Nothing with Death is ever easy.
He really likes to pretend he’s simple. But simple isn’t the same as easy. Not when you’ve seen past the veil and ended up one of his work dogs.
I come to my senses after an indeterminate amount of time, spat out of the void and left to pull myself together. As per usual, I don’t feel great after a meeting with the lord of skeletons, coldness, and black Grim Reaper hoods, a.k.a. Big Daddy Death. As per usual, I don’t bear any good news.
I peel my eyes open, crust scraping at my lashes, and try to rub away the grit, only to realize how heavy my arms are. Lifting one feels like hoisting a dumbbell welded into my bones.
That is… not good.
“Oh, god,” I groan, making the attempt anyway. It’s pitiful. My arm jerks halfway up before flopping uselessly against my side, like it’s been fired from a catapult made of wet noodles.
“I doubt any god is watching,” someone replies dryly. “Unless you’re counting that boss of yours.”
I turn my head—slow, syrup-thick—and force my eyes fully open. It feels like I’m peeling something glued shut; the skin drags painfully across the surface of my eyes andhurts.
But at least, I see this.
Nathaniel sits at the edge of the bed, legs spread, forearms resting atop his thighs. The posture reads relaxed, but his eyes ruin the illusion. They are sharp, observant, and cataloging every inch of me before finally landing on my face.
A warm, stupid flutter coils in my stomach.
Why is there a sexy serial killer sitting at my bedside?
“You know what they say. Don’t speak ill of the dead.” I pause. “Kind of hard not to, this time.”
He smirks, the faintest tilt of his mouth, and shakes his head. Just barely. The man would rather chew glass than show anything resembling a big emotion. I don’t dislike it, though. I know what’s hiding within his soul regardless.
“We’re back at the hospital?” I ask, managing to push myself higher and rest my head against the backrest. Private room, hospital bed. It’s sterile and oddly clean for an abandoned building. “How long was I out?”
“Three days.”
The number flips my stomach. “Three—“ My voice cracks and I have to swallow before I can force it out again. “Threedays?”
“You were out cold,” he says. “Your heartbeat was gone and you weren’t breathing for the first twenty-four hours. Talon was convinced you were dead-dead. Cassian wouldn’t leave the room. I told them both to calm down but…” his jaw tightens, just barely, “I wasn’t sure you were coming back either.”
I blink at him, trying to decide whether I just imagined the tremor in his voice.
You’d think a man who peeled my soul apart once upon a time wouldn’t care whether I woke up again. And yet, maybe somethinghasshifted between us. If Cassian of all people couldthaw around me, maybe Nathaniel isn’t as far behind as he thinks.
Still. Me being gone for three days,and clinically dead for one of them?
That’s new.
I wiggle my fingers, checking for signs of pain beyond the bone-deep exhaustion. No stiffness, no pins-and-needles. Blood flows fine.
Do the rules of biology not apply to this body anymore?
“Wow,” I mutter under my breath. “Guess it’s really hard to get rid of me now, huh?”
That earns the softest push of breath from him.
“Thank fuck for that,” he murmurs. “I assume your vengeful streak couldn’t let go of the mortal plane yet. Still some unfinished business?”
He cocks his head to the side as he says that, a single lock of black as night hair falling against his pale, porcelain skin. His eyes go back to the dissecting nature of his and his stare turns more intense. Either that, or it’s all in my head.
Nathaniel looks terrifying andisterrifying; there’s no false advertising with him. The way he watches you, you can’t tell if he wants to carve you open for parts or whisper his most private sins. Or maybe slice straight through the bullshit, like he’s trying to do with me now.
But I don’t have the clean answer he’s fishing for.
