“Fair enough. In the meantime, you can at least tell me about yourself. I know you were born three games before this one. What was your boyhood like? Will you finally tell me your name?”
“My name?” Staring out into the night, he murmured, “I was called Aric. It means a ruler, forever alone.” Harsh laugh. “How prophetic of my parents.”
Aric. At last, he’d told me. When I’d first arrived here, he’d said, “Death is all I’ll ever be to you.”
No longer. “Go on.”
“When I was a boy, I was well aware that I’d been blessed with fortune. My father was a warlord who ruled a fortified settlement, a great trading center in what’s now Latvia.”
So that was his accent.
He returned to his seat. “We were the wealthiest family in the land, and my parents loved each other very deeply. Wanting what they had, I agreed when my father urged me to marry. I’d just turned sixteen, and it was time for me to start a family of my own.”
Had Death—or rather, Aric—been married? I’d never imagined it was even possible. I felt a surprising flare of jealousy. “But your touch . . .”
“I wasn’t born with my curse.” Shot, refill. “My father held a dance for me to choose a wife. I danced with many. The next day, they were all plagued with illness—just from holding my hand. Yet at the time, no one had reason to believe I was the cause. It wasn’t until my curse grew in strength, until my touch killed in seconds, that I knew I was responsible. Two of my last accidental victims were my parents.”
Even after all this time, the guilt in his expression was raw.
“Crazed with grief, I left my home, stumbling blindly into the game. In time, I began to comprehend what I was. I was damned to win, to be immortal for all time, to be alone.” He exhaled a weary breath. “And then I met you.”
Was he finally going to reveal what had happened between us?
“I’d gone more than a year without contact by this time. It doesn’t sound like much, but imagine that long without a single handshake or a relative’s embrace. Without so much as a brush of skin as coin changes hands.”
Even here, I’d had contact. I roughhoused with Lark, and I’d had those fleeting contacts with Death. His existence must’ve been a living nightmare.
“I stroked your face, intending to end you. Yet you never fell ill. I can still remember how shockingly soft your skin was. How warm.” He seemed to get lost in the memory. Voice gone hoarse, he said, “I shuddered to feel it against mine.” He glanced up sharply, clearing his throat. “You were as stunned as I was.”
“Did we . . . ?”
He gave a curt shake of his head, eyes beginning to glow—this time with fury.
Heedless of his anger, I pressed on. “Then if we haven’t slept together, have you ever?” I wasn’t a virgin, but he might be.
His glass shattered in his fist.
“I-I guess not. But you’d intended to with me?” To my bed, Empress.
“Until you betrayed me.”
“How?” When he gave a pointed glance at the necklace, I said, “What if I never can remember? I need to know!”
He grated, “I told you, creature. You folded first.”
“The two of us had called a truce before?”
He rose with a disgusted expression—but I didn’t think it was directed toward me. He looked disgusted with himself, as if this encounter had just gone sideways.
“I ready for my departure,” he said dismissively, striding toward an adjoining door.
I scrambled to follow. He muttered a curse when I barreled through the doorway behind him.
I gaped at his firelit room. The ceiling and walls were solid black, the floor veined black marble. His jet-black armor hung on a stand, as if another man were in the room with us. The sole piece of furniture was a carved sleigh bed. His sheets were twisted.
Did he suffer from wicked dreams as well?
He scowled around his room, clearly regretting that I’d seen his most personal space.
“Do you know what I think, Death?” When I perched on the edge of his bed, he turned away with a sharp inhalation. “I think you missed me this morning in the gym.”
Jaw clenched, he crossed to his armor.
“And I think you’re going to miss me when you leave. Whenever you’re out there by yourself, does that gut-wrenching loneliness come creeping back?”
He stiffened.
“You hate this existence, and I think you secretly hope I can help you find another one.”
“It doesn’t matter what I hope. Because I can’t trust you.”
“If you could, would you want more with me? Would you want to be with me?”
“This was a mistake. You need to leave.” With hasty movements, he buckled a layer of metal over his right leg, another over his left. “You are forbidden from this part of the manor from now on.”
I gasped. “You do want to be with me.” As soon as I said the words, I accepted that I might want my life to be here with him as well. “Please don’t go yet. Just talk to me, Aric.”
He tensed at the use of his name, as if I’d struck him. “Leave now. If I recollect your betrayal, I might kill you. If I recollect how you’ve betrayed me already in this life . . .”
I shot to my feet. “What have I done to you?” He’d captured me, imprisoned me. When I’d attacked him and his alliance, I’d only been defending myself.
“I am warning you—leave me.” Turning away, he yanked off his shirt to don his breastplate. Even in the midst of this discord, I gazed longingly at his back flexing.
He shoved on his gauntlets and turned, seeming surprised to see that I was still there. Did no one else disobey him?
“Any woman with sense would’ve heeded my warning.” He strapped on his sword belt.
Yes, he had warned me, but I’d already learned more about him than ever before, and I sensed he was on the verge of confiding even more. Or, well, killing me. I squared my shoulders. “I’m staying.”
He reached for his helmet, tucking it under one arm, then stalked up to me, a fearsome sight. At that moment, I completely believed some death god had chosen this man to be his knight. When we were toe to toe, I craned my head up.
Emotions sped over his face, too many to latch on to just one. “Then I’m going.” He stalked around me and left the room.
I trailed him down the corridor to the outer doors. “Damn it, Aric, can your trip not wait?”
Without another word, he charged out into a blustery storm. From the doorway, I watched, feeling like I’d just missed my one opportunity for . . . something.
Keeping him here suddenly felt crucial.
When he rode from the stable at a blistering speed, I ran out into the rain to intercept him. His mount reared, red eyes wild as its sharpened hooves pawed the air.
“You’ve lost your mind!” He yanked off his helmet, revealing his anguished glowing eyes. “What are you thinking?”
I hurried to the side of his horse, yelling over the downpour, “How have I betrayed you in this life?” When I rested my hand on his armored leg, he flinched. “I have to know.”
He dismounted, his movements deliberate, almost sinister. My heart raced as I backed up a few steps. Had he reached his limit with me?
Once he stood just before me, I had the impulse to run away. Too close, too much, too intense. But I had to know. . . .
He reached down to clamp my nape in his punishing grip. Between clenched teeth, he grated, “You weren’t meant for him.” Rain spiked his lashes. “That you allowed the mortal to have you—it makes me crazed! You gave him everything.”
“You’ve hated me for two thousand years. Tell me why you care who I was with.”
His hand shook. “I care.”
“Why?!”
He tenderly grasped my face with his lethal gauntlet. His touch might be tender, but his expression . . .
Filled with lust and longing and other feelings too seething for me to read.
This had been building inside me for weeks; it might have been building inside him for centuries.
Then his lips were on mine, scalding in the rain, covering, claiming. His tongue swept in, demanding more, more. For someone so out of practice, his kiss was perfection—but savage too, as if it was the last one he would ever have. Surrendering to it, I threw my arms around his neck. Just like in my dream.
Better than.
Incredibly hotter.
Over the rain, I could hear my moans, his groans. He looped his free arm around my torso, squeezing me so tightly against his armor, but I loved it.
As he slanted his lips over mine again and again, I dimly noticed my feet weren’t touching the ground. I clung to him as if I’d never let go, fingers clutching at his hair.
I wanted this kiss to last forever.
Yet he drew back, leaving me dazed, breathless. “Aric?” My lips were bruised, cold without his against them.
Between heaving breaths, he rasped, “I care because . . . because you were my wife. You still are.”
My legs went weak with shock.
“You took vows, then tried to kill me on our wedding night.” Voice gone raw, he said, “You forced me to murder my bride.” The pain in his starry eyes . . .
He released me to mount his horse. With a last burning look, he rode away, leaving me to collapse to my knees.
41
DAY 367 A.F.
I lay in Death’s bed, staring at the black ceiling, clutching the emerald necklace he’d once given me.
For the last two days, I’d avoided Lark, stealing into this room and spending the nighttime hours here. My guard wolf waited outside the door.
I hadn’t slept since Aric had ridden away, hadn’t eaten. I both wanted and feared the dream of him I sensed was coming. Somehow I knew I would relive the past the next time I slept.
I believed everything Aric had told me—what he’d said felt true. I’d been married to Death. This explained why I’d always felt a connection to him, some kind of soul-deep bond—why I’d stared at his card when I was little, as if gazing at a picture of a loved one.
When I’d fallen for Jack, it’d been sizzling and combustible. The blazing inferno. What I felt for Aric was like a wave pounding against a shore for all time. He had two thousand years of longing, lifetimes of it, and now I’d tapped into that well forever.
I knew I would never be the same. My relationship with Jackson had felt fated. Whatever I had with Aric felt . . . endless.
Why hadn’t he returned? What if he never did?
Lying on his bed, surrounded by his addictive scent, I longed for him, longed to take away the pain I’d delivered.
If he could survive whatever I’d done to him, I could at least witness it.
I stopped fighting sleep. . . .
“Now that we’re wed, perhaps you will call me by my given name,” Death says as he escorts me to our extravagant lodgings—only the best for my highborn knight.
As soon as we cross the threshold, he releases me to yank off his hated gloves.
“But I will always know you as Death, my love,” I say, my voice all sweetness.
No matter how he’s treated me over these past weeks, I will never forget the menace in his eyes when he stabbed me. I will never forgive his arrogance when he assumed I would accept him just because he spared me.
He never asked for my hand, merely informed me that I was to marry him, that we would bow out of the game. In his mind, he is death, and I am life; therefore we belong together.
All throughout the planning of this ceremony, I kept hidden my true motivations. He might have quit the game, but I continue to play. And I know I cannot defeat him until he lowers his guard with me. He will, now that he’s my husband.
Today, I became his wife. Tonight I will become his doom.
“?‘My love’ will do for now,” he says, his lips curling, all confidence. He reaches for me, eager for our skin to touch. “As lovely as you are in this dress, I crave to see you without it.”
My bridal gown was a gift from him, cut from the most exquisite emerald green silk. Upon seeing the finery, I’d felt a disturbing amount of girlish glee. Then I’d remembered I’m the Empress, a killer of the first order.
“Of course, my love. If you’ll assist me, you’ll soon have what you crave.” What you deserve. I turn, presenting my back to him.
As he begins to unlace my stays, I fight the tension building in my muscles. He draws the silk from my shoulders, brushing searing kisses across my skin.
He’s been impatient for this day to come, and even more so about our first night as man and wife. Yet Death will never know me this way.
Throughout my childhood, I was taught that he is my enemy. That his inevitable desire for the Empress would prove to be one of my strengths—and weaknesses.
Because a lesser Empress would desire him back.
The woman in me feels attraction toward him. He is charming when he wants to be, and he’s beautifully formed. Never have I seen his equal. I admit my breaths shallowed when I joined him in the temple earlier today—he was stunning in his impeccable attire.
But this union is doomed because the Empress in me sees him only as a kill to be made. A predator viewing prey.
He has no idea, confident I am now his. Earlier, as we toasted our wedding vows, he whispered in my ear, “You belong to me. Forever.”
When my dress slips down my body, pooling at my feet, he turns me, the better to survey his new belonging.
The possessive gleam in his eyes makes me bristle. The thinly veiled hunger. His appetites are so marked, I’ve barely been able to hold him off thus far. He is too intense, too carnal, too desirous.
The boy called Death is so full of . . . life.
He lays me upon our bed, then disrobes himself. Yes, he is beautifully formed—everywhere. My body helplessly responds. But I have control over my own appetites.
Once he joins me, he grasps my hand to kiss my palm. “Empress, I will make you happy, for all our days.”