Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles #2)(54)

I narrowed my gritty eyes. “Why do you hate me so much?” I noticed Lark was listening intently, acting like she was absorbed with rearranging her pack.

“Because I know what you are.” He clasped the hilt of his sword as if he could barely refrain from attacking me. “You have others fooled, but I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Then tell me what I’m really like.”

“You’re selfish, weak, cowardly, and disloyal. You blame Fauna for her duplicity when you are no better, a seductress who lures men to their doom.”

I strained against my bindings, wishing I had power left. “Was I weak when my vines were dragging you down to a hellish end? Was I cowardly and disloyal when I fought to avenge my friends?”

“Your friends—or the mortal you professed to love?”

“Both.”

Death’s lips curled. “Deveaux wouldn’t have wanted you if he’d known what you were truly like. He wouldn’t have bedded you, and he certainly wouldn’t have given his life for you. Yet another you doomed.”

I’ll spend my limited time left doing what I want . . . Jack’s voice, his grin as he said it . . .

Limited. He’d died three nights later.

All my fault. I should have sent him away. Because I hadn’t, a strong, proud man was gone.

Death was right. I was weak and selfish.

I turned away, lying with my back to him, casting my mind back to the last moments I’d seen Jack. As if I were in that mine, I could feel the rocks hitting the water, punches to my stomach. Boulders had plummeted—well before Ogen intensified his attack.

Flattened like a sandcastle.

Had Jack even made it to shore with Matthew? My bottom lip trembled. Maybe Matthew never woke up before he drowned.

Through watering eyes, I stared out at the veil of water, like the one at the cave entrance where Jack and I had been together.

That perfect moment in time.

Tears began to spill, and I couldn’t stop them. All but sobbing, I tried to muffle the sound. As much as I hated Death, I hated myself for crying.

“Ah, the sound of that.” When Death chuckled, I glared over my shoulder.

“You were right, Fauna.” With a smirk, he reclined, hands tucked behind his head, eyes glowing in the night. “This is much better.”





22

DAY 264 A.F.

BUMFUK, EGYPT, FOR ALL I KNEW

“I can feel your eyes on my ass, perv,” I said over my shoulder. For the past six days, whenever Death’s helmet was off, I would catch glimpses of an unnerving hunger in his expression. How could he be so disgusted with me—and struggling against attraction?

I twisted around to find him comfortably riding his horse, an ill-humored stallion he called Thanatos. He was flanked by Ogen on foot and Lark on horseback.

Sure enough, Death’s molten gaze was locked on my backside as I trudged shoeless and parka-less over a stony flat. My bare feet were sliced. Yet if my blood revived plants, they yellowed and withered, because I was still flagging.

All this abuse he’d dealt my way ensured that my body was constantly playing catch-up to regenerate. I’d already fallen twice this morning. Again, Death had tied my elbows together so I couldn’t break my falls. My shoulders were numb, and I felt like I hadn’t caught my breath for the better part of the last week.

Death raised his brows, unashamed to be caught ogling. “Just because you’re a gutless harlot doesn’t mean I won’t find your . . . attributes attractive. I might be immortal, but I’m still a red-blooded male.”

Attributes? Was that why he’d kept me alive? Each morning, I had asked him, “Have you decided whether you’re going to kill me today?”

He’d always answer, “Not yet, creature.” Each night by the fire, Death used the tip of one sword to carve barbs in that flattened metal strip from his armor. Though I had no idea why, he seemed very pleased with himself, would gaze at me as he worked. Was his attraction intensifying . . . ?

“Harlot? Who talks like that? Father Time, meet the Flintstones.”

“You are bold, considering you were roundly defeated and all your people were lost.”

I gritted my teeth against a scream. The idea that he bore my friends’ icons burned inside me like the Alchemist’s acid. Death always wore those gloves, so I hadn’t seen the markings. But I knew he had to have them because Lark’s and Ogen’s hands were clean.

“I have suffered loss,” I told him. “But at least I know what it’s like to have had those relationships. I had trust and caring.” Love and passion with Jackson. I would hold those memories of him close for the rest of my life, short as that might prove. “And you—you’ve got Ogen.”

Hearing his name, the Devil lumbered closer to me. If Death looked at me like he wanted to sleep with me, Ogen looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to sleep with me—or suck the marrow from my bones. His foul appearance was equaled only by his stench.

“You believe you had trust?” Death scoffed. “Arcana rule number one: trust no one.”

I stopped to face him with a look of realization. “No wonder you’re so good at this game. It’s all you’ll ever really have.”

“You know nothing about me. Take care that you don’t provoke my wrath.” With a last sneer, he rode forward.