Page 32 of Touch of Death
Death lets out a low growl as if he can read my thoughts. Though, I suppose it is my aura he can feel; the way I am drowning after just one touch. How desperate I am to taste her again.
Hmm, Death may prove to be a problem in that regard. His desire for the girl is obvious; it rolls off of him in heavy waves. I could sense it the moment he stepped foot in the palace.
From the girl, though, I can sense nothing when it comes to her own desire. I almost hate the glimmer of hope this thought sparks within me. If she does not desire him, then perhaps she can grow to desire me instead.
I know it is a foolish thought.
Something must have happened between them; why else would Death be willing to risk so much for a mortal?
Aside from my own desire for her, my own desperate and aching hunger totasteher, she is an enigma. I cannot help but wish that I could see her face and the emotions that cross it, the way words fall from her lips.
For the first time in my life, I am frustrated with my inability to physically see, if only because I am unable to experienceeverythingshe has to offer.
I have to force these thoughts from my mind. It does me no good to wallow in what cannot be changed.
Leading them through the halls of my brother’s palace, I give them an offhanded tour as we go, unwilling to give them so much as a glimpse into the turmoil that currently haunts me.
As my frustration over my reaction to her grows, I cannot help but try to rationalize the way she has affected me.
Perhaps, it is because I have never known anyone to have such an effect on Death himself that I am so desperate to make her mine. I cannot understand how a mere mortal could bring a being so feared, by men and gods alike, to his knees.
Though, judging by the tension in his energy, only in the most figurative sense.
The more I consider it, the more I realize that I simply need to bed the girl to get her out of my head. To have my fill of her until I am cured of this madness.
I do not yet know how I will go about accomplishing this, with Death hovering over her, but I will. Then, I can return to my senses.
It is one thing for Death to fall for her; I would probably settle for far less if I were him …
But me?
I snort softly to myself.
The God of Lust does not fall foranyone.
Least of all, a mortal girl.
15
Hazel
Ishift closer to Death, walking as close to him as I can, my strength slowly returning to my body. My hand is wrapped around Death’s arm in the hopes that my touch will help ease the tension between us, as well as keep me on my feet.
He glances down at me, his dark eyes unreadable, his expression revealing nothing of his emotions. Still, I can sense his unease as Eros guides us through the palace.
It’s obvious he and Eros aren’t exactly on the best of terms; however, I’m starting to think he isn’t exactly on the friendliest of terms with anyone.
“Ah, my brother’s favorite courtyard,” Eros says as we walk through a small archway. “I once showed four maidens some of the finer things in life on that very bed of flowers.”
Death makes a disgusted sound at this, and Persephone rolls her eyes. Eros turns to glance back at me as if searching for my reaction, and I give him a polite smile, suddenly nervous that he can see more than I think.
I dislike the way he boasts of his past conquests, but it seems wrong to have to express as much when he’s the one meant to be helping us.
“The gold here comes from my own personal vault,” Eros tells us as we enter a large study. “I had it sent over as a wedding present for my dear brother. See, Death, evenhecan find it in himself to enjoy the finer things in life ... From time to time.”
Eros continues his tour, showing us room after room filled with opulent treasures and lavish décor, each one followed up by some story or another. Stepping into yet another room, I suddenly have to fight the urge to move away from Death as my eyes widen on a number of large paintings. They’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The paintings are strange, and yet, surreally beautiful in the way color and emotion seem to play out on the canvas.
“These paintings, they’re stunning,” I murmur.
