Page 88 of Night of Death and Flowers

“Do I?” he asks incredulously.

“No.”

“Good. I’d hate to see you soften after you’ve promised me such pain.”

I take a hesitant step forward. “Perhaps pain is easier to accept for people like us.”

Our eyes clash across the room, and before I can say anything else, he turns and walks out.

THIRTY-FOUR

Calista

“You’re awake,” Drake says when he walks into the chamber. He hands me a goblet and I peer inside. My tongue darts between my dry lips the moment I see the orange inside, thicker than water, but not as heavy as honey. “What is it?”

“Cimicifuga Serrulata Extract.”

I hesitate, lifting it slowly to my lips, then breathe in the cloying scent. The heavy liquid coats my tongue and throat, and as I drain the last few drops, I’m desperate for more. The hydrating and nourishing properties of Cimicifuga Serrulata Extract take little time to replenish my energy. I place the goblet down, then wipe my lips. “Still no sign of Ari?”

He shakes his head, then leans in and whispers, “This is a dead end. They’re not coming. We should leave.”

“No. Azkiel said the sacrifice must take place here.”

His tone deepens with every desperate word. “What if he’s lying just to keep you here, safe and away from them? We must go. He’ll follow once he realizes you’re gone. He still thinks you’re the prophesied one and can awaken the gods.”

My brows knit together when the words leave Drake’s mouth for the first time. He has not pushed me to elaborate about the prophecy or the gods since everything happened. Although, I suppose he doesn’t care. Not with us almost dying every other day. “Why are you so intent on leaving?” I ask. “We’re safer here. Do you want to keep fighting and killing?”

“How many do you suppose are left?”

I shrug. “Eleanore, Rourne, Isolda, Briar, Cordelia and Edwardo are dead. We know Edwardo killed someone, and with you and Ari, that makes three remaining.”

“Or fewer,” he counters. “Alaric stabbed Eleanore. Who knows who else he’s killed?”

I grip the stone ledge of the cracked altar. “Drake,” I say slowly, mulling over my sister’s speech about the gods and her dream. “What if Ari went willingly?”

His eyes widen by a fraction, his breath halting. “No,” he says, averting his gaze from mine. “I don’t think so.”

I swallow hard against a lump forming in my throat, and the room somehow seems colder. Death’s footsteps shuffle from the back of the chamber, his boots rolling over tiny rocks. Drake whips his head around, then glances at me.

I nod slowly. “It’s my shift.”

“I’ll do it,” Drake offers, lifting his index finger in the air before I can object. “I don’t mind. I have nothing better to do.”

My lips part as I watch him leave. Something tugs at the back of my mind, but I can’t quite put my finger on what. Not that I have time to think, when Azkiel is already walking toward me, shirtless, and wearing a stoicism that I can’t tell what kind of mood he is in.

I expect him to stop in front of me, but he passes me, his eyes assessing the painted images slathered over stone. His deep voice resonates around me. “You did well last night. We should try again.”

My gaze tracks his movements as he walks over and then pulls himself onto the altar. He leans forward, his hands on his knees as he sits where people were once sacrificed.

“Are you a sadist?” I ask, the flick of his stare laced in warning. “I hurt you last night.”

He drags his fingers through his silver strands, tousling his hair in a way that I wonder what I would be like to run my hands through it. “I can handle pain, Poison.”

Tentatively, I lift myself until I’m sitting next to him, curiosity guiding my words. “When I was inside your mind, I saw you in the Darklands, and how lonely you were.” I pause, then look down at my mud-caked boots. “Your family cast you out.”

“I had to carry out my duties there and in the mortal worlds.”

I shake my head, recalling the sting of rejection framing his memories. I know the feeling well. “Did you see them?”

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