River of Shadows (Underworld Gods #1)(60)

I glance up at her but can’t see anything beyond the red veil.

Her head twists slightly to me. My name is Harma. I’m the head of the Deadmaidens. And I am your ally, mortal one.

Then she quickly leaves and I’m looking around subtly, trying to figure out if anyone else heard that or just me.

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.”