Page 44 of All Hallows Game

“Hold on, beautiful,” he told me as Lanai broke into a faster gallop, the name like sunlight on my light-deprived soul.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CAT

Islammed my hands into the dark wood door and burst into Misery’s bedroom, my heart skipping at the sight of him sprawled on top of the pale silk covers, his skin almost as white as the sheets. The scent of him—fresh linen and lilacs and snow—assaulted me with emotions as I ground to a halt, staring across the messy room at him. It wasn’t like Miz to leave a mess anywhere, and it was even less like him to look so unkempt.

He was conscious but barely, his eyes slitted, the gold barely visible. Deep shadows sunk beneath each eye and his face was thinner. I’d thought he looked sick the last time I saw him, but now he was practically unconscious and there was no ignoring that he was deeply unwell. My chest pulled tight, and I took another step, willing courage into my heart as I pulled myself up onto his bed, sitting beside him.

“Miz?”

When he didn’t respond, I turned my gaze to the stiff-backed shadow by the window. Death stood with his arms around himself, his jaw clenched, and his eyes were so zoned out I wasn’t sure he’d seen me come in. Tor paused in the doorway, a carefully neutral expression on his face, like he was hiding the maelstrom of emotions I knew he was feeling.

I brushed a lock of long white hair from Miz’s face, my stomach plummeting at how cold and clammy he was. I didn’t know if it was because I’d spent so much time with death gods but… I could sense death near Miz, gathering around him like a shroud, ready to suffocate him. I dragged a deep breath into my lungs and straightened my shoulders. Nightmare had done this. She might not have ordered it, but it was a direct consequence of her fucking with Miz’s head, and the need for revenge burned so suddenly and fiercely it was like my lungs caught fire.

“I’m right here,” I promised Miz, my voice gentle but unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“He hasn’t been conscious for an hour,” Death said in a voice so hollow it made my heart clench, agony and sympathy joining my rage-fuelled need for revenge. If Nightmare didn’t have Virgil, his life in the balance, I’d have found her and killed her, no matter the cost. But I couldn’t risk my brother’s life. The photo of him pale and gaunt burned the backs of my eyes and kept my temper in check.

“He’s strong,” I said gently, stroking the back of my finger down Miz’s too-pale cheek. “And stubborn. This won’t break him.”

It didn’t matter what was between us, didn’t matter that I’d lied, that they believed I never loved them. It didn’t matter that Miz was the reason my best friend was dead. Right now, all that mattered was Misery lay here, close to death, and they all needed me.

Byron, forgive me, I silently pled. I know I should hate them for your death, but I can’t. I love them too much.

I couldn’t get justice for him if it meant hurting Miz, Death, and Tor. Nightmare was the one that would pay, but not yet, not until Virgil was safe.

Soon, I swore to my best friend. Soon, I promise.

I caught Miz’s hand, shutting down my horror at how cold he was, and brought his knuckles to my lips.

“Here,” I murmured. “You need this more than I do right now.” I slid off my crown ring and slipped it onto his finger. I didn’t dwell on the fact the only finger it fit was his wedding ring finger and I was no longer his bride.1

I squeezed Miz’s hand, watching his face for any reaction, and when there was nothing, I slid off the bed to join Death by the window. I didn’t know what to say, couldn’t think of anything reassuring that wasn’t a glaring lie, so I just put my arm around him and leaned my head against his shoulder.

“Don’t act like he’s already dead,” Tor snapped, his body coiled with energy and rage as he marched across the room.

If I could sense the nearness of death, I knew they could, too. But I swallowed those words and said, “I know he’s not going to die. I told you—he’s stubborn.”

Tor’s shoulders sank, but his jaw clenched as he looked at Miz on the bed, a muscle fluttering in his jaw. I knew it was more than anger he was fighting back. I also got the sense if I hugged him too, he’d break, so I held back.

“What can we do?” I looked between Tor and Death, my chest tight. “There must be something—a potion or spell or, fuck, a ritual. Whatever it is, let’s do it.”

I didn’t ask if death gods could die. Really, truly die. Their body language was answer enough.

“I already gave him every potion and tonic I could think of,” Death rasped, leaning into me. It hurt to see this tall, powerful, dangerous man reduced to shuddering fear. “There’s not much we can do for death gods because we so rarely get hurt.”

“There must be something,” I disagreed gently, squeezing his waist and holding Tor’s gaze. “We just need to find it. He can’t be the first god to bind his magic. How did he do it anyway?”

Tor’s face twisted into hatred. “I found an ampoule of an unmarked liquid. I recognise the craftsmanship.”

Death jolted against my side. “Who?” he demanded, his voice dropping an octave, darkness rippling around us like tendrils of black fog. I stroked up and down his back, glancing hopefully at the bed like Miz would hear how closely Death walked the edge of his composure and wake up. But his eyes were still slitted, barely open, his face unchanged, body unmoving.

“Pain,” Tor said with a wince, rubbing a spot on his bare chest—his heart, I realised. “It has his signature all over it.”

Death caught my hand in a gentle grip, brought it to his lips to kiss the tips of my fingers, and stepped back. Darkness wrapped around him so quickly that I jumped, and by the time I managed to convince my fight or flight instincts that this was Death and I was safe, he was gone.

“He’s going to get himself hurt,” I worried, dread building in my chest.

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