Page 44 of All Hallows Fate

“If you’re fine,” Tor remarked, “why are you wearing that much darkness?”

“Fashion choice,” Death muttered.

“I like it,” Madde piped up, flourishing his hands as an effortless stream of power stretched from him to the shield, expanding the boundary, dancing over mine to patch the frayed edges. “It gives you a mysterious gothic edge, like a sexy Dracula. Although… I guess Dracula was sexy to begin with. That’s how he got so many bitches.”

Pain choked on a laugh. “I don’t think you can call his vampire brides bitches.”

“Ah. Good point. I’d never call my bride a bitch. I’d call her a wonder and a gift and a blessing and the best thing to ever happen to me.”

My heart melted.

“And scary as hell,” Madde added with dark glee. “Can you kill someone today, my lioness? It makes me so hard.”

“Uh, maybe?” I kept my focus on the shield, the magic solidifying into something secure. “The night’s still young, I guess.”

If I saw Violence again, I wouldn’t hesitate to murder him.

“You’re slurring,” Misery noted, his voice a whip crack. “Cat, pull back.”

“Mmfi—” Oh shit, I was slurring. “Fine,” I finished, though that came out sticky and slow.

“Yeah, that’s the word of the fucking day,” Tor muttered. “Madde, close the shield here.”

“On it, Cap’n.” Madde saluted before throwing so much magic into the ward that the hairs rose on my arms.

I wavered on my feet, stumbling into Death. His warmth hit me like drugging comfort and I sighed, daring to ask, “Will you hold me?”

That memory of his arms around me had stuck with me ever since I saw it, a balm to the memories of fear and torture.

I peered up at Death when he hesitated, and even though my vision was a little hazy I didn’t like the miserable apology in his eyes. “Little bride,” he said in a rasp, rough with an emotion I couldn’t place.

I blinked, not sure why a sudden twinge of pain joined the sickly feeling of rejection. The bond—there was a crash of wind through the usually calm forest, and my stomach dropped. Something was wrong.

“Why won’t you hold me?” I whispered, hoping my words didn’t carry to the others. “Death?”

His throat bobbed, the pain in his eyes intensifying.

“You can’t,” I realised, a stone sinking into my gut. “You can’t. Why can’t you?”

Death shook his head, blinking fast. “I’m sorry.”

When I inhaled, the air cut like shards of ice in my lungs. “Show me. Death, please. Show me.”

“Show you what?” Pain got unsteadily to his feet, glancing between us, confusion and dread pinching his brow. He brushed my shoulder with a light touch but the comfort didn’t pierce the daggers of panic carving me apart.

“Death.” Misery came closer, the raw, brittle quality of his voice making the hurt in my chest worse. He didn’t snap or snarl demands; his expression was pleading, desperate. “What’s Cat talking about?”

“Show me,” I said hoarsely, holding Death’s gaze. When he only stared at us helplessly, I bit out, “Show. Me.”

The panic had grown teeth and sank into me like a bear trap, drawing blood. I grabbed Death’s shoulders, dark smoke rising from the cloak of shadow he’d worn for days. The black hole of missing memories no longer mattered when I knew I loved him, and something was very badly wrong.

“I didn’t want you to know,” he said, looking from me to the others. My breath strangled in my throat when he sighed in defeat and ripped away the cloak of shadow, revealing slow moving white mist and—

“Death,” I choked out, my hand shaking on his shoulder.

“Jesus fuck,” Tor blurted, pain clear in his voice as he stared at the empty space where Death’s arms and his left leg should be. A column of shadow propped up his knee in the place of a prosthetic.

“How?” Miz demanded hoarsely. “How did we not know this? How could you keep this from us?”