Page 42 of All Hallows Game

I shook off the unease and faced the square again, peering around—nope, peering through—ghosts in every shape, size, ethnicity, and fashion style to where two men circled each other, hands raised in front of themselves. A fight?

Oh god, Tor was fighting. That was why they chanted his name. Not a single spirit chanted the name of his opponent, whatever it happened to be. I wanted to believe that was a good sign, that Tor would win and wouldn’t get hurt, but I was a pessimist at heart.

I shuddered as I pushed past spirits, cold bleeding through all the places I touched them, but they barely spared me a glance. As if a living girl was an ordinary occurrence, or they didn’t care that I walked through them. I stopped dead when I saw Tor throw a punch, his knuckles wrapped in white bandages spotted with blood, his golden arms bulging with powerful movement. The expression on his face could only be described as wrath, and another shiver skated down my spine. I’d never seen Tor this angry before.

He’s not angry at you, I assured myself, but it didn’t ring quite true. I rejected him. I said everything between us was an illusion caused by the curse. Things only seemed okay between us because we’d been pretending.

It didn’t change how much my heart hurt watching him fight, or how my stomach twisted into a pretzel when he dove left to avoid a blow from the tall, broad-shouldered ghost he was fighting.3 I couldn’t contain a low sound of surprise when the spirit’s fist slammed into the side of Tor’s face, shockingly brutal for a touch that should have gone straight through him. Blood slashed his cheekbone as skin broke, but he ignored it, ignored the pirate ghost, and ignored the gathered crowd as his head whipped around.

My stomach swooped when our eyes connected. Tor’s bare chest heaved from the fight, covered in dark, detailed tattoos and faint scars, glistening with sweat that only made him more masculine and appealing, his hands unfurling from their fists.

Oh god, oh god. I broke eye contact and scurried away, my heart hammering a frantic morse code into my ribs. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I hadn’t exactly been invited, and I didn’t even have Death’s permission to enter his domain anymore. I definitely shouldn’t have been watching Tor fight, like I was anybody to him. I was nothing now, not his bride, not his girlfriend or lover. I didn’t have any right to this domain, and my blood buzzed in my ears as I fled back down the cobbled street.

“Stupid, stupid,” I hissed under my breath, rejection like acid in my belly even if Tor hadn’t spoken, even if he’d only looked at me and the rejection was all self-inflicted. A figment of my overactive imagination and crippled self-esteem.

Even as part of me wanted to travel back in time and never come to Ford, I’d never give up knowing Tor, Miz, and Death. Losing them hurt worse every day, the pain even sharper since we’d begun to grow close again. The secret I had no choice but to keep had spikes and barbs, and they didn't hesitate to rake deep gouges in my fragile soul.

I swung around a corner, the thatched houses blurring past, the sky growing redder as the sun began to set, like a bruise blooming across the clouds and—

I screamed, jumping back when a dark shape materialised in front of me, eight feet tall and enormous, shadows and smoke billowing from it.

I threw up my hands, waiting for my darkness to offer encouragement to rip apart this threat, to reach into their body and rip out their heart, but before the voice could form, my panic-wide eyes registered what the dark shape was.

A horse. A mammoth black horse with shadows wafting from her hooves and nostrils snorting her irritation. Lanai.

“Fuck,” I hissed, staggering back with my hand over my heart.

My initial relief turned to thorny nerves when I peered at the straight-backed figure astride Lanai, his hands fisted around the reins and his face lit in shades of blood and crimson by the dying light.

“If you’re determined to leave,” Tor said, his gentle voice a shock, “at least let me take you home.”

“You… want to take me home?” I said dumbly, staring up at him. Lanai nudged my shoulder with her nose, snorting hot breath over my arm and making me jump. When my heartrate settled, I gave her the attention she wanted, stroking her nose and surprised by the velvety texture of her hair.

“Come on, my cute little succulent. I’ll help you up.”

I was so dumbfounded when he jumped down and set his hands on my waist that I didn’t protest. The heat of his palms seared my skin through my clothes, bringing my whole body to life, pounding through my clit in a sudden pulse that made me gasp. His hands lingered on my hips when I was seated on Lanai’s back, her warm body making me wonder if she was a living creature. Although my death gods were warm, and they were dead, too.

Not mine. Not my gods. I ruined any chance of that when I told them I’d never cared for Tor and Miz.

And yet—they’d come when I needed them. And Tor was here now, swinging himself up onto the horse’s back, his left arm gripping her reins while his right arm wrapped so effortlessly around my waist. Like it was natural. Like it belonged there. Tears burned my eyes. I fought the desperate urge to settle my hand on his arm, keeping it there.

“Aren’t you mad at me?” I asked, unable to keep the question trapped.

“No. Why would I be?” His hand splayed across the curve of my stomach when I jumped at Lanai’s sudden lurch into a sprint; I settled with a sigh.

The houses blurred past us as the horse flew over the cobbles, her hooves making a thunderous noise as she carried us out of the town.

It took me a minute to work up the nerve to admit how I was feeling. I knew I sounded silly and small and insecure, but he’d asked a question and there was no getting around an answer.

“I don’t think I’m welcome here anymore. Not after I—after what I said the night Byron—” I choked back the grief that threatened to crush my chest, needles of emotion stabbing my eyes. “The curse is gone, I’m not your bride anymore, so I shouldn’t be here. This is your world, not mine, and I’m sorry for intruding, and for watching you fight—”

“And for drooling as you watched?” Tor interrupted, a note of teasing in his voice that popped the balloon of my panic. He wasn’t angry. Of course he wasn’t; he was Tor, friendly and lovely and kind. Loyal to a fault.

“I didn’t drool,” I muttered, making him laugh. “I was only checking for injuries.”

“If you wanna check with your hands, too, just let me know.”

Now he made me laugh, a smile tugging at my cheeks. “You’re not even a little bit angry?”

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