Page 44 of Bride of Death
Chapter 11
Maliki
I pacethe small living space, too agitated to sleep. Especially after Morpheus mindfucked me with that dream.
Bloody God.
I don’t know him well, our interactions having always been brief. And he’s never drowned me in his power before.
Until tonight.
I shiver, the sensation of sharp vines still slithering along my skin. The hour-long shower I took didn’t help. Neither did the jog I just went on around the village. And the ice bath I took after also did nothing to rid me of the discomfort left behind by his nightmare.
Growling, I rub my hand over my face and resume pacing.
I could try to drink myself into a stupor, but that would leave Sera unguarded.
Not an option.
I heard her calling for “Pip” shortly after returning to her hut. And I’m still waiting for that bastard fae to arrive so I can have some words.
Thus far, nothing.
And Sera is now asleep.
I only know that because I popped over to check on her when things went silent—I expected to find this infamous “Pip.” Then I stayed to ensure Morpheus wasn’t fucking with her dreams. Only after I was sure did I go on my jog.
But now I can’t rest.
Between this “Pip” fucker and Morpheus, I have my hands full with babysitting my little mystery.
I palm the back of my neck and give it a squeeze, my muscles tight with irritation.
That fucking feeling of knives against my skin makes me twitch, too.
I’ve tortured a lot of fae. Maybe Morpheus assumed this was my due. Or perhaps he dug that trap up from some dark place in my mind.
Regardless, I hate this experience.
And I fucking loathe Morpheus.
“You look ready to spar,” a deep voice muses, preceding Hades’s arrival in my personal space.
I turn toward him. “If you’ve come to chastise me, save it. I’m not in the mood.”
He arches a brow. “No, you appear to be in a very different kind of mood. One that usually leads to dark decisions and delicious dealings.”
“I’m not fucking anyone for you tonight,” I tell him through my teeth. “If you want to get off, go find anotherpetto play with.”
“My, but it seems my cousin has thoroughly infuriated you.”
I glare at him. “I mean it, Hades. Fuck. Off.” I know better than to disrespect a God, let alonetheGod of my kingdom, but I’ve had a really long bloody night, my skin is still stinging with the memories of that dream, and I’ve been stuck babysitting a forbidden fruit for the better part of a year.
Yeah, I’m in a bad mood.
And I’m really fucking tired of being treated like a minion. A toy. A fae to be ordered about and discarded without a care.
I resume my pacing, ignoring Hades as he sits on Tank’s couch. It’s a tiny love seat made of faux leather. The God of Death probably looks ridiculous on it, his six-foot-four height and muscular form no doubt overtaking the small furniture. I barely fit on it at six foot two, and I’m a little less bulky than him.
