Page 5 of Bride of Death (Netherworld Fae #1)

Sera

The scent of death on my pillow stirs me from sleep.

It’s a pungent stench, one that tells me what I’m going to see before I open my eyes—a dead fire lily.

The first time this happened, I screamed.

The second time, I screamed again.

The third time, I stayed up all night waiting for the culprit to show himself… and shrieked when I found the source of my torment laying the wilting flower on my pillow.

However, now I simply sigh and open my eyes to lock gazes with the bright orbs glowing at me from beneath a royal blue hood.

It’s a ghost.

A spirit.

A lost soul.

Er, I don’t know exactly. But he has a skull face with an upside-down heart hollowed out where his nose should be and blue flame-like eyes. He doesn’t seem to have a mouth, so he never speaks. But he does know how to write.

And he apparently thinks this hut belongs to him.

However, rather than try to force me to leave, he keeps bringing me gifts like a cat in the night.

There’s just one problem—all of his gifts are dead.

“Thank you, Pip,” I say with a yawn before stretching in the tiny twin bed.

My ghost creature twirls in happiness, pleased that I’ve thanked him. Or maybe he’s just happy that I’m talking to him. I’m not quite sure. He seems lonely. Which explains why he follows me around the second I come home and welcomes me every morning with his dead gifts.

Rolling off the stiff mattress, I’m careful not to bump Pip, and head toward the bathroom with the cloaked figure on my tail.

“We’ve talked about this,” I tell him as he tries to come with me through the threshold. “I like privacy in this room. I’ll see you again after my shower.”

Pip—the name I gave him after learning he had no identity—pouts.

“Ten minutes,” I promise him. Then I disappear to engage in my evening routine.

My hours in this kingdom are all out of sorts. There is no sun, only moons, and everything is cast in perpetual shades of night. It’s a stark difference from my world of sunshine, vibrant flowers, and lush greens.

I’ve tried nurturing some of the trees in the courtyard outside my home, but the skeletal branches are nothing like the wooded ones from back home.

Sometimes I miss my old life.

It’s asinine. I was basically residing in a dream for several years, imprisoned by a Goddess who called me her daughter.

And that was after surviving the infamous Monsters Night protocols of my old village.

My jaw clenches. This place might be littered with death, but at least I have choices here.

Only, last night’s antics at the bar replay through my head in the next moment, making me question that mantra.

Mating games.

Bride of Death.

New accommodations .

Though, Ghost didn’t try to drag me anywhere last night, nor did he come for me while I slept. So maybe it was all some big joke? A weird Death Fae prank?

Is he even a Death Fae? I wonder.

Shaking off the question, I focus on my shower, the chilled water making my movements quick as my teeth chatter.

Apparently, all the water in the Netherworld Village is like this. It makes me miss the warmth from the palace.

But I can’t go back there. I love Alina, and I’m happy for her and her mates. However, I need to find myself. To learn how to survive. To figure out where I fit in…

Some of the fae at the bar have talked about other kingdoms and realms. I pretend to ignore them while listening to every word, searching for hints of a place I might like to go.

So far, none of them have appealed to me, though. At least not based on their conversations.

However, I know where some of the portals are that take fae to alternate worlds. They’re in the tunnel—the one that links the Netherworld Kingdom to the Morpheus Kingdom.

I’ve walked over there more than once, tempted to go inside and find the portals for myself.

But each time, I’ve been spooked by the eerie sensations surrounding the entrance. It’s almost like the tunnel is a portal in itself.

Turning off the water, I wrap a towel around myself and step out of the small glass enclosure to stare into the circular mirror above my sink.

The bathroom is definitely a downgrade from the palatial one attached to my guest suite in the palace. However, I prefer this space to that one because this room is mine. As is the bed and the couch and my small kitchen.

Gnarls sends my paycheck to the village fund to help pay for my rent and utilities. I’m also given a stipend at the local Skull Mart for my groceries. Fortunately, they have an aisle dedicated to human food. Apparently, a lot of the fae like “other-world cuisine.”

If only I recognized half the items in the aisle. I don’t. But that’s mostly related to my home world being different from the Human Realm here.

So complicated , I think, not for the first time. Alternate dimensions. Fae. Monsters.

I shake my head. “It’s a wonder I’m still standing some days,” I tell myself as I brush my hair and finish up in the bathroom.

Pip is pacing right outside the door, his white hands tucked behind his back as he floats back and forth. His big, hollowed-out eyes meet mine, the bright blue flames flickering to life in what almost looks like a smile as he perks up.

“It was only ten minutes,” I tell him.

But he twirls again like he did after I thanked him for the dead flower, his cloak whispering across the floor.

I smile, amused by his excitement. It didn’t take long for me to accept his presence here. He’s just so endearing. And it’s clear he doesn’t mean me any harm. Instead, he seems to want to help me.

Which is probably why I smell burning in the kitchen.

“Oh, Pip,” I groan. “Did you try making me breakfast again?” Because the last time he did that, the toast ended up black and the eggs rotted in the pan.

I don’t quite understand his lethal touch, but it’s clearly not meant for living things.

Hence the reason I try to step around him and not through him. I don’t want to end up like the flowers or the food.

Pip dances again, swishing around and leading me to the kitchen. “I told you before that I appreciate the gesture, but I prefer to?—”

My words end on a yelp as a flame bursts from the stovetop.

“ Stars !” I scream as I dart toward the sink, only the fire shoots toward me in an irregular arc, forcing me to jump backward.

My towel whispers around my legs, the cotton loosely tied against my chest. I grab the fabric, thinking about maybe using it to smother the flames, when a loud boom echoes from the front door.

I spin toward the sound, my attention torn between the growing heat and the pounding coming from outside. I’m about to ignore it when Pip zooms toward the door in a furious flurry. Or maybe he’s panicking. I don’t know. I also have no idea how to put out the fire.

“ Thorns ,” I hiss under my breath as I dart after him, my hand clutching my towel against my sternum.

When I throw open the door, I find Ghost standing just outside with his arm resting against the hinge and his head angled down. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” he mutters at me.

I blink. “What?”

He sighs. “I’m beginning to think that’s your favorite word, mystery.

” Then he lifts his head to look over me at the chaos in my kitchen.

His eyes narrow, his back straightening.

“What in the Styx are you trying to cook?” he demands, his hands suddenly on my hips as he moves me out of his way and saunters into my house.

Pip has completely disappeared, leaving me alone with this lunatic fae who… who appears to be wielding a shadow…

I stare, my lips parting as smoke whirls all around Ghost, the source seeming to be coming from his arms. His tattoos , I think, suddenly realizing that he’s shirtless and wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants. The ink along his arms and back shift, leaving his tan skin behind.

Along with a lot of muscle.

Holy fae, this male really is stunning .

The perfect specimen of a man, really.

Not that I’m noticing. Or observing. Or ogling.

Nope.

No.

I’m just watching him put out the fire with his shadows. How in the fae is that even possible? I wonder, half convinced I’m dreaming now.

Because there’s only one other male I’ve ever met that is this good-looking or this powerful, and he only exists in my head.

A head I now shake as I try to clear it and figure out what in the thorns is going on.

In a blink, my kitchen is fire-free and smoke-free, and all I can see is the expanse of Ghost’s defined back as his tattoos writhe back into place. The swirls are mesmerizing, their pattern seeming to form skulls all over his skin.

“Wow,” I breathe, hypnotized by the magic.

“Understatement,” Ghost replies. “What the fuck were you trying to make? Charcoal pancakes?” He turns toward me, allowing me to admire another vast landscape of muscular lines.

So many abs.

So defined.

Yet oddly tattoo-free.

Hmm.

“Sera.” My name from his mouth has my eyes slipping up to his lips, which are forming a thin line. “What the hell were you doing?”

My brow furrows. “Taking a shower.” The words seem to leave my lips on autopilot. This guy’s body has temporarily fried my brain.

“While your pancakes burned?” he asks, one of his eyebrows inching upward.

The condescending quality of his voice has me frowning.

Which slowly brings me out of my stupor.

“What are you doing here?” The question comes out slowly, my mind still surfacing to override my errant hormones.

Ghost looks like he just woke up, his thick, dark hair tumbling in messy waves across his forehead. He’s barefoot. Shirtless— obviously . And… and in my home.

“Apparently, I’m saving you from burning down the entire fucking village,” he tells me, his arms folding over his chest. “Who leaves pancakes unattended on a stove?”

“Why do you keep talking about pancakes?” I blurt out.

“Why?” Both of his eyebrows rise as he steps back to gesture at my black stove. “ That’s why.”

“Oh.” Pip . Right. I shake my head. “He was just trying to make me breakfast again.” It comes out in a defensive mumble. Because Pip means well, but he just, um, he struggles.

Where is he? I wonder, looking around as Ghost repeats, “ He ?” There’s a hint of incredulity to his tone. “ He who?”

I meet his gaze again. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Pip. And why are you here, again?” No wait, I have a better query. “ How are you here?”

The look Ghost gives me is filled with disbelief.

“I woke up to the stench of burning, then heard you scream like a fucking banshee. So I got out of bed to bang on your door with the goal of scaring off whoever or whatever made you shriek, as I prefer not to get violent this early in the evening. But then you opened the door and…” He once again gestures to my kitchen. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

I simply gape at him. “I didn’t call for help.”

He grunts and looks around. “Who is he ?” he demands, ignoring my words.

Granted, I ignored him as well.

Which I continue to do now as I say, “I still don’t get why you’re here. How did you hear me?” Maybe that’s a ridiculous question. He’s a fae. They all have unique gifts.

“Because my bedroom is right through that wall,” he says, pointing to the stove. “Not that it matters. Your scream definitely carries.”

I narrow my gaze. “Your bedroom?” I repeat, my forehead crinkling. “That’s impossible. Tank lives next door.”

He releases another snort. “Tank hasn’t been home for nearly a month.” Those golden eyes of his capture and hold mine. “I sent him on an all-expenses-paid holiday right after you moved in, and he thanked me by letting me crash at his place.”

My eyelashes flutter. “You…” I trail off, unsure of how to respond to that. “You’re living next door.” The words come out stilted. Hollow. Confused. “ Why ?”

“Because I’m your pet bodyguard, mystery.” He leans his athletic hip against the counter and folds his arms again. “I’m also apparently your new recruiter, too.”

“Recruiter?”

“That is indeed what I said,” he tells me before sighing and tipping his head backward to stretch out his neck. “Can you please explain the burnt pancakes now, mystery?”

“I don’t think I need to explain anything to you,” I reply. “You’re the one who informed me last night that I’m supposedly engaged. Now you say you’ve taken over my neighbor’s home because you’re my bodyguard-slash-recruiter. And you basically barged into my hut without an invitation.”

He slowly straightens his head and neck, his intense gaze landing directly on me. “I didn’t barge in, Sera. You opened the door, I saw the fire, and I walked in to put out the flames.”

I stare at him again. He’s not wrong, but he’s not correct either. I didn’t ask for his help. He just foisted it upon me.

Which I should probably be grateful for, as I had no idea how to put out that magical flame.

But I’m not about to tell him that. Not with everything else hanging between us.

“You’re not supposedly engaged either,” he adds. “There’s nothing supposed about it. You’re betrothed. And you’ve been betrothed for a very, very long time.”

I huff a laugh. “Oh yeah? To Death, right?”

He doesn’t share in my sarcastic amusement. Instead, he levels me with a serious look. “Yes. To the God of Death.”

Everything inside me goes cold. “The God of Death?” I repeat in a barely audible whisper, certain— hoping —that I’ve heard him wrong.

“Yes,” he confirms. “Hades.”