Page 10 of Bride of Death
“Yes. Irritating, sharp, and inconvenient.” And a complete waste of my time. Glancing around, I make a decision. “Death’s Den is closed. You should leave.”
He follows my gaze, then lifts his arm—which I realize has been concealed by a cloak this whole time. But now I catch sight of tan skin decorated in smokelike ink as he makes a show of checking his wrist.
My heart skips a beat at the sight of those familiar tattoos. The writhing lines remind me of Reaper, my sister’s Death Fae mate.
He’s psychotic. Deadly. And utterly obsessed with Alina.
Good thing, too. Because if he wasn’t, he would be terrifying.
Which doesn’t bode well for me now.
If Ghost is anything like Reaper, I’m in big trouble.
“I can smell your fear,” Ghost murmurs, his golden irises flickering up at me. “I warned you not to flirt with your patrons, mystery. Do you enjoy blood?”
I stare at him. “Are you going to pay for those drinks?”
His brow furrows, his gaze dropping to the glass on the counter before slowly returning to me. “Maybe. Maybe not. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Then I don’t know if you’re a patron of the bar or not,” I tell him. “So your warning is null and void.” Not that I was flirting with him.
Fear him, however, yes, I do.
But I refuse to admit that aloud.
I moved away from my sister and her mates because I need to be able to survive here on my own.
And that includes handling fae like Ghost.
This is all just part of the territory of being a human in a supernatural kingdom.
I can do this.
I have to do this.
I will do this.
The mantra is one I’ve repeated several times over the last few weeks, and I do so again now as Ghost grins.
“I like you, Sera,” he informs me as he slides off his stool. “It’s a shame our next meeting won’t be as enjoyable.” He pulls out several obsidian coins and sets them on the counter.
They spin like all the money in this kingdom does and disappear into some sort of enchanted vault in the back.
I guess he’s a customer now,I grouse to myself.Not that it matters.
“When you see me again, try to remember that you chose the hard way,” he adds, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans as his cloak rustles around his broad shoulders. “I tried to be a gentleman, and you refused. What happens next isn’t my fault, yeah?”
He doesn’t give me a chance to reply. Just vanishes into a cloud of smoke—one that flows toward me and wraps around my throat like a noose. It tightens, only to dissipate into a light mist against my skin before disappearing into the air.
The scent of leather and fiery embers tickles my nose, and I kind of hate that I like the smell.
“Blasted fae,” I mutter to myself. They’re all so hypnotic and sensual andplayful.
Yet something about this one was different. Most of the males just ask me out on a date or broadcast their abilities to protect me in their kingdom.
Ghost did neither of those things.
Instead, he insinuated that I’m already claimed.
