Page 15 of Princess of Death

LILY

I woke up in a cell, the ship gently rocking back and forth as it sailed across the sea.

I didn’t know how much time had passed. I was still in my armor, so it couldn’t have been that long. My sword was gone, so the only weapons I had were my fists—which would be useless in this instance.

I sat up and pressed my back to the wall, my elbows on my knees as my fingers touched my temple. Now I had a headache after getting my ass kicked.

“You should have listened to me.”

My eyes flicked up to the man who followed me like a ghost, who flickered in and out of my sight at his convenience.

“I don’t usually take a demon at their word.” I dropped my fingers from my temple and crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue from this never-ending journey. Then the pain struck me…because the men I’d traveled the world with for the last six months were all dead.

I was the only survivor—for now.

“I’m not a demon. I’m Wrath, God of the Underworld, King of the Dead—and you will address me as such.”

“Or what?” I challenged. “My luck can’t get much worse.”

He stood a few feet away near the bars of the cell, completely out of place imprisoned in the hull of the ship. A man so large that the tiny cell could barely accommodate him. Instead of looming over me, he squatted down, forearms on his knees. “But it can get better.” His calm confidence continued to burn in his gaze, a man who exuded his power without taunts, like the man who’d thrown me in here.

“I won’t sell my soul for freedom. I’d rather die.”

“What he wants to do to you is much worse than death.”

My eyes immediately flicked away to reject the notion, to pretend the idea had never entered my head, even though it was already there. “The answer is still no.”

He stared at me for a long time, his thoughts hidden behind the hardness of his gaze. “There’s a small sailboat attached to the rear of their ship. Can you sail it alone?”

My eyes stayed on the bars for a second before I looked at him again, not understanding the point of the question. “What…?”

“Can you sail it alone?” he repeated.

“I can sail anything,” I said. “But what does that matter?—”

“Just be ready.”

“Ready for what?—”

All he did was raise his hand, and that silenced me.

Footsteps sounded from somewhere past the bars where I couldn’t see.

Wrath rose to his full height then moved to the corner, his back to the bars, the hilt of his heavy blade visible over one large shoulder. His eyes remained on me, the only comfort I had right now.

The man who’d punched me unlocked the door and let himself inside. “Talking to yourself, sweetheart?”

I shifted my gaze to him and watched him sit on the little stool that had been up against the wall. His armor was gone now. He wore a short-sleeved shirt that showed the thickness of his muscles, a man I couldn’t best in hand-to-hand combat. “Just the God of the Underworld.”

He chuckled like I’d told some clever joke. “Just when I thought I couldn’t be further amused.”

“Would my boot against your balls be another amusement?”

He smiled, and that was more terrifying than a scowl. “Tell me your name.”

“Tell me yours first.”

He stared at me a while longer, his amusement continuing to linger.

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