Page 71 of All Hallows Game

“So grumpy this morning,” Death teased, his voice like a hug, surrounding me until I was lazy and comforted and—happy. I sighed, sliding my arms around him as his hands roamed my back, my arms, my neck, then the legs I had wrapped around him, massaging soap into every place he could reach. “I can’t wash your front like this, little bride.”

“I like it when you call me that,” I murmured, a smile tugging at my lips.

“Then I’ll never stop,” he replied, a kiss finding my shoulder, then the bite mark Miz left on my throat. I jumped at the sensation, the mark tender. “I only stopped because—” Death sighed. “I thought you’d be uncomfortable with the name now the curse is gone.”

“Mean,” I grumbled, making him laugh.

“Mean of me to take your comfort into account?” he asked. The unmistakable noise of a pump sounded and then his hands were in my hair, caressing shampoo into the roots. I couldn’t hold back a groan, the sound erotic and loud.

“Mean because you never asked if I still want to be your bride,” I muttered, hiding my face in his shoulder, the sensation of him massaging my scalp so good my eyes nearly rolled back.

Death’s fingers paused. I fought the pout that wanted to form. “Do you still want to be our bride?” he asked, a quietness to his voice.

“Yes.” I huffed. “You didn’t even bother to ask.”

He guided me under the warm spray, rinsing suds from my long hair, making sure no soap got in my eyes. “You said you only wanted me, not Death and Tor, so I assumed—”

“She made me lie and we both know it,” I huffed, speaking without thought. Pain cracked through my skull a moment later, the magic she’d muzzled me with taking its revenge. My nose burst with pain, blood dripping warmth over my bottom lip at the same moment I tasted copper in my mouth.

“Cat,” Death said urgently, a raw edge of panic entering his voice. “Don’t say anything else, just look at me. Look at me, my bride.”

Tears welled and spilled down my cheeks, washed away by warm water. I looked at Death through the blurry film.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he soothed, hands bracketing my face, cooling shadows wrapping around me. “Take a deep breath and hold it for me, just like that. Trust me?”

I nodded, blinking another rush of tears free. Pain hammered my skull like a hammer against an anvil, blood trickling from my nose and, I suspected, from my eyes and ears.

Without warning, darkness surged up my nose like water. I jerked hard, panic forcing me to breathe.

“Easy, it’s just me, Cat. I’m going to heal you, hold your breath, little one.”

I screwed my eyes shut so I couldn’t see the streams of darkness and held my breath, even if the sensation of magic invading my nose, my ears, and covering my face made me want to scream. It lasted less than five seconds and then I was gulping down air on Death’s command, crushed to his chest in a vicious hug. My nose stopped bleeding, the sharpest of the pain gone, but the dull hammer in my skull went nowhere.

“You’re okay, you’re perfectly fine, I’ve got you.” Reassurance after reassurance spilled from him, but his hands shook against my body and I knew the words were as much for himself as they were for me. “I won’t let her hurt you, I’m going to get this block removed.”

I squirmed down Death’s body, unclasping my legs from around him, and a sharp gasp parted his lips. His arms tightened, refusing to let me go.

“I think… I’m okay,” I said, trailing my fingers through his long, wet braids. “Death, I’m okay.”

“Good. Still not letting go.”

I rested my head over his heart and let him hold me for however long he needed, adjusting to the flip from intense pain to dull, bearable ache. Moral of the story: don’t have meaningful conversations before you’re fully awake.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” I murmured, filling my lungs with the burnt sugar scent of him until my own unease faded. “I promise I’m okay now. But I want to show you something on my phone.”

He drew back, his hands finding my hips, unwilling to be parted from me. “On your phone?”

I nodded and let him see my pain at Virgil being Nightmare’s captive, being traumatised enough to look like a ghost, like a stranger. “I can’t tell you. You just—have to see it for yourself.”

A rough breath heaved from Death’s lungs, and I became aware that he was half naked for the first time, only a pair of short, tight boxers covering his modesty. I couldn’t stop my eyes trailing the taut, tempting lines of his body when he drew back.

“Alright,” he said eventually, weighing it up in his mind. “But only if it won’t hurt you. And first, I’m cleaning the rest of you.”

“You just want to get your hands on these,” I said, doing a little shimmy so my boobs swung from side to side. He groaned, half laughing, and I mentally patted myself on the back for breaking the tension.

“That plays a minor role in my intentions, I assure you,” he replied, still smiling as he soaped up my front, staring at my throat then sweeping down my arms, my chest, my stomach, and my legs. He took his time massaging my thighs until I was boneless, splayed against the tiling wall, and the slow look he glided up my body made me ache.

“Death,” I breathed, a plea.

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