Abandoning Killian’s body, Death stepped closer to Elyse until she towered over the witch. She stared down a pale, narrow nose at Elyse, her smoky eyes churning with a desire that went beyond the earthly world. “You will not know happiness or love,” Death uttered. The words were cruel, but she spoke them like a lover’s murmur. “You will only know the basest and grimmest of human emotions: greed, anger, revenge—a thirst for survival, but not for fulfillment.”
“Do it,” Elyse commanded. She did not cower at Death’s words, nor her haunting gaze. It was never a question.
Lady Death’s smile wilted into a wicked grin. She inhaled deeply, as if invigorated by the scent of Elyse’s pain. “So it shall be done.”
Elyse finally released a breath of solace. Killian would come back to her. That was all that mattered.
Death raised a hand and grasped Elyse’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. Her touch was glacier cold. Elyse shivered but did not pull away.
“Do it,” she repeated. She was vaguely aware of Mr. Grayson watching—perhaps beside her, perhaps behind her. He might have issued a final warning. It didn’t matter. Elyse didn’t hear him, didn’t see anyone else other than the beautiful devil in front of her. The key to Killian’s salvation, and the thief of her own.
“Open your mouth,” Death commanded.
Elyse obeyed, parting her lips.
Death lifted her free hand and clenched her fist. At first, nothing happened. They each held their breath as the candlelight flickered across the walls. Then a strange sensation began brewing in Elyse’s lungs. It felt like a storm cloud had somehow entered her body. Gentle at first, then swirling and spinning all the air into a vicious tornado. Yet it somehow felt good—a cooling breeze, or the crisp feeling of peppermint on breath. And then golden light spilled from her open mouth.
Death twisted her hand, coaxing the light. She directed it to flow from Elyse’s mouth into a spinning sphere. The light was blinding, and Elyse’s eyes burned, but it was too entrancing to look away. She was helpless to do anything but watch as the last wisps of gold floated from her lips.
Lady Death tucked her free hand into the folds of her cloak. When she brought it forth again, she balanced a small chest on her palm. The chest opened on its own, and the golden light raced to it, filling its confined interior. Death smirked, victorious, as the lid snapped shut, sealing the light inside. Then she waved her hand over the box, and a set of iron chains wrapped themselves around it, as if Elyse’s soul might try to escape. A padlock connected the two ends of the chains, locking in place with a sharpclink. Death waved her hand again, and the chest disappeared.
Half of the bargain was complete.
Death turned to Killian, not even uttering a word to Elyse now that she’d gotten what she craved. Her ivory finger trailed along his body, tracing a line up his leg, across his torso, until she rested a hand on his cheek.
Mr. Grayson clutched Elyse around her forearm. “Are you all right?” he whispered, his voice hushed but frantic.
Elyse ignored him, her attention solely on Death.
Death stared down at Killian, admiring him, like a patron at a museum. Her lashes hung low, nearly brushing her cheeks. She caressed his temple, and then slowly, she lowered her face until her lips met his.
Death kissed him deeply, her lips dragging across his skin again and again. Her chest heaved as she inhaled. Before she lifted her head, she nicked her teeth across Killian’s bottom lip.
Her eyes remained closed for a long moment as she hovered over Killian’s face. Her rouge lips were swollen, and she murmured something low, words Elyse couldn’t make out.
It wasn’t until Death stood straight again, her poise returned, that Killian opened his eyes.
3
Killian
Killian blinked. He was lying on a table in an unfamiliar room with no recollection of how he’d gotten there. His body ached, like he’d been run over by a carriage. And a beautiful woman with hair the color of a rose was staring down at him, her full lips curled in a theatrical smile. Stranger still was the distinct feeling that she had just kissed him. His lips held the ghost of a memory, a tingling he might have been imagining.
“Welcome back,” the woman purred. There was something ethereal about her—her skin was too pale, her gray eyes too knowing.
Killian furrowed his brows. Before he could speak, the woman turned away. Her cloak flowed behind her as she strode toward the door and laid a hand on the knob. It was then that Killian noticed Elyse was there as well. Relief flooded him. She was safe,thank the gods. And beside her—was that Mr. Grayson? Elyse’s old customer?
The stranger looked over her shoulder at them. “It’s been a pleasure,” she crooned before she opened the door and disappeared into the blackest night Killian had ever seen.
What in Hell’s seven circles?
The fog in his brain was visceral. He wracked his memories, searching for a morsel of insight. He remembered Ymaritis, how he had manipulated time in order to capture them. He remembered sinking into the dirt, telling Elyse goodbye. Jaime beside him, buried up to his neck in earth.
Where was Jaime? Killian didn’t see him in the dark room. Not that he cared much—the most important person in his life was there.
He shifted his gaze to Elyse, expecting a bewildered half-smile to match his own. What he found instead was a blank expression. Through the light of a few candles, he could see tear tracks had cut through the dirt on her face. But no tears filled her eyes now. Only a harrowing darkness.
“Elyse?” Killian asked. His confusion deepened as he realized that something was definitively off. He wanted to go to her, but the goose pimples spreading along his skin felt like a warning. Mr. Grayson stood unnervingly still except for his eyes, which darted back and forth between Killian and Elyse.
