Page 128 of Reaper’s Curse

I wasn’t 100 percent sure what came over me, but I wanted to touch those lips. Worship those lips. Make him my god of war.

Camilla giggled and said to Winter, “Then how do you know? You don’t know.” She tapped my arm, and I raised my chin without turning my gaze from Chace. “Come. Let’s go down there.”

The seamstress tugged my elbow, pulling me toward the stairs, and we began our descent, Winter at our rear.

Mirroring our motions, Chace also began his descent into the awaiting gala. My body moved towards him as if it had a will of its own, and I imagined…I hoped…his did the same. The crowd parted for us like water around stone. Nothing else existed in this world, in this citadel, that was worthy of my attention beyond the reaper in leathers walking straight for me.

His storm-riddled eyes set firm upon mine, and I swore I caught cracks of lightning sharpening the wisps of smoke and silver flecks of his irises.

An icy wind’s touch pressed to my shoulder blades, pausing my glide across the floor and delaying me from reaching Chace immediately. Winter’s fingers grazed across my shoulders, and he bent his mouth to my ear, his lips nipping softly against my lobe.

His breath cascaded down my neck, along my collarbone, as he murmured, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

I couldn’t hold back the gasp Winter’s chilled touch and breath brought upon me, but my attention remained glued on Chace.

My coreaper morphed into rage storming in our direction, his gaze narrowed and his muscles tight…his eyes locked on the prince behind me. Would Chace start a fight with Winter in the middle of the ball over yesterday’s events?

No. Chace’s attention was not locked on the prince, but on the prince’s fingers upon my skin.

I brushed Winter’s touch away, ignored his comment, and stepped free of his reach, stalking ever closer to my fellow reaper. Chace stopped a few feet away, and a plague of locusts rushed to war in my gut.

Holy reaping wonder.

What was I feeling? I couldn’t get my heart under control.

His eyes hooded, and his gaze drifted over me, traveling a slow path over my curves, back to my lips, then my eyes. My skin flushed, and my knees weakened, my pulse quickening. How had I ever missed the sheer beauty of all that he was?

He closed the remaining distance, leaned his lips near my ear, and whispered, “A true goddess of death, cloaked in death’s beloved messengers.”

A reaper dressed in a gown of black feathers. Of course he might confuse the design for crow feathers. I didn’t correct him. Didn’t care beyond the fact that he appeared completely and utterly enamored by my appearance.

A coy smile split my red lips, and I blinked slowly. “A goddess of death and a god of war. What the pair we make.”

He arched an eyebrow. “God of war?”

“Camilla used the god of war as inspiration when designing your outfit.”

“Well, then…” He chuckled. “Seems fitting that war and death should go hand in hand. Might this god of war interest the goddess of death in a dance?”

He presented his hand, palm up.

“I thought you would never ask.” I accepted his hand, terrified to step on the dance floor and trip over my gown…or worse yet, my own feet, but unable to pass on the opportunity.

In his presence, I glided on air, and I refused to let any fears interfere with us revisiting our earlier connections―the time he’d sucked the splinter from my finger, our fight in the street turned something other, and his comforts in the bed yesterday.

He guided me to the dance floor, his fingers skimming the bare skin between my shoulder blades, then drifting to the small of my back. With a deep breath and five gallons of nerves, I followed his lead as we burst onto the dance floor mid-song.

We danced. And danced, and danced, and danced. Song after song, never changing partners and never leaving the floor. Never faltering or tiring as we swayed and spun and dipped. The feel of him beneath my touch grew not only into a need, a desire, but a necessity.

Chace smiled like I’d never before witnessed―with genuine delight. And I laughed with all my heart, thanking the gods for our blessed moments. Moments in his arms, moments with our breaths and body warmth mingling. Perfect moments no reaper ever hoped…or deserved…to receive. If I were dreaming, I never wanted to wake.

The tracking of time whirled out of my mind on the dance floor. We might have danced an hour, or five, when someone dared to tap Chace on the shoulder. Stiffening, he paused our dance and turned to meet…Lucas.

Lucas and Neive stood before us, Neive’s complexion fully flushed. I couldn’t place Lucas’s costume, but Neive embodied a pirate princess.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Lucas tipped his head at Chace. “But might I cut in for a dance? Neive here”—he arced a hand in her direction—“is happy to stand in our lady’s place for a turn.”

Chace quietly dragged his gaze over them, his expression controlled.