Page 43 of Till Death

“Jarek is right,” Elowen said, ripping me from my thoughts. “This isn’t the time. Orin needs peace.”

Minutes of silence passed. Eventually, the door clicked shut. He lived, then. That was a mercy. Though I wasn’t sure whose.

Orin began moaning. The guttural sound so wretched, I wondered if the hellhound actually did hold the power of Death’s harbingers. Maybe he hadn’t escaped fate quite yet. I thrummed my fingers against the rooftop in time with the raindrops, wondering if I was listening to my bonded husband die. The gash in my abdomen had sealed once more, thanks to his attention, but it hadn’t healed as much as I would have thought, had he truly been born of life with the power opposite of mine. The ache remained.

I stood, staring up at the small patches of moon peeking out from behind the weeping clouds until I was soaked through. Even then, I waited several moments more before climbing down to the balcony and sneaking back into Orin’s room.

His face had only been scratched. Nothing new plagued him beyond the bruising and gash he’d had when he walked onto that stage. Standing here, listening to the moans plague him, the pain audible, my thoughts mimicked his friends. Why had he married me knowing he would piss off his master and equally destroy his own life?

The bandages around his chest might have started white, but the patch of blood was growing. I stared at the hands of a killer, remembering the way they felt on my throat only feet away from where I stood. Orin killed because he could, not because he had to, and that was the difference between him and me. Likely, every life he’d taken had been pinned on me, and I hadn’t known about a single one.

The gold band on his wrist, a twin to my own, sat just below the blue one, intersecting a vine tattoo creeping up his bare arm and covering his shoulder. The sharp turn of his jaw and the way he held his eyes tightly shut, even while sleeping, called to me. This was the man who’d stood in my castle bedroom and promised me the world. But this was also that man’d who buried a blade in my gut and locked me in a room.

“I hate you,” he mumbled, an eye peeking open. “You’re the worst mistake of my life.”

I positioned myself over him, our faces inches apart as his blood dripped onto the floor in a perfect rhythm.

“Hate is such a cruel word, Husband.”

He shifted. His movement wasn’t fast, but I waited, letting him pull the blade from beneath his pillow and press it into my ribs.

I leaned closer, the sharp tip ripping my shirt. “Do it. I dare you.”

Chapter 19

“He’s bleeding again,” I told the crowd of concerned faces as they watched me walk to the front door of the Syndicate house. “You wrapped the ribs too tight, and he can’t breathe. That’s why he’s moaning. Your bandage isn’t going to do it. You’ll have to cauterize the wound.”

“Absolutely not.” Paesha leaped from her seat in the small sitting room full of mismatched furniture and a patterned rug tamped down to its last days. “That’s dangerous.”

I rested my hand on the knob, considering my words carefully. “Unless you know for sure the hellhound cannot kill in this world, he’s on the brink. I know what death smells like. And even if they can’t, if they are somehow bound to the same rules as the rest of Requiem, his skin will remain shredded unless you bind it together. At the very least, he needs to be stitched.”

She shifted toward me, a fight in her hands and fury in her eyes. But she said nothing else. Instead, she turned. “Hollis, start a fire.” Her voice softened as she faced the little girl and her dog. “Quill, take Boo and go to your room. Practice your singing, okay? Cover your ears.”

“No.” The child set her glare. “I can help. I’m not afraid.”

“It is not your fear that we’re protecting, Quilly. It’s your innocence. Go on now,” the old man said, kneeling before the child.

She turned, patting her leg for the dog to follow. “Come on, Boo. We’re gettin’ the boot.”

“Where are you going?” Althea asked, as I twisted away once more.

“Anywhere but here,” I answered, opening the door and walking out.

The rooftop of the Syndicate house was soaking wet. The rain had poured down as thunder boomed and lightning cracked across the sky. It hadn’t muted the screams, though. Nor the smell of burning flesh that wafted up from below. I rubbed my palm, all too familiar with that putrid scent.

“Why would you choose to stay up here rather than in the house?” Althea’s question hadn’t surprised me. I’d heard the rooftop door squeak open.

“I don’t understand any of you.” I watched the rain fall, darkening her hair to a coppery hue. “There hasn’t been a single explanation as to why Orin married me, why he tried to kill me, why I was captured, why I was locked up, why I’m just allowed to be free now, or why you expect me to stay. I don’t know why I’m still here. Curiosity, I guess.”

“You have nowhere else to go. That’s why we’re all here. This house is a refuge for those who need it. A meeting hall for others. But Orin does things for his own reasons, and we can’t speak for him. If he didn’t want you to be here, you wouldn’t be. That’s enough for me.”

I crossed the roof to stand before her, rain dripping from my lashes. “Why did he marry me?”

“Why did you marry him is the better question.”

“I married him because he lied. He tricked me. Now, answer at least one of my questions.”

“If I do, will you come out of the rain?”