Page 66 of Night of Death and Flowers

An incredulous laugh leaves my lips. “You’re telling me you sent Drake and Ari here, and almost killed me over that? What makes you think it is me when it’s so vague and unclear?”

He lets out a tense breath, then clenches his chiseled jaw, the sharp lines of his features giving the impression that they were carved from marble. “You are doomed with death magic.”

I shake my head, averting my eyes from Azkiel. “Let’s suppose it’s true, and it’s me. Then why wouldn’t I want the gods to awaken?”

I was never a fan of them, nor their theocratic government, but how can they be any worse than Death?

“You should fear them,” he snaps. “For them to awaken, the chosen witch must die. They are freed by the blood of an innocent, a daughter of creation.”

Historically, according to the few recorded texts left of the times when the gods were here, a few of the deities would take mortals under their care and treat them like offspring because they could not have children of their own.

So, the prophesied one can’t be an actual daughter, but a witch in her coven. I was born into it, but so was Arabella. Doomed with death doesn’t specify that it is a witch who harbors decay magic; it can also mean anyone sent to Tenenocti to compete in The Harvest, and I’m not officially a part of the tournament. However, if the prophecy states a witch born into Essentria’s coven, that only leaves… Ari.

It’s her, I realize, my heart fluttering.

Tingles pass through my shoulder, down my arm, and into my wrist. A wave of numbness captures me as an icy gust of wind carries between us, sweeping strands of hair.

Azkiel draws closer. Slowly, he lifts a finger to my face, then touches the loosen locks. We both hold our breath as he tucks the hair behind my ear, and the butterflies in my chest intensify. “What is it, Poison?”

“Nothing,” I say breathily. “Earlier, you asked me where they were. Did you mean the gods?”

His shoulders tense as he pulls his hand away from my face, but his gaze lingers where his fingertips had grazed my cheek. “Their bodies are gone.”

A shiver tingles my spine, and I shudder. “Well, it wasn’t us.”

His face contorts. “Then someone else is working against me.”

I nod quickly, my throat tightening as I reach out for him, my fingers connecting with his biceps. I squeeze his arms, drawing him nearer, and the madness flecking his gaze is quickly satiated.

Wait. Why am I holding onto him? I drop my arms to my side and clear my throat. “Do you think it’s one of the other chosen ones?”

“It could be.”

I am paralyzed under his intense stare, the magic in my veins throbbing with newfound strength. It’s only when his brows straighten, and he averts his gaze that I shake my head. “Why are the gods trapped here in the first place?”

He paces a few steps away from me, as if I am suddenly venomous, then says, “Because they are dangerous.”

A wave of numbness rolls through my body, and small shivers snake over my arms and torso like currents. I can’t let him know Ari is the prophesied one. He tried to kill me when he thought I was. Yet, my sister will die if the prophecy is fulfilled. “I’ll help you find them,” I blurt out, realizing he may be our best ally against this new threat.

His eyes grow larger under the moonlight. “Why would you do that?”

“It can’t hurt to have the God of Death at our side.” I shrug.

“I will not help your sister or the boy win. I won’t interfere with the competition.” He grabs my fingers, then grits his teeth, lifting his glare to meet mine. “You’re tied up in this. Even if you are not the prophesied one, which I have not ruled out, there is a reason you have my ethereal magic, and I just know Nyxara is behind it.”

“Or Essentria. She came to me in my dream. She was angry that I hold your power instead of hers.”

“What else did she say?”

“Just that.”

His expression warps between anger and confusion. “Why would she go to you?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, but she didn’t say anything to me about the prophecy.” I pause briefly, then lick my dry lips. “So, are you coming?”

Death wrenches his hand away. “I don’t trust your words.”

“Good. I don’t trust you either.”

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