Page 33 of Till Death

He went with the cold water, which matched his icy exterior as he let it drip. I gasped, but he pinned me down without much effort, keeping me from ripping the skin around my abdomen any more. Orin used a cloth and proficiently cleaned, his knuckles grazing my skin, fingertips constantly touching as he worked while I wished to be anywhere else.

“Here,” he said, offering a metal flask.

“I’d rather die.”

“Suit yourself, but this is going to hurt.”

I counted three blinks, staring at a patched ceiling. “I’ll survive.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine as he took the flask and poured its contents into the open wound, the alcohol every bit as excruciating as I imagined, and then some. He held my shoulder down, but my stomach roiled, and I wanted nothing more than to turn over and vomit. Another basin of lukewarm water later, and it took every ounce of strength I had to sit up so he could wrap the bandage while holding eye contact, daring me to show weakness at his touch. But this was a silent war, and I was very good at his game.

“The blade went all the way in,” Orin said. “It’s going to take days to heal.”

“Longer,” I rasped. “Your giant friend hit the handle, and I think the blade nicked something.”

“We contemplated asking nicely, but it didn’t pass the vote. Lie back.”

“How fucking generous.” I waited a beat before adding, “Prick.”

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called. Pretty sure that’s not even the worst thing you’ve called me. Now, lie back.”

“Can’t. I’ll throw up.”

He gripped my bare arm, staring down at me. “You’ll be fine, Nightmare.”

I laid slowly, his grasp never faltering as I rested my head on the table. “I prefer Maiden.”

“Maiden,” he drawled, refusing to look me in the eye. “So eager for a battle, even when you’re broken.”

The corners of his mouth fought the grin as he moved away, that beautiful, brutal face full of cocky indignation.

The scent of lavender filled the air as he dipped a cloth into a basin of warm water, wringing it out before carefully wiping away the blood that matted my hair. His touch was surprisingly tender, each stroke soothing the ache in my head. He smoothed a finger over my neck, pulling my collar down, no doubt gazing over the tattoo that crept up from my back.

Warm water seeped into my scalp, and he buried his hands into my hair, massaging every inch, applying more soap, and scrubbing. Those fingers got lost, digging every discomfort from my mind.

I looked up to see him staring into my eyes and immediately snapped mine shut. Whatever this was, he was still my enemy. I’m sure he didn’t want me staining the floors of his massive house with blood. He didn’t want me screaming in despair either. If he locked me in that fucking room again, well, it was just going to be round two. But for now, all thoughts of rebellion and all the ways I should make him suffer went to the wayside as he scrubbed until I fell asleep.

“Hello, my beautiful Deyanira.”

Falling into Death’s court would never be something I got used to. Setting my jaw, I shifted into the silent but obedient servant I’d learned to be with him. He curled a finger toward me, his magic drawing me closer. I’d killed my father only days ago, and while I thought that might, at the very least, win me some time, Death was never predictable.

His dark eyes held mine. “Tell me you’re playing hard to get with your new husband. Do you want his name, my beauty?”

I said nothing, hardly daring to blink as he leaned closer, near enough to whisper in my ear, sliding his hand down my arm to take my wrist and turn my palm. His intentional touch sent shivers down my spine as he dragged a finger over my sensitive skin.

My breath hitched.

He whispered, “I could mark this perfect skin with his name. I could take you to your knees with desperation to kill him, my Deyanira.”

The way his voice purred was an illusion compared to the lethal darkness in his eyes. His eager drive to reap and hunt, to pluck another soul from our realm of two cities was insatiable. This was not a man who saved our world. No matter what the historians would have had us believe, he just wasn’t. But that was a speculated truth that would never leave my lips.

“Speak. Say his name and it will be done.”

I wanted to. The old gods knew I did. But that would be an indirect way of choosing someone else’s fate. The single thing Orin had accused me of. There was still a kernel of goodness in me, something deep that kept me sane and proud. I would never take a life. The woman who killed for Death was a separate part of me. A beast and a monster, but she wasn’t all of me. So, I held my tongue.

“Come, my darling,” he said, stepping away, though he clenched my hand until the bones ground together.

He led me down the dark stone path outside of his infamous gates. Two moons cast a hue of blue across his haunted eternity. The closer we stepped to his towering hellhounds, the more my sleeping heart raced. Their ruby eyes pinned me down, turning my feet immobile until their master chuckled.