by Karina Halle
No one is paying attention. Lovia is eating and Surma and Kalma are talking about something. But Death, of course he’s been watching me. Studying me. The hair at the back of my neck begins to rise, as if his gaze is getting more intense, then heat starts to build between my legs, making me squeeze my thighs together.
Holy shit. What was that?
I look away from Death and down at the wine. He couldn’t have made me feel that just by looking at me, could he have?
There it is again. A sharp ache where all the blood is rushing to my core and I’m shifting in my seat, trying to get rid of this very unwanted rush of desire.
Death suddenly gets to his feet, tossing a napkin on the table. “I think our guest of honor may have had too much to drink,” he says.
I stare at him, my body wavering slightly. Maybe I am pretty drunk. Maybe it’s not him at all and it’s the wine that’s making me aroused. Wouldn’t be the first time alcohol has done that to me.
Death walks over to me and before I can protest, he’s grabbing me by my arms pulling me up to my feet with ease. I rock back and forth on my heels, wooziness sweeping over me, but he holds me in place, his grip strong.
Lovia gets up too and Raila floats forward out of the darkness, but Death just raises his palm. “I will take her safely to her room. The rest of you remain here, I’ll be back in a moment.”
He puts his arm around my waist and then I’m practically swept out of the dining room and into the hall. I try to fight him off, but I’m drunker than I thought.
“I’m not too drunk,” I protest.
“But you are,” he says smoothly, leading me up the steps. “And while I don’t mind you getting out of your head for a little bit, being drunk can be dangerous here. You must always keep your wits about you.”
“Why?” I ask. “Who am I to be wary of? You, or someone else?”
I think back to Harma’s words. I am your ally.
But is she really? Or is she a trap?
I decide to not mention it, regardless.
“You should always be wary of me,” he says. “But I am not the biggest threat to your life. And while I can protect you, I’m still not decided on if I should.”
We round the staircase and go down the hall to my room. The further we go, the more I relax into his hold. His presence is so overwhelming, I nearly feel stunned in his grasp. Maybe I’m just drunk, maybe he’s got some natural power over me, some sort of pheromones that smell like a bonfire on the beach.
Don’t succumb to Death, I tell myself. It’s counteractive to living.
He brings me to my door and unlocks it and I try to see where on his person he puts the key.
“Ah,” he says. “If you’re planning to steal a key from me, you have to be more subtle than that.”
He pushes the door open and then presses me against the frame. I feel so tiny and frail with his huge body lording over me, that black shiny wolf mask reflecting candlelight. And try as I might, I still can’t see his eyes.
“I just want to see your eyes,” I tell him, my words slurring.
“Is that so?” he says in a rumbling voice. “What else do you want to see?”
I may be drunk, but I know when I’m picking up on innuendo.
“Whatever you want me to,” I answer. Too boldly.
I feel the heat of his stare as it passes over my face, down my neck, to my chest. My nipples harden under my bodice. That pinch of desire hits me again and my mouth opens slightly, a small gasp emitting. Good lord, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I’m actually wanting something to happen between us.
“And what can I see in exchange?” he’s practically purring now. It makes me want to shiver. “What can I have? Hanna,” he whispers, drawing out my name as he reaches for my neck and trails a gloved finger down my throat, “you are playing a game with me, aren’t you? I just don’t know if you’re ready for the game.”
I swallow as he presses his thumb against me. If I were sober, there’s no way I would feel so brave, would walk so willingly forward into this. There’s a chance I’m drugged, that there was something in the wine, or that his mind has the power to make me feel things whether I want to or not.
Fuck, I hate it, but right now I want to.
Badly.
I squirm again.
“You can have whatever you want,” I whisper, my words choked.
“When?”
“Now?”
God, I want it now.
He shakes his head and I hear him chuckle. “You don’t get to decide any of this, little bird.” His hand drops to my waist and he leans in close, so close that I can see his eyes beneath the mask. The whites are bright, his irises gray. They hold me in place, like I’m stuck in their gravitational pull.
His eyes are dangerously beautiful.
“Like it or not, you’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice thick and husky and brimming of promise. “But if you choose to like it, you might even love it.”
His hands now trail up over my breasts, his sheathed fingers delicately rubbing along my hardened nipples, making my breath hitch sharply. I can’t look away from his eyes, the way they shine like the moon in the dark depths of the mask.
“Now, I want you to spend the night on that bed,” he says, quietly commanding. “Naked. On all fours. Your ass in the air. I will come for you when I feel like it. You will not turn around, you will not look at me. You will take whatever I give you and you will take it well. Do you understand?”
Oh Jesus.
I nod. I’m drunk, still lost in his feral stare, and I’m nodding. It scares me and it’s dangerous and yet, right now, it’s exactly what I want.
He straightens up, the connection between us severed, and gestures for me to go in my room. “Fly along to sleep, little bird. I shall wake you soon.”
I stagger inside and then I’m alone.
* * *
* * *
I’ve never been more awake in my life.
The entire castle is silent, except for the occasional gust of wind against the panes, and the far-off pounding of waves against the rocky shoreline below. My own heart makes the most noise of all, like a drummer on a tangent, filling my head and ears with a shaky rhythm.
I’m lying on my stomach, on the bed, just like Death asked me to. I’m wearing the nightgown, but it’s comfortably covering my ass which also isn’t in the air. After he escorted me to my room and warned me what was going to happen, I’ve been a barrel of nerves, torn between wanting to rebel and wanting to comply. I think I’ve come to some place in the middle, though I don’t feel good about it.
Tonight, Death showed a charming side of him. To see the way he interacts with his daughter was heartening, and I really could see the love between them. I know he would do anything for her, and even if all she wants to do is run away, I know she looks up to him greatly. And the way he came to my defense whenever Surma said anything was both appreciated and surprising.
But then all the deflating talk about being his prisoner came up.
And I got drunk and agreed to some midnight tryst, my hormones absolutely on fire and taking over all rational thought.
And now, to know that he’s going to come into my room in the middle of the night and most likely have sex with me, is pushing everything onto a whole other level. I know I told him that I would do anything in order to have my father free and I know I have to uphold that end of the bargain. I just didn’t think that would happen so soon. I’m not uptight about sex, I know what I want, I love the male (and female) body, I love the wanton pleasure of it all, and I love the power that comes with it, the power over someone else, the ability to make their eyes roll back in their head.
And yes, I’ve had sex with strangers, guys whose name I never knew, whose face I’ve forgotten, and it’s never been a big deal. But the difference was, I pursued them. I wanted them. Right now, Death has all the control in the world, right down to the exact position he wants me to be in when he comes in.
>
Naturally, I took advantage of having Bell in my room and through hushed words and drunk whispers while I sat beneath the fish tank, she tried to give me advice. Mermaids take sexual freedom to a whole new level, that’s for sure, and she can’t really understand my problem, I guess because she knows Death intimately already. But she made sure that I knew I could still have control. I didn’t have to hand all the cards to him. I could go into it wanting it.
I just don’t know how that’s possible now that the wine has worn off. Yes, there is a teensy tiny part of my libido that finds this all intriguing, but it’s the same reason why my nipples got hard around him. He gives off this strange energy, I don’t know if it’s all the danger, power and uncertainty, but it crackles between us. Maybe he just smells good. Maybe he’s just a big guy and while the most I’ve actually seen of his body is his hand…it’s a good hand
Aside from the immediate death aspect of it.
Whatever works, I tell myself, fidgeting on the bed. Whatever works.
I’m just glad that I put a towel over the fish tank, much to Bell’s disappointment. While she obviously has no problems with watching Death have his way with me, I don’t want her witnessing this…whatever this is.
I move my face to the side and take in a deep breath, staring out the window. I was hoping to see the stars because that would mean that Death forgot all about me and is asleep, but it’s as misty as ever.
The sound of a lock in a key fills the room.
Oh god.
He’s here.
I keep my face where it is, remembering his instructions. I don’t dare look over my shoulder. A faint splash of light moves across the room as the door opens and then closes, latching shut.
I close my eyes.
I hear his heavy footfall as he slowly walks across my room, his strides deliberate and purposeful, his boots echoing. He gets closer and closer until I feel his presence right behind me at the foot of the bed.
He exhales, low and deep, and I hear a buckle being undone, perhaps his belt buckle.
Oh god.
I swallow, my heart in my throat, and try my best to keep it together.
“You’re not complying with my wishes,” Death says in a rough voice that sends a shiver down my spine. “Perhaps I should have made it more of a command.” The bed shakes a little as I know he’s pressing himself against it. My mouth goes dry with fear. “I wanted you naked with your ass in the air. You’re not doing either of those things.”
Yeah. And I’m not drunk anymore. So go fuck yourself.
I want to turn around and try to claw his eyes out. I want to kick him where it hurts. I want to use all the fight I have in me to try and destroy him. I want to feel power that I don’t possess.
But I know it will do me no good. Bell is right in that there is only one way out of this. I can’t fight Death off, I can’t escape from his castle—yet. It can only happen in due time, when I learn to play the game right. So far, I’m not doing a very good job of it.
And so I push up so my ass is in the air, and I pull the white nightgown over my body, slipping it over my arms until I’m completely bare in front of him.
And I wait, holding my breath, my entire body feeling frozen in place.
Death inhales sharply. I take some comfort in that, in that he likes what he sees.
It’s all that I have to barter for my life with.
I hear the metal of the buckle again and then feel him lean forward. He gently places his hands on the back of my thighs. I jump, startled at his touch. His gloves feel like leather and when he gets a better grip, they make a stiff groaning sound that reverberates around the room. It’s strangely erotic, like the sound of a leather whip before it cracks.
His hands then tighten against my skin, and he’s sliding them up, up, until they’re cupping my ass, spreading my legs in slow increments and my eyes are pinched shut, wishing my body would just give in and relax.
But then he pauses.
A low grumbling noise emits from his chest.
He removes his hands from my thighs and then I feel him press his palm against my spine.
“You’re trembling,” he says in a hush. “Why are you trembling?”
I didn’t even notice. I thought I was frozen in place, but instead my limbs are shaking uncontrollably. So much for pretending to not be afraid, so much for taking agency.
“Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you?” he murmurs, running his gloved hand over my spine. “Do you think that’s what I want to do?”
I can’t answer him. I bury my face into the blankets, wishing all of this would go away.
“You do,” he says after a moment. “You disappoint me, Hanna. You think that because I am the God of Death, that it is the same as a God of Pain. I promise you, I am not here to make you hurt, little bird. Any creature can inflict pain in the name of conquest and self-pleasure. It takes no skill, no intelligence, no courage, nor no strength to only take, leaving suffering behind. To cause pain is the mark of an idiot, one without a true sense of self, a life coming together to signify nothing.”
He takes in a deep breath, his fingers skirting down over my ass, his touch light and delicate. “Here I thought we were on the same page, my dear. I thought in your gumption and your boldness, that perhaps you wanted this. But no. I’ve caught a look in your eyes in which I am seeing only what I want to see.”
I feel the heat of his body pull away and then his gloved hands leave me.
“My apologies, Hanna,” he says gruffly. “You are not who I thought you were. You do not want what I thought you wanted.”
Then I hear the sound of a buckle fastening, a low exhale of breath, and then the sound of his boots as they walk away, sounding less ominous than before.
It isn’t until the door closes and I hear that lock and key that I collapse onto the bed, wondering what will become of me now.
Chapter 15
The Library of the Veils
“Another snowstorm,” Bell says from her tank, waking up for the day. “Sheesh, you really did a number on him, didn’t you?”
I stare outside my window, leaning my head on the frozen glass. Outside, snowflakes are swirling violently in the sky. I can barely make out the far-off mountains, their jagged peaks faint in the blowing white, while the angry gray sea crashes against the icy rocks below, as if it’s lashing out punishment.
It’s been like this for days, ever since Death left my room in the middle of the night. I haven’t seen him, so I can’t take personal responsibility for the change in the weather, but I can’t help but feel it’s my fault.
Not that I’m feeling bad that I left him with blue balls. But I do feel strange about it all. I did talk a big game. I teased. I acted a certain way and then at the last minute I felt all courage and bravado leave me. In the end, I was just plain scared.
And yes, I was scared that he would hurt me. He says he’s not the God of Pain, but I’m also his prisoner, everyone tells me he hates mortals, he also did threaten me with an eternity of terror, basically, so why wouldn’t I think he’d physically hurt me and take whatever he wanted with impunity?
But what has me feeling strange about it all is how quickly he backed off the moment he realized I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t expecting that. I was expecting much worse, or at best, a guilt trip. I’ve been guilted by guys before when I told them I wasn’t sleeping with them, and while I’ve been lucky that they all sulked off and managed to deal with their bruised egos and libidos in other ways, I didn’t think that would be the case with Death. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m his prisoner and possession for eternity, I could almost call him a gentleman.
Almost.
“Maybe if you give him a blow-job, we can actually get some sun for a day or two,” Bell chirps, drumming her tiny hands along the side of the tank. “Those sweetvines don’t taste as sweet without the rays.”
I sigh and straighten up off the window, walking over to Bell. I’m bored in the prison of my room.
I haven’t seen Death, I haven’t seen Lovia. Raila comes in with my food, which I appreciate, and sometimes she bathes me, (which, I know, it’s weird, but I’m actually liking it) but she doesn’t stay long. It’s just been me and Bell, and while I like having Bell as company, we’re on totally different wavelengths. I don’t know if mermaids are born with this eternally sunny disposition, but despite the fact that she herself is also a prisoner of Death, who has been shrunken in size and put into a god damn fish tank, she thinks I should be having the time of my life.
Case in point: to her, blow jobs bring sunshine.
I mean, sometimes they do.
“Hard to give someone a blow job when they aren’t here,” I tell her, plopping down on the chaise lounge. “And anyway, that’s out of the question,” I say quickly, even as a certain image floods my brain. I obviously don’t know what Death looks like naked, and while he should look gruesome in theory, I’ve seen only his hand and my imagination is building everything based on that hand. It was strong, wide, capable, its tone honey-colored, like he spends most days under the sun. His fingers were long, quick and slender, hinting at dexterity, his knuckles big, suggesting he has the punch of a hammer. The silver lines of pulsing light etched on him just add more intrigue. Are they on his dick too?
Good lord, I need to clear my head. Apparently, this is what happens when you’re cooped up in your room for too long, you start waxing poetic about a hand.
“You need to get out of this place, Hanna,” Bell says. “I mean it. And unless you start playing the game—”
“He knows about the game, Bell,” I interject. “You heard him the other night. He knows I’ve been playing it and he especially knows it now since I couldn’t follow through.”
“You are allowed to change your mind,” she says quietly.
“I know that,” I tell her.
“He knows that too,” she says. I glance at her, and she widens her aquamarine Barbie-doll eyes. “What?”