Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles #2)(91)

This had been building inside me for weeks; it might have been building inside him for centuries.

Then his lips were on mine, scalding in the rain, covering, claiming. His tongue swept in, demanding more, more. For someone so out of practice, his kiss was perfection—but savage too, as if it was the last one he would ever have. Surrendering to it, I threw my arms around his neck. Just like in my dream.

Better than.

Incredibly hotter.

Over the rain, I could hear my moans, his groans. He looped his free arm around my torso, squeezing me so tightly against his armor, but I loved it.

As he slanted his lips over mine again and again, I dimly noticed my feet weren’t touching the ground. I clung to him as if I’d never let go, fingers clutching at his hair.

I wanted this kiss to last forever.

Yet he drew back, leaving me dazed, breathless. “Aric?” My lips were bruised, cold without his against them.

Between heaving breaths, he rasped, “I care because . . . because you were my wife. You still are.”

My legs went weak with shock.

“You took vows, then tried to kill me on our wedding night.” Voice gone raw, he said, “You forced me to murder my bride.” The pain in his starry eyes . . .

He released me to mount his horse. With a last burning look, he rode away, leaving me to collapse to my knees.





41

DAY 367 A.F.

I lay in Death’s bed, staring at the black ceiling, clutching the emerald necklace he’d once given me.

For the last two days, I’d avoided Lark, stealing into this room and spending the nighttime hours here. My guard wolf waited outside the door.

I hadn’t slept since Aric had ridden away, hadn’t eaten. I both wanted and feared the dream of him I sensed was coming. Somehow I knew I would relive the past the next time I slept.

I believed everything Aric had told me—what he’d said felt true. I’d been married to Death. This explained why I’d always felt a connection to him, some kind of soul-deep bond—why I’d stared at his card when I was little, as if gazing at a picture of a loved one.

When I’d fallen for Jack, it’d been sizzling and combustible. The blazing inferno. What I felt for Aric was like a wave pounding against a shore for all time. He had two thousand years of longing, lifetimes of it, and now I’d tapped into that well forever.

I knew I would never be the same. My relationship with Jackson had felt fated. Whatever I had with Aric felt . . . endless.

Why hadn’t he returned? What if he never did?

Lying on his bed, surrounded by his addictive scent, I longed for him, longed to take away the pain I’d delivered.

If he could survive whatever I’d done to him, I could at least witness it.

I stopped fighting sleep. . . .



“Now that we’re wed, perhaps you will call me by my given name,” Death says as he escorts me to our extravagant lodgings—only the best for my highborn knight.

As soon as we cross the threshold, he releases me to yank off his hated gloves.

“But I will always know you as Death, my love,” I say, my voice all sweetness.

No matter how he’s treated me over these past weeks, I will never forget the menace in his eyes when he stabbed me. I will never forgive his arrogance when he assumed I would accept him just because he spared me.

He never asked for my hand, merely informed me that I was to marry him, that we would bow out of the game. In his mind, he is death, and I am life; therefore we belong together.

All throughout the planning of this ceremony, I kept hidden my true motivations. He might have quit the game, but I continue to play. And I know I cannot defeat him until he lowers his guard with me. He will, now that he’s my husband.

Today, I became his wife. Tonight I will become his doom.

“?‘My love’ will do for now,” he says, his lips curling, all confidence. He reaches for me, eager for our skin to touch. “As lovely as you are in this dress, I crave to see you without it.”

My bridal gown was a gift from him, cut from the most exquisite emerald green silk. Upon seeing the finery, I’d felt a disturbing amount of girlish glee. Then I’d remembered I’m the Empress, a killer of the first order.

“Of course, my love. If you’ll assist me, you’ll soon have what you crave.” What you deserve. I turn, presenting my back to him.

As he begins to unlace my stays, I fight the tension building in my muscles. He draws the silk from my shoulders, brushing searing kisses across my skin.

He’s been impatient for this day to come, and even more so about our first night as man and wife. Yet Death will never know me this way.

Throughout my childhood, I was taught that he is my enemy. That his inevitable desire for the Empress would prove to be one of my strengths—and weaknesses.

Because a lesser Empress would desire him back.

The woman in me feels attraction toward him. He is charming when he wants to be, and he’s beautifully formed. Never have I seen his equal. I admit my breaths shallowed when I joined him in the temple earlier today—he was stunning in his impeccable attire.

But this union is doomed because the Empress in me sees him only as a kill to be made. A predator viewing prey.

He has no idea, confident I am now his. Earlier, as we toasted our wedding vows, he whispered in my ear, “You belong to me. Forever.”