Page 25 of A Waltz with Lord Death
Breathing heavily, he relinquished his hold of his weapon. Starting from the tip of the sword, the onyx melted into shadows and slithered back into his body. He turned to find Meira staring at him with wide eyes.
“You…” Her whisper caused dread to wash over him, collecting in his heart like a pile of anxious raindrops when he was certain she would tell him off. “You saved my life.”
Shock overtook him as she rushed into his arms and held him tight around his waist. Warmth encompassed his entire body as he gazed down at her. He loved this woman. More than he ever thought he could love another person. But she had chosen a different path. One that didn’t involve him.
He wanted so much to claim her as his. Forever. Why was he so torn between getting close to her and distancing himself?
He cleared his throat and stepped away, avoiding looking her in the eye. “Come. I promised to deliver you safely to the palace, and I intend to keep my word.”
****
The energy shifted between them, and not in a good way. Death refused to look Meira’s way, and he hardly spoke a word to her except instructing her on which dagger to take from which body. He also refused to touch the weapon because he wanted her to have one that was sharp rather than one dull and tarnished from his power.
They located a pack of skittish horses that must have belonged to the ruffians, nervous at Death’s approach. One of the creature’s ears turned back as he placed a hand on her waist, another hand beneath her boot, and hoisted her into the saddle. But in the process, his fingers brushed against the saddle strap, and in moments, the leather aged and snapped.
She shrieked in surprise as the saddle slipped sideways. She tumbled off and latched onto the first thing within reach, which happened to be him. Together, they plummeted into the snow, white powder kicking up and frosting their faces in a frigid plume. She choked back an icy cloud for the second time in two days. Snow clung to Death’s hair and eyebrows, a shocked expression on his own face as he stared up at her from where she accidentally pinned him down.
A bubble of amusement rose to her throat, and not able to help herself, laughter escaped. He quickly followed suit, a deep rumble echoing within the caverns of his soul.
When their laughter died down, she smiled and admired the way his mouth curved upward for her and only for her.
Her breath hitched when he lifted his hand and trailed his fingers through her hair, a softness in his gaze. “At least I didn’t touch the horse. There are more horrible things to get crushed by than a beautiful dame.”
Heat blazed in her cheeks when she realized she still pinned him down. She leaped to her feet and smoothed her clothing. Fancying Death was not at all wise. She needed to focus on the here and now. Soon, she would meet with the king, and she had to put all romantic notions aside.
As if akin to her thoughts, he helped her a second time onto the saddle of a different horse, though he didn’t touch anything but her. They began walking in silence. Snow crunched beneath the horse’s hooves. A small wind whistled past every minute or so.
A single question prodded at her, and she couldn’t help her curiosity as she asked, “What happens when a mortal wins a duel?”
Death’s expression soured. “He or she gains the power as their own.”
“But what about the person who killed Barret?”
His nose twitched in a snarl as if recalling the incident. “I killed him before Barret’s power passed to him, which meant it passed to me instead. It lies dormant within me, unable to be used until I find another host.”
“And what makes a good host?”
What makes me special enough to be capable of holding the power of Life? I’m nothing more than a fake. A phony.
“This.” He pointed to her heart.
“You have to be mistaken.” She stared somberly down at her frigid hands, a numbness slowly crawling into her fingers.
A fake. A phony. A cheat.
As if reading her thoughts, he shook his head. “There is a spark within you, a light that gives you away. I spotted it in a crowd when I entered Baywick and proceeded to follow you into your shop.”
Her mouth twitched upon remembering their meeting. “Did I ever apologize for swiping at you with the fire poker?”
“No. But I will add it to your ongoing tallies of misdemeanors.”
An unladylike snort escaped her as she gently shoved him with her foot. The teasing coaxed another smile out of him. She liked his smile. Butterflies fluttered in its wake, tangling her stomach into beautiful knots and—
“Miss!” someone shouted, startling her out of her thoughts. Her head snapped up to find three soldiers riding quickly in her direction. She recognized the blond hair and scruff of a soldier who had been in her party earlier. Thank the stars he’d made it out with his life.
When they reached her, they fussed over her far too much, assessing her for injuries. One of them, the one part of her party, draped a thick cloak over her shoulders, which helped considerably with keeping the chill out of her bones.
“We are relieved to find you unharmed,” the blond soldier said. “When we didn’t find you among the dead, we feared they had taken you.”
