams. And it’s not an offer so much as a demand.

“Oh, now you want to chat? After thirteen months of telling me to leave?” Morpheus grins. “How about no?” He looks at me. “Take care of our mate, Enforcer.”

He disappears before I can reply, the word our seeming to echo in the air.

Hades narrows his gaze, making me sigh.

Apparently, Morpheus wants to imply that I’ve formed an alliance with him. And that Sera is the center of that relationship.

Or maybe he meant “our,” as in “Morpheus and Hades.” I have no clue. And it’s not really my riddle to solve.

“We will be discussing this,” Hades warns me.

“I’ll pencil it into my calendar,” I deadpan.

He isn’t amused by my sarcasm. In fact, I suspect he’s furious.

And that anger is only going to grow when he finds out where Morpheus took us. Though, the dangerous glint in his fathomless eyes suggests he already knows.

He glances down at Sera, some of the ire seeming to dissipate as he studies her shaking form.

She’s awake and silent, her nerves obviously shot by everything she’s seen and heard tonight.

I tighten my hold, something Hades notices because he stares at my arms. “That sweater looks awful on you. Burn it,” he demands. Then vanishes without another word.

But his residual ire is a chill in the air I feel all around us.

Sera must sense it as well because she shudders.

“I’m going to give you ten minutes to recover in peace,” I murmur, carrying her into her room to her bed. “While you do that, I’ll fix something up in the kitchen. Then we will talk while we eat.”

Because I assume by then she’s going to have a thousand questions or comments to voice.

I gently set her on the bed, only to find her hand knotted in the sweater I’m wearing. When I try to pry her fingers off the thick wool, she winces.

Frowning, I ask, “Do you want me to hold you for a little bit?”

Her head barely moves in a nod, but it’s the most noteworthy reaction I’ve ever seen from her.

Because she’s asking for comfort.

This strong, resilient woman who has verbally sparred with countless fae at the bar… needs to be cuddled.

Although, I suppose those obnoxious males pale in comparison to learning one’s soul caused the downfall of an entire realm.

“Okay, trouble,” I murmur. “But let me take off my shoes first.”

I should probably remove hers as well.

It takes a moment for her to release the sweater, but once she does, I run my hand along her calf and slowly unzip her boots. She seems to relax as I do so, her body enjoying my touch. Or perhaps she’s just pleased to be free of her shoes.

I pull off her socks next, then work on my own footwear.

Once my feet are bare, I consider her and her bed. She looks so soft and vulnerable. But the way she’s watching me is intense. It’s like she plans to come after me if I walk away.

I almost wish I could read her mind. Though, something tells me that would be dangerous.

Yet probably enlightening, too.

And absolutely none of my business.

With a resigned sigh, I slip into her bed and instantly note how hard the mattress is. If she were in any other mood, I would ask her how she sleeps on this every day.

But since she’s not in a teasing headspace, I simply pull her into me.

She nuzzles my chest as she curls herself against me, her legs tangling with mine. It says a lot that she’s doing this with someone she hardly knows.

Has anyone ever held you like this? I wonder. It starts as a sad question in my mind but quickly morphs into a true concern. Have you ever been touched?

I realize she belongs to Hades. And maybe Morpheus. That’s fine.

But the notion of anyone coming before us, er, them , is maddening.

She’s not meant for others.

I frown. If anyone else has held her like this, I’ll kill them.

Unless it was Alina. I can understand that. But that’s it. Only sisters. No other men. Never another man.

Only I can touch her like this. Well, Morpheus and Hades, too.

Sera releases a deep exhale, her body seeming to melt into mine like she’s agreeing with my inane thoughts.

Because they are inane.

I shouldn’t care if anyone else has touched her. She’s not mine in that way. Nor should I be thinking about how this is okay or how it feels right.

She’s not mine. She’s forbidden. Hades will fucking kill me for this.

A small part of me—a clearly suicidal part—whispers that it doesn’t care. Just holding her is worth the pain.

Is it, though? I counter. Is it?

My teeth ground together in irritation.

This is ridiculous.

She merely needs a little comfort. That’s all I’m providing. It’s fine.

I close my eyes and will myself to stop thinking. To shut it all off. And just breathe.

In ten minutes, I’ll sneak out and cook for Sera. Then I’ll let her lead our dinner conversation, and afterward, I’ll go back to Tank’s place to sleep in the tiny fucking bed.

I failed to rest last night after Morpheus’s antics.

Something tells me that won’t be an issue tonight.

I’m too exhausted to fight it.

Which is probably something I should have considered before lying down and wrapping myself around a warm, pliable female.

I yawn.

I also should have remembered my exhaustion before closing my eyes.

Yeah. Yeah, there are a lot of things I probably should have done.

But I’ve never been the kind of fae who plays the “should have” game.

Mistakes happen every day. Mistakes like… falling asleep… with the Bride of Death.