Page 33 of A Waltz with Lord Death
With a hesitant glance in Barret’s direction, he took Meira’s hand. He had no idea if his friend could hear anything in his cocoon of frozen time. Either way, he did not want to express his feelings here with an unconscious witness.
After locking the door behind him, in a flash, he transported Meira to somewhere warm and sunny, beneath a shady tree next to a romantic field of lavender. The lavender scent lifted in the breeze, a scent that had his hounds growling and his own eyes watering. Deciding against the location, he transported them once more into a field of already harvested corn stalks. The scent of decomposition satisfied his hounds, and his eyes didn’t sting from exposure. He breathed in the crisp, decaying air. Another winter storm was on its way in this area of the world.
Meira appeared dazed at the sudden change of surroundings, and for a moment, he couldn’t tell whether she would retch or glance around in awe.
His elbow brushed up against several teetering stocks, and his simple touch caused them to dislodge completely from the earth and collapse to the ground. He frowned as he turned back to her to find her giggling behind her hand.
“Romance is not really my strong suit. At least I can say I tried.”
She smiled knowingly. “Romance?”
“Well, yes. I…” He swallowed and bit the inside of his cheek. The last time he’d said those three little words, his heart had snapped in two.
To cover up his fluster, he reached for her shoulders and gently pulled her to him. He buried his face in her hair, sighing in relief when she reciprocated by wrapping her arms around his waist. To touch a woman like this and be touched in return felt wonderful, especially when he cared deeply for her.
Barret was going to kill him when—if—he woke up.
“I love you, Meira,” he whispered.
Although she seemed to have expected him to say the words, she still stiffened against him. He probably never should have said it. He probably should have left her alone to live out the rest of her remaining week and a half without him to bother her, but he couldn’t keep away. A selfish part of him wanted to find happiness with a wife and a family, but… How? How could he convince her to take Life’s power?
He reined in his shadows as far as they would go and dared to kiss the soft spot between her shoulder and neck. Dark power flared alive, so hot it burned his nostrils. He called it back again, but it nipped and clawed at its prison as he pressed another kiss to her jaw. A sigh escaped her parted lips, and when the temptation to give her a real kiss nearly killed him, he groaned into her hair and forced himself to take several deep breaths.
“I really wish I could kiss you,” he murmured, finally braving to meet her beautiful blue gaze, eyes darkened with desire to match his own. “Not to turn you into Life—I have some control over that. But just to kiss you.” He brushed his thumb against her full bottom lip.
“What would happen if you did?” she asked breathlessly.
“You would probably die.”
“Unless Life’s power chooses me and protects me from you.”
“Yes.” He trailed his finger down her cheek, traced the curve of her chin, and lightly brushed her collarbone. A sense of satisfaction filled him when she trembled beneath his touch. Her hand felt soft in his as he lifted it and kissed her knuckles. “Meira, will you become my lady?”
Unlike all the other times he had asked, she didn’t outright refuse him. Color sprang to her cheeks, and he desperately wanted to kiss each side, but to do so would put her at risk of exchanging a breath with him.
His entire body tensed with hope, with desperation, with fear as he waited on her answer.
The moment she lowered her gaze, his hope deflated from his chest, and he dropped her hand. “There is so much more to this than just accepting you, Death. Give me some time to think about it.”
“How much time?” So little of it remained.
“Ask me again after the ball the king is hosting.”
He remained silent as he gazed at the essence of her soul. The king’s ball would take place only two days before she was supposed to die. The thought filled him with immense discomfort. Anything could happen in two days. An accident. A sickness. A murder. But he would respect her wishes.
“Very well.” He refrained from giving into the desire to touch her again, to feel her soft skin beneath his lips. “Allow me to take you back to the castle.”
Chapter 14
Meira lay awake for hours as her mind churned over the day’s events. Ever since Death had arrived in her life, he had done little else than talk about his wonderful friend, Barret, and his unfortunate, untimely end. She recalled the familiar blue eyes that had crinkled at the corners when her father had picked her up and spun her until she laughed.
She vividly remembered the gentle curve of his lips and his soft voice whenever he’d spoken to Mother. How they would cuddle beside the hearth and speak in loving whispers. And she especially remembered the day she found her mother weeping on the floor with a letter in her hands. Reeve had left them. And he hadn’t returned.
He had left her an orange as a treat on the table, along with a brief note of sorrow and love. Meira hadn’t touched the orange, but rather left it to rot until fruit flies filled the entire kitchen. Not too long after he left, she and her mother had been forced to pack up and leave when they couldn’t pay rent. She recalled many freezing cold nights huddled in a thin cloak as they traveled from town to town in search of work. Images of leering men and suggestive whistles burned in her mind. Her mother had killed one of those men. With a kitchen knife.
And then they’d had to run again. At least until they’d found a place with traveling entertainers.
Her glare burned a hole through the darkness of her room. Hatred fanned embers alive within her, a fire she thought she’d put out long ago. Seeing her father again intensified past hurt, especially when he looked as if he had not aged a day. He looked exactly the same as the man in her memory.
