Page 7 of Sequel to the Easter Bunny

“Greedy, insolent—”

Panic pulls explanations from my throat. “I came back. Doesn’t that mean something? If all I wanted was the Power, why would I have come back?”

Juun pauses. The moment’s hesitation is so brief, I could have imagined it.

Her gaze travels over me, but it stops, snagging on the necklace—on the egg charm at my throat.

She reaches for it, and I grab the pendant first, holding tightly.

Refusing her risks her wrath, but, “That was a gift, and I will not let you take it from me.”

Her hand hovers in the air in front of me, sharp nails still red from where they punctured my skin.

“Fine. If you think you’re worthy of him. Prove it.”

My heart is still beating too fast.

Prove it? “How?”

She taps her fingers to her lips and my blood leaves marks on her dark skin. “Perform my trials, and I’ll let you live.”

“Living isn’t enough.” Vague deals leave the gods room to ruin you.

Her brow rises, and she studies me for a long moment before she sits on a bench that forms from the tumbled rock behind her. “What is it you want from me, then?”

“I live and you never bother me again… I’m free to come and go without your interference or anyone else’s.”

“I can’t make promises for the other gods.”

“No… but you can offer the protection of your pledge.” It was a thing I read in one of the books Ari pulled from the tower library.

Always lead with more than you actually want.

Juun sits back sharply.

“No god has offered that since….” she shakes her head as if the memory confused her. “No.”

“Fine. I want to be assured that you will never interfere with me again.”

Her lips twitch as though unspoken words press at the back of them, trying to get free. When she speaks, it is with a shrug, as though she couldn’t care less. “Agreed.”

… as though she knows I’ll never be able to fulfil my end of the bargain.

“What do you require in return for my life and my peace? Which tasks do you require I perform?”

“You will learn what you need to do as you complete the tasks.”

I can’t let her leave the agreement that open ended. “I want to know them now.”

“You don’t get to dictate the terms.”

“Then I want to know how many tasks. I will not be beholden to you forever.”

Her haze narrows, the flames in her eyes stoked at my demands.

“Five,” she says, looking pensive for a moment and then nods. “Five is the perfect number.”

Five is the divine number for some. All the gods come from the five principal gods—well, four of them. Death has no children.

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