River of Shadows

by Karina Halle

  I hear him swallow, lick his lips. “Yes,” he eventually says. Even though there was one hell of a pause there, I believe him when he says it.

  “I think I’m owed that much,” I add quietly.

  “Fine.” To my surprise he lets go of me and steps back, putting his hands on either side of the skull. “You’re right. I don’t like to compromise, but you’re right. You give yourself to me, I give nothing back to you. I wear the mask to intimidate, to create mystery, but with you…well, I’ll have to take my chances that you’ll still show me some respect.”

  I want to tell him that I never showed respect in the first place but I keep my mouth shut.

  He lifts the skull off of his head.

  I gasp.

  “Hideous, aren’t I?” he asks with a smirk.

  That smirk is there because he knows what I’m looking at, he knows who he is.

  He’s the opposite of hideous.

  He’s fucking gorgeous.

  And, of course, Death would be. How could anyone think otherwise? How could Death be anything else but utterly seductive?

  Death’s skin is tawny and smooth, with full lips that I’ve felt on every inch of my body, a strong jaw with a rugged beard, which I’ve felt too. His cheekbones are high and his eyes are mesmerizing, even more so when I can see them without the darkness of the mask. They’re hypnotic-looking, deep set, with thick dark lashes rimming his eyes so it looks like he’s wearing ebony eyeliner. His brows are arched and black, framing the dark gray of his eyes which seem to go from charcoal to silver to pewter all while I’m staring at him, his pupils contracting and dilating.

  Then there is his hair. It’s long, black, tied back in a man bun.

  Death has a man bun.

  Words I never thought I’d think.

  He’s hot as fuck.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “You’re very hideous.”

  And then suddenly he’s on me, covering my lips with his, and my world is blown apart because he’s kissing me for the first time, a deep, searing kiss that makes my toes curl, his tongue moving into me like second skin.

  Holy shit.

  This is it.

  The kiss of Death.

  And, fuck, I want more.

  Apparently he does too.

  We attack each other. He’s ripping off my clothes and I’m trying to rip off his. It’s an unbalanced battle because I’m just wearing a flimsy nightgown and he has layers upon layers and I can barely get through them before I’m dropping the candle. It falls to the ground, the flames lighting the rug on fire, and then he’s ripping off his shirt and throwing it on the rug to put it out.

  Then he’s grabbing me and practically throwing me down so that I’m on the floor too, on my back, and he’s looming over me.

  Like a God. Like a fucking God.

  He grins at me, a cocky twist of his lips, a quirk of his brow, and I should have known he would have such a beautifully arrogant face under his masks.

  He rips off his shirt.

  Then his pants.

  Until he’s only wearing the gauntlets.

  For the first time I see him completely naked and…

  And I am speechless.

  His body is magnificent, seven feet of pure muscle mass on perfectly smooth skin. I already knew that his shoulders were broad, that his waist tapered, but seeing it in the flesh is something else. His chest is sculpted and wide, his abs a washboard eight-pack, with those perfect V muscles carving a path south over his hips. His arms and forearms are massive, rippling with untold strength. Then there are his muscled thighs, full of definition. Do thick thighs save lives when you’re talking about Death?

  And accenting his warrior body, the glowing pewter lines are everywhere, except for his face and his dick.

  Speaking of his dick, it’s perfect. I knew it would be considering how he’s been using it on me, but yes, it’s the cock of a God. Thick, long and straight-up, his balls hefty enough to provide some counterbalance.

  I can’t stop staring. I might even be drooling.

  “I don’t blame you for taking your time,” Death muses with another wry smile, his eyes dancing in both levity and lust. “I often look at myself in the mirror that way.”

  “What do the lines mean?” I ask when I find my voice.

  He drops to his knees, his dick bobbing. “They represent everyone who has died. They pulse when a new soul leaves. They pulse all the time, and they have for most of my life. Death never, ever stops. These runes remind me of my role in this world and all the others.”

  He grabs my thighs with his gloves and spreads my legs wide.

  “Does it hurt?” I whisper, letting him handle me anyway he wants.

  “It did,” he says, clearing his throat. “But you get used to things.” He grins at me salaciously. “This view, however, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

  He positions himself between my thighs, slowly stroking his cock with his gloved fist, holding back. I bite my lip, watching him, wanting him. The sight of him like this, on the precipice of giving in, is something to savor.

  His brows furrow, a deep crease between them, his lips curling slightly, jaw tight, and I can tell he wants to push up inside me and go nuts, that it’s taking a lot of restraint for him to control himself. For once. Usually he just lets himself loose but now, with his mask off, both of us facing each other like this, naked, it feels different.

  Intimate.

  Vulnerable.

  Raw.

  His nostrils flare and his breath hitches as he guides his cock between my legs, rubbing the thick head against me, already slick with precum.

  I let out a gasp. My nerves respond with shivers down my spine, my legs spreading further, craving him inside me. My hips buck up, fueled by an intense type of desperation.

  The corner of his lips quirk up in a smile as his gaze skims over my body, leaving little licks of flame in its wake, a look of awe in his eyes. He shakes his head, letting out a trembling breath. “You are mine, little bird,” he whispers gruffly. “No one else’s but mine. You’ve seen what happens to those that try to take you? Try to touch you? They get touched by me.”

  He reaches out with his hand, a gloved fingertip brushing over my lower lip, my mouth parting for him. “Anyone who harms you will be no more, that is my promise to you.”

  He leans forward, capturing my mouth with his lips, and I’m kissing him back, lost to the ruthless tide as he starts to shove his cock inside me.

  Fuck.

  I’m already so wet and ravenous for him, yet there’s a pinch of pain as he pushes himself inside, until it slowly melts away into pleasure. I’m so damn tight when he’s crammed inside me like this that I feel like a virgin all over again and it’s getting hard to breathe.

  “Oh,” I cry out through a ragged breath, trying to inhale, but the feelings are too much and I’m drowning in them.

  Death responds in kind. He lets out a raw moan against my mouth before pulling back and sucking in a deep, shaking breath. “Fairy girl, your cunt is so tight, I think you might be trying to kill me.”

  He gazes down at me with unpolished intensity and in his carnal gray eyes, I see the Death I’ve always wanted to see. No mask separating us here, nothing but skin on skin and our bodies that fit together like puzzle pieces. The way he pushes his cock in, slowly, inch by agonizing inch, makes my head loll on the floor, my mouth falling open in a breathy moan.

  Pure bliss. This is the most decadent, indulgent pleasure I’ve ever felt.

  “Fuck,” Death swears, his cock shoved in to the hilt. He exhales, his breath shuddering, making me shake beneath him, and he reaches out to grab my chin as he gazes at me. “This is what I’ve been missing. This is what I should have been seeing. This. You. Your face as you surrender.”

  I can’t help but grin, my cheeks flushing with heat.

  “Don’t be self-conscious,” he reprimands me, eyes gleaming. “I might have to punish you for it.”

  “You know I
can take it,” I manage to say, my voice thick, throaty, relishing the feeling of him so deep inside me. I reach down and grab his ass, all powerful muscle, and pull him into me so that he sinks even deeper.

  God, yes.

  He groans so loud that I feel the vibrations in my bones, the sound lighting me up, spurring all the desire inside me. We’re moving too slowly and I’m suddenly insatiable for him. I want him to fuck me, devour me, ravage me. I’m his prisoner, I’m his captive, I’m here to be fucked senseless. This is the one time I have no problems giving up power. Hell, I don’t even give it up, I readily shove it into his hands, wanting him to do his worst to me.

  I want to take it all.

  “I like it when you’re hungry,” he says in a husky voice. “I like how feral you become. There are so many sides to you, Hanna, I want to see them all come alive when I’m fucking you this deep.”

  He pulls back, bracketing me between his massive arms, his muscles straining as he pushes himself in again, even deeper this time.

  Fuck!

  I try to watch, taking it all in like a show, even though my eyes keep pinching shut with each violent thrust. He’s fucking magnificent. The way his body is so perfect, his muscles larger than life, showcasing the pulsing runes of light that make him glow like the god he is.

  Then his hips slam into me, hard, and I gasp, my fingers curling around the rug beneath me, and my eyes close as I let all the sensations wash over me like a tidal wave. The feel of his thickness inside me, his ragged breath as he powers through. The room fills with the smell of our sex, musky and intoxicating.

  His rhythm increases, the pace getting faster, messier, his cock sliding along every coiled part of me. From the intense look on his face, his dark brows knitted together, the moans that are falling from his wet mouth, he’s as lost to the sensations as I am.

  He spears me with his eyes, holding me hostage in their pewter gaze, until it almost feels like staring into the sun, like it’s too much for one person to handle.

  Like there’s too much danger at stake.

  Because of course there is.

  I’m being fucked by Death.

  All it takes is for him to get carried away, to get careless and lose control, and for a glove to slip off.

  That would be the end of me.

  The thought makes me tense, fear striking me in the heart.

  As if sensing this, he reaches over and gathers my wrists together, moving them above my head, pinning them there. He holds me in place with his gauntlets, grip tight, as he pistons his hips faster. They slam into me, knocking the air from my lungs, relentless. The rug starts moving backward on the floor.

  “Fuck me,” I whisper, breathless. I have to look away from his eyes, they’re wanting so much from me right now, not just my body but my soul.

  Right now, I’ll give it to him.

  I’ll give him everything to keep feeling like this.

  Through sex with Death, I’ve never felt more alive.

  It’s the act of creation coupled with the act of destruction.

  It’s us, as undefinable as we are.

  But there is an us here.

  My eyes fall closed, letting the fear go, succumbing to every feeling; The rough fabric of the rug on my spine, the night air as it cools my flushed skin, the sound of his raspy breath, the squeeze of his cock as he thrusts inside me without mercy, again and again and again.

  “Look at me, fairy girl. I want you to know who’s fucking you this ruthlessly.”

  My eyes open and the look on his face has intensified, his forehead creased in concentration. For a moment, I can’t believe this is happening, that this man—no, this God—with his impeccable body, and those glowing rune tattoos that speak for all lives lost, is fucking me like this. Ruthless to the core.

  “I want you to fly,” Death says through a rough grunt as his body thoroughly works me, every muscle clenched and strained. “I want to see your sweet face as you spread your wings, little bird.”

  He reaches down between my thighs and starts rubbing my clit in rough, slippery circles.

  Oh god.

  My God.

  “Don’t stop,” I cry out softly, my legs spreading wider for him. He lets go of my wrists and I reach up and grab his ass harder this time, until he’s in so tight there isn’t a centimeter of space between us.

  He growls, determined to get me off, possessed by our raw desire, fingering me and fucking me with such intensity that the room seems to glow with our energy, as if we have the power of a thousand starstones.

  “Oh god, don’t stop,” I say again. He grunts loudly in my ear and his skilled fingers play with my clit in a figure eight. His cock drives in deeper, as if he’s about to impale me to the floor.

  The pressure inside me builds and I feel like I’m moments from going over the edge and falling. He covers my lips with his, pulling me into a wet and messy kiss, fucking my mouth as thoroughly as he fucks me with his dick. Then he brings his head down to my breasts, licking at them, sucking in my nipples until I feel like my world is about to be blown wide open.

  “Little bird,” Death says thickly, just as my orgasm reaches for me. “Fly away now.”

  The God of Death just obliterated me.

  “Oh fuck!” I cry out. I come hard. I’m drowning. Back arched, limbs shaking, heart trying to burst through my chest. The wave doesn’t end, it just keeps coming for me, over and over again, and I can barely focus. Once again there’s the slight fear that he may have just sent me to Oblivion but luckily that feeling fades and all I feel is sated bliss.

  Death growls, brings his large gloved hands down to my hips, holding me in place as he fucks into his release, the movements wild and brutal. Then he throws his head back, his throat exposed, eyes rolling back, and he’s coming with a long, uninhibited groan.

  “Fuck,” he groans, gasping for air. “You undo me, Hanna. I am undone.”

  I grin lazily, watching as the orgasm rips through his body, just as it ripped through mine. He really is completely undone. His muscles gleam with sweat from his own exertion, his man bun has come loose, letting his long, jet-black hair over his shoulders, his mouth open and wet, his chest heaves as he tries to regain his breath.

  What the fuck just happened? We have to be thinking the same thing, because though the sex before was amazing, it wasn’t anything like this.

  This was…soul-rendering.

  With a long, slow shuddering exhale, he looks down at me, and in his eyes I see peace and I have to wonder how often he feels that way.

  Then our lives start sliding back into place.

  The God of Death and his prisoner.

  Yet even as Death pulls out of me and I can feel the distance come between us, I know that something has changed. I don’t know what it means for me, or for him.

  But the game we’re playing just got a little more real.

  A little more life or death.

  Chapter 19

  The Garden

  The sun is shining.

  I can barely believe my eyes. Instead of Raila waking me up, there’s a shaft of shimmering sunlight on my face, coming in through the window.

  I smile, my eyes closed, my sight glowing red behind my eyelids, and I’m trying to remember the name of the Sun Goddess. If she’s anything like Kuutar, she’s got to be beautiful. I’m picturing a woman of gold, a woman I didn’t realize I’d missed until she was gone. I’m such a California girl.

  Then again, this time I’m pretty sure the sunshine is all my doing.

  I wake up and look over, feeling only mild disappointment when I realize I’m alone. It’s not that I expected Death to stay the night with me, but after last night I thought there would be a little more intimacy between us.

  Then my eyes fly open as I remember what happened.

  The way that Surma tried to kill me.

  The way that Death killed him.

  The way he threw off his mask and kissed me so thoroughly I thought I might die from it.


  Perhaps he didn’t stay the whole night, but he did let me see him for who he really is, no threatening facades. Just a deadly handsome God.

  Don’t get carried away by a pretty face, I tell myself. The deadliest things are usually the most beautiful. He is no exception.

  I sigh and get out of bed. I feel invigorated from last night, from being with Death, from freeing Bell, and yes, even from Surma’s death, as morbid as that sounds, and the sun feels like it’s charging my bones. I go to the wardrobe and pick out a simple dress then slip on my boots. I want to be outside for this, to soak up every ounce of sunlight. I have no idea how long it will last, because I have no idea how long I will last here. The thing between Death and I? It could go away in a second.

  Of course, I’m still a prisoner at Shadow’s End, so going for a long stroll is out of the question. However, I have noticed the garden, a walled area of trees and plants and flowers between the two main buildings of the castle. I can probably go there without breaking any rules or bending any wards.

  I head downstairs, passing the creepy Deadhands as I go. They stare at me and I wish I knew what they were thinking. Do they even have brains? Do they have lives? Are the same as the Deadmaidens in that they remember the people they once were? Do they miss those people, those lives? Is this what they thought death would be like?

  But I don’t have the nerve to try and talk to them. They might serve Death, but the last skeleton dead guy I had a run-in with ended up with him getting killed. Death was right when he said there were those that couldn’t be trusted in this castle. I have to wonder who else there is pretending to serve him. Because if not him, who are they serving? The Old Gods? Louhi?

  While I ponder that, I have to go through the kitchen to get to the garden, and I pass Pyry, the Deadmaiden cook in her black garb, already making breakfast.

  She’s not alone. Harma in her red veil is with her and they seem like they’re whispering about something, stopping abruptly when they see me. If they’re speaking telepathically, it’s not like I’d hear them anyway.

  I give them an awkward wave. “I’m just going to the garden,” I tell them. “Finally a sunny day, Pyry. Hopefully the plants will take advantage.”