Page 13 of The Deathless One (The Gravesinger #1)

All her life, she had been told what to do.

She should do what someone else said, because they knew best. She should trust that everyone was going to take care of her, because she was beloved by all in the kingdom, including the people who worked for her.

She should be polite, poised, and kind, because that was what princesses were.

What a load of bullshit.

Where had trusting people led her? To a knife at her throat, a debt to a god, and nothing to her name.

So excuse the god in front of her, who was clearly sulking as she figured out what she wanted to do.

She had read this spell book before, and she knew which spell she wanted to cast. No one was going to tell her what to do.

Not anymore. This was her kingdom, her responsibility, and she definitely did not trust the god who sat on the altar.

Because Sybil had called her Jessamine. And only this asshole in front of her knew her real name.

“Obviously you told her who I am,” she muttered as she placed the book on the floor and smoothed out the pages. “I don’t appreciate that.”

He had receded back into the shadows, either no longer capable of responding to her or deciding that he didn’t want to play this game. Whichever it was, his silence was enough of an answer.

Salt-covered black candle. Match in hand.

All she had to do was set the black candle at the base of an altar, and she assumed this one would suffice.

Then she had to light the candle while clearing her mind.

This spell was very different from the one Sybil had laid out for her.

The other had words to say, a ritual to complete, and a list of rules before starting the incantation.

But this one? It said to clear her mind of all intent other than speaking with the deity, and then to say their name. Invoking the spirit through will alone would summon them.

Of course, that was easier said than done. Jessamine lit the candle, closed her eyes, and forced her mind to reach out. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted him to answer her questions, and he would answer her questions.

There was no other option.

On a long exhale, she breathed, “Deathless One.”

She poured every ounce of her need into it, and she had plenty. So much that she was fairly bursting with it, and then…

Holding her breath, she watched for what felt like forever. Then she peeled one of her eyes open, looking around before she sealed it shut again. Maybe she needed to will it a little harder. Focusing on her breathing, she tried one more time. “Deathless One.”

“This is almost sad to watch.”

Ah, there he was.

Frowning, she looked up at the altar to realize he was still seated upon it. Or at least, what little she could see of him was. As always, he appeared to be nothing more than the silhouette of a man, a shadow that had detached itself from a body and left the meat somewhere else.

“You were the one who wanted me to summon you,” she muttered, folding her hands carefully in her lap. “I am merely doing what you asked.”

“This is not summoning me, witch,” he hissed, and the shadows undulated around him.

The more she stared, the more she realized it wasn’t just shadows.

It looked like someone had used charcoal to sketch a shadow.

There were marks around him, jagged edges and crude smudges that made him look almost like a painting.

“Is it not?” she asked, then smiled as though this wasn’t bothering her in the slightest. “You’re here. You’re talking to me.”

His voice changed into a mocking tone, mimicking her. “I was here. I was talking to you.”

Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click. Through gritted teeth she muttered, “I intended to control the conversation a little more than you insulting me.”

“The only reason for this spell is to commune with gods. It’s used to speak with a patron, not to give the wielder any sort of power.” He sighed. “A patron, my dear gravesinger, is a god that you worship directly for power. In case you didn’t know.”

“I know what a patron is,” she snapped. “That was the point. I’m trying to talk to you without you lying to me.”

All the hairs on her arms stood up at his low snarl.

Some part of her mind whispered that she was a tiny little mouse, and he was a massive cat.

If she said something wrong, moved in the wrong direction, he’d snap his jaws around her and that would be it.

But then she reminded herself those fears weren’t true.

According to this spell, she was in control of this encounter.

That gave her a little more power than she had before.

Narrowing her eyes on him, she refused to flinch or show any fear. “Why do you want me to summon you?”

“I have been dead for centuries, witch. Do I need a reason other than that? I desire to be real again. I desire life.”

It made enough sense, she supposed. “Why do you keep calling me ‘witch’?”

“Because you are one.”

“I’m not a witch,” she replied. Jessamine clutched her hands together in her lap, trying not to let him see how hard they were shaking. “I’ve read a lot of books on witchcraft, and I’ve studied the nature of the beast for most of my life. It’s a fascinating fairy tale, but I am not a witch.”

“You are a gravesinger, to be more accurate.” He hopped off the altar and began to circle her slowly. “Do you know what a gravesinger is?”

“No.”

“It’s a particular kind of witch. The kind I’ve been looking for.

There used to be countless of your kind, natural-born witches who could connect directly with a patron.

In the old days, I had twenty gravesingers at my beck and call.

” His cold breath fanned over the sweat at the base of her neck. “Now I have only you.”

“How disappointing.”

“You have no idea.”

It made little sense, though. Jessamine had never practiced magic in her life.

And didn’t witches show signs? Magical… happenings started around them when they were very young, didn’t they?

Either way, she couldn’t be who he wanted her to be.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to be his gravesinger even if she could.

The Deathless One circled behind her, the dark shape of him undulating and changing forms in the window’s reflection. “You are certainly a disappointing witch, but you can be shaped. Molded into what I wish.”

Everything in her clenched at his words and then darted out of her lips. “No!”

The word echoed. If he had a face, she supposed she might see surprise on his features as he stared down at her on her knees. “No?” he repeated, his tone utterly shocked. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean you will not shape me. I cast the spell to speak with you, not the other way around. No one will ever shape me into what they want again.” She glared up at him, her hands curled into fists. “No one will tell me who or what I am. Not even a god.”

“Ah, there’s the feral creature who bartered for her life.

A life that I gave back to you as the benevolent god that I am.

” He continued circling, then crouched in front of her, a hulking beast prickling with thorns.

“Now, tell me again why you think I will not control every action you take from here on out.”

Confidence surged through her veins. She tilted her chin up, watching as he stood again and meandered behind her. Circling again like some great bird of prey. “Because I summoned you only to speak, Deathless One. You cannot touch me, just as you cannot control me until I give you physical form.”

Again she felt his cold presence leaning over her, the whisper of his words chilling her ear. “Are you so sure about that?”

She froze as a ghostly hand wrapped around her throat from behind.

No, not ghostly. It was an actual hand. Long, thick fingers, scarred tips brushing against her pulse as he tightened his grip. By the gods, he could nearly encircle her entire throat and his fingers would touch. How big was this man?

“You aren’t supposed to be able to touch me,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Gravesingers are connected to their gods. Any god, really. All you need is a deep feeling. One that sometimes you cannot control.” Again his voice whispered in her ear, sending waves of ice through her veins.

That deep growl seemed to hum with desire.

“Hate is a strong enough emotion. I can work with hate. Even though I would entertain you if it was something more… pleasurable for the both of us.”

“This isn’t real,” she croaked.

His hand tightened. There was no real threat, just the feeling of his fingers around her neck and the slightest pressure as he lifted her. Her spine bumped against a strong figure, the sensation of muscles and heat pressed against her in a decidedly sinful way.

She should have been afraid. She should have wriggled in his grasp and told him to unhand her because he would leave bruises like Leon. But that wasn’t how she felt.

All she could focus on was the hand around her throat, how those fingers so carefully held her. Then she could only hold her breath as his other hand slid across her belly, lingering where her stomach had hollowed at his touch. His words inspired ice, but his touch made her burn.

His hand suddenly tightened around her throat as his gravelly voice ground out, “Tell me this doesn’t feel real to you.

If you want, I could seduce you. I could reach into your thoughts and play out all your deepest desires.

If you wish for me to service you when I return to life, I will do so.

Have you ever wanted a god to worship you, Jessamine? ”

Images of what that might look like flickered in her mind. She almost wanted him to get on his knees for her. What would it feel like to have that much power over someone brimming with magic?