Page 3 of Bride of Death (Netherworld Fae #1)

Sera

I blink.

Bride of Death.

“What?” I blurt out as Jack takes a shaky step backward.

“She’s… she’s…” His pupils blow wide, turning his eyes black. “I didn’t know, Maliki. I swear on the crypts, I had no idea.”

“As I said, I’m just trying to save your life,” Ghost drawls. He cants his head. “You can go now, Jack.”

“Thank you.” Jack bows and vanishes, leaving me bewildered in his wake.

My bewilderment grows as I realize everyone is staring at me with obvious curiosity.

“You really shouldn’t flirt with your bar patrons, little mystery,” Ghost tells me as he sets his empty glass on the counter. “Unless, of course, you want to watch your fiancé kill them all on your wedding day.”

I gape at him. “What?” It’s the same word I already uttered, but I… I don’t even know where else to start. “Fiancé?” That word seems appropriate. As does the title he mentioned. “Bride of Death?” I shake my head. “I think you’ve confused me with someone else.”

That’s the only explanation.

Yet everyone is watching me now because of Ghost’s commentary.

Thorns , I think with a mental sigh. This is the last thing I need right now .

I told Alina I would be fine on my own, that I could survive here without her supervision. If word of any of this gets back to her, she’ll send her mates to the village to retrieve me. And won’t that be fun?

I nearly growl at the prospect.

Or maybe the sound released from my chest.

Because Ghost arches a brow like he heard it. “I know exactly who you are, Persephone,” he says, his blade disappearing as he leans forward and folds his arms along the counter. “Though, I hear you prefer to go by Sera now?”

He phrases it as a question, like he’s trying to have a polite conversation with me.

The brutality he exuded seconds ago is entirely gone now. Instead, he appears harmless again. Normal. Studying me with those alluring irises. Smiling.

But he just called me Persephone , a name I hear every night in my dreams.

With him , I think, shivering.

My fated dreams with the mysterious Godlike Alpha started after a woman who claimed to be my mother saved me from Monsters Night.

Or did she kidnap me? I wonder, not for the first time.

My memories of everything that happened are murky at best. I vividly remember the Day of the Choosing and the Nightingale Village Viscount calling my name. The next clear memory is of Alina waking me up in the palace.

I recall bits and pieces between the two events as well, like Alina finding me in the garden, and my dreams of him .

Persephone, he calls me, his cultured tone a caress that makes me tremble even now as I think about his deep voice in my head.

“How do you know that name?” I ask Ghost in a whisper, wondering where he’s heard it.

“I’ve heard you refer to yourself as Sera to countless fae in this bar,” he replies with a shrug. “Usually after they call you some sort of pet name like little human .” He waggles his brows. “Not very true, is it?”

I swallow. “That’s not the name I meant.” I’m still whispering, my voice barely carrying to my own ears.

He smiles. “I know.” He picks up his empty glass and studies it. “Your fiancé has tasked me with escorting you to your new accommodations. Shall we go now?”

“I…” I frown, his words slowly registering through the fog of my mind. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Not after seeing that lethal side of him peek out and terrify Jack.

Not after he called me Persephone like the man in my dreams…

I shake my head and take a step back.

I should call… The thought trails off in my mind, my lips tightening. No. I’m not calling Alina.

I need to handle this on my own, not rely on my sister for help. This is my life, and I’m done living in my sister’s shadow. I love her. I do. But I need to take care of myself.

And that starts with surviving in this kingdom full of deadly creatures.

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. “I offered to 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 as though 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 with him .

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 am not engaged.

I’m just not.

I don’t want a mate. I never have. Which was why my heart plummeted when the Viscount called my name during that infamous Day of the Choosing.

Serapina Everheart .

My eyes threaten to close as I picture myself in that white dress, walking down the aisle to answer my fate. Over three years later, and it’s a stark memory in my mind. One I’ll never forget.

Especially what happened after I boarded that train.

What came next reminds me of a dream, though. The way I was whisked off into a garden and introduced to my mother. Or rather, my creator .

I… I still don’t understand how any of it was real.

It felt like a single night of sleep that just wouldn’t end. At least not until I opened my eyes and found Alina walking through the flowers. Then it was like I drifted off again, only to wake up in a palatial bed with views overlooking the Netherworld Kingdom.

Swallowing, I shake my head and return to my surroundings, only to realize that everyone has left except Ghost. He’s still seated at the bar, though he appears to be sipping a brand-new drink.

Narrowing my gaze at him, I say, “You have to pay for those, you know.”

“Do I?” he asks, one dark brow rising. “But I’ve been serving myself.”

“That doesn’t make the drinks free,” I tell him.

He smiles. “What if I told you the owner said I could have these for free?”

“I’d call you a liar.”

“Would you?” Amusement deepens his question. “Then what are you, Persephone? A liar? An excellent actress?” He cants his head, causing his unruly hair to fall across his forehead. “Or are you simply a mystery to be solved?”

I hold his vibrant gaze. “How do you know that name?” This time I voice it as a demand, my tone infused with a confidence I don’t feel. But irritation is a powerful motivator. And this guy has more than earned my annoyance.

He studies me for a long moment, some of his amusement seeming to disappear behind a wave of curiosity. “Your fiancé calls you Persephone.”

A chill skitters down my spine. “And who is my supposed fiancé?” I ask, a little less confident now. Because only one man refers to me as Persephone and it’s the sexy fae who haunts my dreams.

The one who once called himself Hades .

When I woke up the next morning, I realized that name was a result of my new surroundings. My sister had just rescued me from my prison garden and taken me to her mates’ home realm—the Netherworld Kingdom.

And Hades is the God here, the one whom all the fae worship.

He also happens to be related to my sister’s mate.

So it was no wonder I chose that name for my figment. Some inane part of me clearly wished I could be claimed in a way similar to how my sister was. To become a cherished Omega with a mate-circle.

A fantasy, one that will never come to fruition.

Because I’m not an Omega.

“Death,” Ghost says, drawing me back to our conversation. “Clearly.”

My brow furrows. “What?”

“Hmm, yes,” he hums as he sets down his drink. “I have heard of this ailment, but I’ve never witnessed it for myself before. Not until now.” He gives me a sad look. “You humans really do struggle with your hearing, yeah?”

I stare at him for a beat, then narrow my eyes. “You’re as bad as a thorn.”

“A thorn?” he repeats, his eyebrows lifting.

“Yes. Irritating, sharp, and inconvenient.” And a complete waste of my time. Glancing around, I make a decision. “Death’s Den is closed. You should leave.”

He follows my gaze, then lifts his arm—which I realize has been concealed by a cloak this whole time. But now I catch sight of tan skin decorated in smokelike ink as he makes a show of checking his wrist.

My heart skips a beat at the sight of those familiar tattoos. The writhing lines remind me of Reaper, my sister’s Death Fae mate.

He’s psychotic. Deadly. And utterly obsessed with Alina.

Good thing, too. Because if he wasn’t, he would be terrifying.

Which doesn’t bode well for me now.

If Ghost is anything like Reaper, I’m in big trouble.

“I can smell your fear,” Ghost murmurs, his golden irises flickering up at me. “I warned you not to flirt with your patrons, mystery. Do you enjoy blood?”

I stare at him. “Are you going to pay for those drinks?”

His brow furrows, his gaze dropping to the glass on the counter before slowly returning to me. “Maybe. Maybe not. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Then I don’t know if you’re a patron of the bar or not,” I tell him. “So your warning is null and void.” Not that I was flirting with him.

Fear him, however, yes, I do.

But I refuse to admit that aloud.

I moved away from my sister and her mates because I need to be able to survive here on my own.

And that includes handling fae like Ghost.

This is all just part of the territory of being a human in a supernatural kingdom.

I can do this.

I have to do this.

I will do this .

The mantra is one I’ve repeated several times over the last few weeks, and I do so again now as Ghost grins.

“I like you, Sera,” he informs me as he slides off his stool. “It’s a shame our next meeting won’t be as enjoyable.” He pulls out several obsidian coins and sets them on the counter.

They spin like all the money in this kingdom does and disappear into some sort of enchanted vault in the back.

I guess he’s a customer now, I grouse to myself. Not that it matters.

“When you see me again, try to remember that you chose the hard way,” he adds, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans as his cloak rustles around his broad shoulders. “I tried to be a gentleman, and you refused. What happens next isn’t my fault, yeah?”

He doesn’t give me a chance to reply. Just vanishes into a cloud of smoke—one that flows toward me and wraps around my throat like a noose. It tightens, only to dissipate into a light mist against my skin before disappearing into the air.

The scent of leather and fiery embers tickles my nose, and I kind of hate that I like the smell.

“Blasted fae,” I mutter to myself. They’re all so hypnotic and sensual and playful .

Yet something about this one was different. Most of the males just ask me out on a date or broadcast their abilities to protect me in their kingdom.

Ghost did neither of those things.

Instead, he insinuated that I’m already claimed.

By Death .

Either Ghost has the wrong girl, or Death has severely underestimated me. Because I didn’t survive my world’s version of the monster mating games just to find myself in a forced arrangement with a fae.

Once upon a time, I yielded to a higher power.

I learned my lesson.

The next time someone tries to make me bow, I’ll fight .