Page 49 of In Between Death and the Devil

“It didn’t have any boundaries.” I frowned.

“Just because you didn’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

I felt stupid for a moment for having constructed something so obvious, like a stone room, instead of something lovely where I’d want to spend time, but that wasn’t my real question. “Why irises?”

He shrugged. “In your shadow memory, in your parents’ garden, they were the brightest things. I thought you might find them comforting.”

My lips parted. Irises were my favorite flower. It was why my mother had planted so many in her garden. I couldn’t believe he’d picked up on that. Colt never had. “Thank you.”

“Good night, Maeve.”

“Good night.” I couldn’t bring myself to address him by name or even think it. It felt too intimate. Thinking of him as the Devil was safer. This was either going to be easier than I thought, or much harder. I had no idea which.

CHAPTER 14

“Slow down,” the Devil said. “You don’t need to take so much.”

I mentally released the handful of power I’d grabbed. Impatience bubbled inside me, but I took a deep breath and ignored it. I’d learned giving in to it did no good.

We stood in his Great Hall, just like we had the past five nights, the half-eaten walls gleaming softly in the low light. A large, dark shape hovered in front of me while the Devil stood at my back. I was acutely aware of the heat of his skin, and the scent of him. His presence had become as familiar to me as my own because of our Death Chord.

Part of me wanted to lean back against him, let him support me while we watched the same memory play through over and over, looking closely at different parts in the hopes of loosening its grip on me so I could gain control of my powers.

I felt his focus on me through our bond. It was comforting and supportive, but more than that it was seductive. The way he gauged my reactions and sensed what I needed without me having to say anything was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I’d grown so used to it now, and the idea of leaning into his strength was so tantalizing I’d almost done exactly that dozens of times, just like now, until I realized how easily I’d let myself get distracted by him. When we worked together like this, it was nearly impossible to remember I didn’t fully trust him.

Shivering, I refocused on the task at hand.

“Imagine you’re pulling a thread of power from me, through the Death Chord.” His breath ghosted along the back of my neck, and his calm encouragement buoyed me through our bond. “As thin as you can imagine.”

Gritting my teeth, I resisted the urge to squirm. Pulling power from him was unnerving. Knowing he was powerful and being able to feel just how much power he had through our connection were two different things. It was like seeing a rushing river from afar versus standing on the bank of it, sensing the depth of it and the strength of the current that could drag me under if I fell in. I wished, for the hundredth time, that I could pull power from myself.

He’d explained on the first night after we’d bonded why I couldn’t.

“You don’t have any of your own.”

“If I don’t have any, how come I light up like a torch when I’m upset?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“You were born with a little bit, because you’re a Successor, but it’s a drop compared to what Death and I can generate through helping souls. And it’s finite. You won’t be able to produce your own unless you take her place.” He raised one eyebrow, as if I needed a reminder that I hadn’t agreed to it yet.

“But if I have my own, even a little, why do I need to pull from you? Can’t I use my own until it’s gone? If I run out, then I can’t lose control.” It sounded like an excellent plan.

“If you used up the power you do possess, you would start to draw on your essence instead, which cannot be replaced. You would reduce yourself to a husk, something barely aware.” His expression turned grim.

I felt the blood drain from my face. “Have you seen it happen before?”

“No. My predecessor warned me of the consequences when I asked the same question. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he told me.”

“Is there a problem?” the Devil asked, shifting closer so I could feel his breath on my cheek. His scent, dark cherries and musk and warm skin, surrounded me.

“No.” I kept my focus on the shadowed mass in front of me, despite the warmth that bloomed low in my belly.

“Then stop stalling. Pull a thread of power from me.” The command in his voice sent a frisson through me.

“Yes, sir.” My retort was breathier than I intended, and I didn’t miss the way he stopped breathing for a moment, or the sudden bolt of lust in our bond. I’d forgotten that he liked when I called him that.

I silently scolded myself. Our bond was platonic. What we were doing was intimate, but it wasn’t sexual. I just needed to focus on the task at hand.

Closing my eyes, I tried to shut everything out. Especially him. Then, I mentally reached into the Death Chord, ignoring the force of the rushing river of his power, and imagined plucking a thin strand from it. It came easily.