Page 24 of Jailer to the Death God
Shit, I lookedthere. I let myself sneak a glimpse at what hangs between those muscular thighs.
It’s long. And um—symmetrical. Attractive. Tempting, one might say.
My gaze snaps back to his face. His eyes are hooded, his mouth tweaked in a half-grin.
“Get in the tub,” I hiss.
He walks toward me, gorgeously naked, and I nearly panic.
“We talked about this, little Queen,” he purrs. “Don’t give me orders. Pray to me, and I may see fit to grant your request.”
“I’ve never been very good at prayers.”
He thumbs my chin. “How about begging? Are you any good at that?”
I move away, under pretense of fetching a washcloth from a drawer. Then I pluck a bar of soap from the dish—cedar and honey, with a hint of cinnamon.
Arawn eases his long, toned body into the water. So tall. Inhumanly tall. Rose’s distraught family bought the story of him as a foreign healer, but I’m not sure how many others will. Perhaps we can convince them that the people of Terelaus are all gigantic.
Eventually the truth about him is going to slip out. And I must have a plan in place for when that happens.
Arawn sinks deeper into the water, inhales sharply, then looks up at me with startled delight.
My grip on the cloth and the soap tightens.
He looksboyish, as well as godlike. I would never have thought the combination possible, and I find it dangerously charming.
“So you rub the soap on the cloth like this, and then you rub the cloth on your skin.” My voice sounds a little breathless despite my best efforts. “Or you can use just the soap. The cloth is better for scrubbing, though. I’m going back to sleep. Enjoy yourself.”
“This feels wonderful.” He doesn’t take the cloth I’m holding out, just stretches to his full length in the water. Large as the tub is, he nearly spans its length. His dark green hair fans out around him. “Stars, I could stay here forever.” His eyes close.
“Hot water is one of the joys of life.” Since his eyes are shut, I allow myself a moment of blatant ogling. He’s beautiful. Unnatural. A form brimming with power over life and death—power I only got a glimpse of at the Pit. He is exquisitely deadly.
I throw the soapy cloth at him, and it slaps onto his upper chest. “I’m going to bed.”
I’m not sure how long he stays in the bath, only that I was asleep and his return to the bed wakes me. I’m in the middle of the bed now, away from the bloodstained part of the sheets. There’s still plenty of room for us to stay apart, no need for our bodies to touch—but he settles in so close to me I can feel the lingering heat of the bath on his skin.
My mind is muddled with sleep, blurry and soft. I shift under the sheets until I’m touching him, my spine aligned with his long arm.
He doesn’t pull away.
When I wake, I’m curled against the death god’s side, under his arm, with my forehead against his ribs and my knees pressing into his hip. The aroma of cedar and honey ghosts from his skin, a delicious blend I inhale with every breath.
Fuzzy and confused, I push myself up to a sitting position.
He’s awake, staring at the ceiling with eyes that glow faintly green. He doesn’t even look at me.
How long has he been awake?
Gods save me, I’ve known him for less than two days, and already I’ve used him as a pillow twice.
They say strangers can become intimate friends much more swiftly during a crisis, and circumstances have shoved Arawn and me together in a way I never anticipated. But I wouldn’t say we’re friends. Wary acquaintances with a side of hostility, maybe. He probably considers me an enemy—and in a way, as the god of death, he is my enemy as well.
He’s certainly no one I want to share a bed with again. Starting today, he will have his own quarters, even if I have to prepare them myself.
But I won’t have the time to prepare them, will I? Because the chief manager usually comes in while I’m snatching a bite of breakfast, and we go over the status of the palace household. After him, the captain of the guard—or an emissary of his—stops by, and then I hurry to the throne room to hear supplicants for an hour or two. Then I make the rounds, checking on the sick guards and servants. Sometimes I ride into the city, passing out medical supplies, food, blankets, and wine from the palace reserves. There are endless little issues to deal with, tasks to complete, reports to hear, documents to read and sign.
The usual work will have to wait, though. This morning I have my meeting with the Council, and then I plan to take Arawn through the palace and have him set a mark on the forehead of everyone he can spare from death. Then we’ll tackle the city, street by street. Perhaps I should have the citizens line the streets with their sick. That would make it easier; he could simply walk between the rows and pass judgment two at a time. But an arrangement like that might also spread infection among people who haven’t contracted the illness yet.
