But there he was. Eiran. The death god stood as if he’d been waiting. Tall, pale, and still as carved stone. His veins glowedsilver beneath his skin. His cloak was surrounded by shadows. They reminded me of Alastor’s, but colder. Hungrier.
He didn’t speak, simply watching, patient, as he waited for me to compose myself.
My grip on Finley tightened.
I’d fought alongside Alastor’s shadows and stood in them without flinching. I’d sent the tendrils of my magic to play with Finley’s without fear. But this . . . this was different. Eiran’s magic carried a finality to it, an echo of every soul who’d crossed this realm.
And I had crossed here once.
Even if Teddy had fought for my survival, not all of me had returned. A sliver of myself still lingered in that silence, tethered to his shadows. I felt it, that part of me that had stayed behind. Like his magic recognized me, and his shadows wanted what they’d been deprived of.
I forced my spine straight. Finley was here. And if Death thought he could take her too, he’d have to carve me into the stars and chain me there. Even then, I’d rip my soul apart before I yielded.
Eiran arched a brow, the gesture meant possibly to put us at ease, but it landed sharp as a blade. My muscles locked. That wasn’t a friendly look, but that of a predator acknowledging its prey.
“You aren’t here to surrender anything or anyone,” he said, voice too smooth, too knowing. “You are safe here. This is only a corner of this realm, the place where souls first arrive when their bodies die. I call it the crossing, a small threshold of the astral realm. Souls wait here for judgment before they’re sent to the peace they earned or the penance they made for themselves.” His eyes settled on Finley, only on Finley, as if I weren’t standing at her side. “I shaped this space to be peaceful. The newly dead fear enough without feeling the weight of eternity too soon. So Igave them this, the heart of my realm. The place souls first enter, the only place one may enter if summoned, and the only place I can send someone back.” He said each word with care, as if it were important to him that she understand.
“Why did you call us here?” I asked.
“I summoned you here to offer my assistance in what I know of the wielder of the Orb of Sacrifice.”
Finley’s hand twitched against mine. My grip only tightened. Silence stretched, but he remained unhurried and imperturbable.
Eiran’s gaze, the same shade of silver as the blood thrumming through his veins, swept over us. “The wielder is no stranger to me. She is born of my line, the daughter of a mage I once favored. It was Zaicha who forged the Orb of Sacrifice that Alastor spoke of. It was her hand that drew power where none should have been drawn. Her desire to please the mages tipped the balance, not only in this realm but in yours, when the mages’ power rose above the fae and dragons.”
Finley stiffened beside me, her pulse slamming beneath my fingers. I tightened my hold, anchoring her against me, no longer caring that we stood before Death himself.
“You were right,” she whispered, voice frayed at the edges, but her attention locked on me. “I trusted—I wanted to trust her. I wanted to give her my magic.” Her hand curled into fists, the air crackling with the red threads of her magic sparking between her fingers. Sharp with regret and anger.
My chest clenched at the way she kept her magic tethered to her. I’d seen her unleash her fury in lethal blows. But this . . . this was a quiet rage that she caged within herself, unwilling to share its burden with anyone.
“Finley.” I brushed my knuckles over her cheek, needing her to feel my touch, wanting her to know she didn’t have to bear this alone. Her hand wrapped around my wrist, and the threadsof red snapped against my skin, but I didn’t flinch away. Not from her.
“Your magic is not hers to claim.” Eiran’s voice slid through, deep yet somehow tender, as if he spoke to her alone. Shadows curled close to his frame, but his gaze softened in a way that made the hair on the back of my neck rise.
I angled my body in front of her. Whatever this god thought he saw in her, whatever claim his tone implied, it wasn’t his to take.
“It is something that is born within you as hers was born in her,” he continued. “It is yours to command. Even when you cage it, it knows its master.”
Finley stilled, her fingers curling around my wrist before she stepped around my protective stance. For a few beats, the sparks at her fingertips quieted, as though her magic leaned toward him, drawn to the impossible calm of his voice.
Every muscle in me went rigid. I didn’t trust the fondness in his voice. Didn’t like the way she seemed grounded by him. Every instinct within me roared, prepared to strike Death if I must.
Eiran’s gaze lingered on Finley for a moment before it shifted to me. “I am not your enemy, Brenton.” His lips curled into a hesitant smile. “Is it not enough you have a sister because of me, as well as two nephews who bear my name as their second? Do you think I would endanger one who carries my mark on their skin?”
His words should have eased me. Instead, they set me further on edge.
Then something rippled. Disturbed. As if the realm itself recoiled. I didn’t have time to assess it further when shadows I knew slashed through the otherwise stillness. Dark and jagged, bending the astral realm to his will.
Amused, I shook my head, loosening my grip on Finley when Alastor stepped through his shadows like he owned the place. His smile was sharp and cunning.
“You’ll forgive me for intruding,” Alastor said. “Death’s summons rarely includes me, and I do hate to be left out of the fun.”
A puff of air burst from Finley, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to smother her snort. Eiran’s expression barely shifted as if he was neither bothered nor surprised that Alastor had managed to force his way in.
Alastor strolled toward us, his shadows snapping at Eiran’s.
“Of course.” Eiran’s grin revealed the sharp gleam of canines, one at either side. Because of course, Death not only had shadows but fangs as well. “I didn’t realize you sought an invitation.”
