Page 83 of Lord of Bones

“You will be made immortal, like a demon. The Lord of Bones has the power to grant life, as he does to take it away. It’s how he…” I sighed. I didn’t like talking about this. But she needed to know. “It’s how the Lord got Catherine. She was the daughter of some selfish noble who sold her for eternal life.”

Horror carved Rayven’s features. “He sold his only daughter to death, so he could live forever? What an asshole. See, this is why I raid rich asshole’s graves. They have it fucking coming.”

“Well, if you somehow managed to find his unmarked grave, you’d find him very much alive.”

“No…” Horror morphed into wicked glee. “He gave him eternal life and buried him anyway.”

I didn’t expect her to appreciate the ending I’d given Catherine’s father. But then again, how could I not? I’d known she’d make a perfect queen for me the moment she first raised a hand against me.

My defiant, stubborn goddess of death.

“Now, are you ready to see into the world of this departed soul? I must warn you, it takes some getting used to,” I said, watching the wheels turn behind her eyes. “We’ll be immersed in their memories, seeing it as though it’s happening. But the dead can’t hear you or see you, neither can anyone else in the memory.”

“Like watching TV.”

“Something like that.”

“Okay,” she said with an understanding nod. “Who is the soul?”

I took a deep breath, flipping the book open to the first page where the name was printed, along with the birth and death dates.

“It’s your father’s.”

Chapter31

RAYVEN

Everything froze.Time. My breathing. The blood in my veins.

For a moment, nothing existed except the name on the paper: John Carver. His birthday and the day of his death that I’d burned into my brain from staring at his headstone almost every day of my youth.

My lungs seized, forbidding air from entering, and all I could do was gape down at the book.

I felt like I was suffocating all over again. If this was another one of his games, this one crossed the fucking line.

But… the thing about the demon’s games was that he only played ones that I enjoyed, at least in some capacity. He administered his cruelty only to bring me pleasure.

If this was a trick, it was just cruel.

I barely knew him, but something told me he wouldn’t be this evil. He wouldn’t get my hopes up by lying about having my father’s soul.

This was real.

I couldn’t breathe. It’s like I’d been plunged underwater. My lungs burned, feeling like they were going to explode.

“Breathe, Rayven. You’re having a panic attack.”

A strong, firm hand smoothed over my knee. The moment he touched me, oxygen siphoned into my lungs.

He sat there with me, the weight of his hand planted on my knee, not demanding anything, just anchoring me there. And he waited patiently for me to gather myself.

“Rayven,” he said, but his voice sounded a million miles away through the blood pounding in my ears. “Rayven, talk to me if you can.”

It took everything in me to come back to reality, to tear my eyes away from the book—the eternal resting place of my father’s soul—and look at Belial.

His eyes were narrowed with worry through his mask, and he snapped the cover of the book closed.

“Are you alright? We don’t have to do this. I’m sorry.”