River of Shadows (Underworld Gods #1)(75)

Raila pauses and I can feel her stare at me for a moment. Why, if the uprising were to happen and the Old Gods were to take over, and the Creator didn’t step in, then dying itself would be punishment. It would revert to the old days, before Death was called in here, before an afterlife in the City was built. There would be no order, no judgement, no fairness, nor no mercy. It would be Kaaos forever on end. All of humanity, of creatures, of species yet discovered, would suffer for eternity.

I try to swallow as my heart fills with dread, dark like ink.

Okay. So it seems like even when I do get the chance to skip out of here, that there’s a chance that all the realms in all the universes might have to suffer until the end of time. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.

“Well then,” I tell her. “Let’s just hope and pray that damn uprising doesn’t happen.”

I give her a shaky smile but I don’t think she gives me one back.



* * *





* * *



After my visit to the crypt, I shut myself into my room and stewed over the new information. It’s just my luck that the moment I can see a somewhat clear path out of here that there’s a bunch of universe-altering consequences to go with it. Not that any of this is my problem, but the fact that I even know it’s a possibility kind of makes it my problem. I might be the only mortal out there who actually knows what’s at stake.

This is something I want to talk to Death about. I want to know how much of what Raila said is true and how much is just rumor and hearsay. It obviously doesn’t affect him as much as it does me, because if he’s ripped off the throne, it’s not him that has to suffer for eternity, it’s everyone else that’s not a God.

Then again, I don’t know what the Old Gods would do to him. I do know the relics from that era are jerks, like Surma and the flaming children and the murder swan. Then again, Sarvi is a relic too, and so far he seems pretty badass. You know, for a bat-winged zombie unicorn.

But as much as I want to talk to Death about it, I don’t see him for the whole day. In fact, I get the feeling that he’s doing the very human fuckboi reaction after sex, which is to avoid the woman at all costs. Maybe it wasn’t quite what he wanted. Maybe I scared him off. Maybe he’s already moving on by calling up every mermaid in his phonebook. I don’t know.

But even so, just in case, when night comes and I go to bed, I go to bed naked and I lie on top of the sheets.

And I wait.

And I wait.

The clouds finally start to clear, showing a hint of the moon, and then the door to my room opens.

His smell, his energy, his aura fills the air and my mouth waters and my body is already squirming in place, waiting for him. Damn, he’s already got some supernatural hold on me and he’s only had me once. Just once. And yet that’s all it has taken for my hormones to utterly betray me, to make me fucking greedy for him already.

“There you are,” he says, his voice as rich as cream. “So obedient. So exquisite. All for me.”

I feel him come to the end of the bed, his shadow looming over me, his presence overwhelming. The bonfire smell floods my senses and I’m squeezing my thighs together.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” he murmurs. “How you’ve changed, fairy girl. So unsure at first, and now you can’t get enough of me, can’t get it fast enough. But I’m in control here, not you. I’m the one who decides when you’ll get it.”

I hear the buckle of his pants as they’re undone.

“And how you’ll get it,” he adds huskily.

I hold my breath as I wait for his touch.

“Soft?” he goes on, his voice gentle. “Will I give it to you softly, slowly?”

I gasp as he touches me, a tentative slide of his fingertips along my waist, back to my hips, my ass, my thighs, and then back up again, all the while his breath gets shorter, louder, like he’s already struggling to remain in control.

He begins to slowly massage my hips, my ass, his gloves feeling extra grippy today as he kneads my flesh, almost to the point of pain. He does this for a while, taking his time, torturing me. Then adjusts his position, and I know what’s coming next.

I don’t fight it.

I want it.

More than I’ve ever wanted anything.

I suck in my breath and feel the thick wet lap of his tongue as it slides up and down each cheek. I shiver from the sensation, wanting desperately for him to go lower, to where I already feel the pressure building. I start to move my hips back, trying to guide him.

He chuckles wickedly.

“Look at you,” he purrs. “You’re begging for me.”

“I’m not begging,” I manage to say against the sheets.

“Then what are you doing? Asking politely?” He gives me a hard squeeze until I cry out in pain. “Is this what you want?” His fingers go lower and slip between my folds, stroking them. “Is it?”

I nod, taking in a deep breath, the pain melting to pleasure.

“I need to hear it,” he commands. “I like to hear it.”

I swallow thickly. “Yes.”

“Yes, my God.”

Oh hell.

“Say it,” he says sharply. “Yes, my God.”

I nod. “Yes. Yes, my God.”

He groans. “You don’t know what that sounds like,” he says. “Like the fucking spirits are singing just for me.”