Chapter 16
Death Kink
MAX
The bridal shop smells of perfume and tears. I stand barefoot on the pedestal, my heavy, multilayered wedding dress rooting me in place.
I needed to see myself in the dress, to see if I could leave my old life behind and abandon the disguise of Maxine, the orphaned med student, forever.
Three mirrors stretch before me. The enormous, wide-view panels reflect every angle, every trembling line of my body. Lace and satin cling to my curves, and the virginal white fabric turns my stomach.
I should not have put on a wedding dress today.
When I chose it, I was drunk on champagne and easily influenced. I picked the one my mother-in-law and bridesmaids liked best—the most expensive, the flashiest.
A blush spreads on my neck at how steep the cut is over my cleavage. I look like somebody else. Maxine the witch always dreamed of getting married on some mountain in a bohemian cotton gown with her hair in the wind.
“Let me adjust your veil,” the attendant offers.
She doesn’t wait for an answer, her hands gentle but insistent as she sweeps my curls away from my face and twists them into a bun, using the comb of the veil to secure it in place. “Here. That’s better.”
The tulle skirt slides through my fingers like rubble slipping from a cliff, and I meet her gaze in one of the mirrors. “Thank you. I need a moment alone.”
With a polite incline of her head, she slips away beyond the drapes.
A hundred images of the perfect bride appear in the reflection. She’s pale and trembling, her hair slicked back and pinned modestly behind her head, her veil falling just so. My eyes stare back with an intensity that feels foreign, burning in hues of gold and orange.
Tears wet my cheeks. What color will stare back at me in the mirror tomorrow if I don’t start drinking the Angelica tea again? What kind of beast lurks under the hide of the mortal I’ve been impersonating? Because I can hear it howling, and I can’t hold it in forever.
The claustrophobic boutique closes in from all sides, and I clutch the skirt of the dress.
E crossed a line, but the awful truth is, he was right about me. I was so desperate for him to touch me, I almost broke.
He’s gone now. Maybe for good.
And when I end this farce of a wedding once and for all, I’ll be utterly and completely alone, with a throng of monsters hunting me by nightfall.
The mark of the Bloodraven coven mars the underside of my lower arm, masquerading as a birthmark, and I rub the burgundy brand back and forth. For better or worse, I’m not a bride. I’m a freak.
I wrap a hand around the v-line of the dress, the corset tight around my ribcage. “Enough falsehoods,” I tell my reflection. “You’re a Bloodraven witch, and you’ll probably spend the rest of your life alone, but you can’t escape that.”
I snap off the veil and dump it to the ground, my curls tumbling freely over my shoulders.
This isn’t a choice between two men, because E is gone, and Lachlan only loves the persona I fabricated—the work hard, work harder young doctor.
I plied myself to fit into a little box to please him, to find a place, a family, but that box, however safe, can’t contain me.
Tears fall in fat droplets over my cheeks, but they are not tears of anger, or sadness. They’re tears of grief, for the imaginary life I coveted, for the woman I wish I could have been. There will be no wedding. No career. No kids. My decision is made.
I stand here in the ruins of my so-called mortal life, ready to join my brother in his quest to avenge our mother. To leave everything that felt safe or familiar, and delve further into darkness.
“Don’t cry, little fox.”
E’s voice echoes in the enclosed fitting area, and his presence warms the air.
He’s still here. I failed the cleansing ritual and didn’t banish him to the ether. Relief floods me, bitter and strange. I am glad. And broken.
“I thought you might be gone forever. Why didn’t you tell me this morning?” I croak.
“I was hurt. You wanted me gone,” he breathes.
“I was angry with you. And terrified.” As much as I want to defend my split-second decision to try and cast him out of my life, I regretted it instantly.
“And now?”
“Still terrified.”
The world shrinks to this single room. His presence wraps around me like sunlight through gauze.
I shouldn’t feel at home with a ghost, shouldn’t crave the way his voice steadies the restless parts of me.
Whatever bound us—some cruel twist of fate, dark magic, or bad luck—can’t last. I can’t keep forsaking life in favor of death.
No matter how much he feels like the missing piece I didn’t know I’d lost, I have to turn away.
A blazing light spears through the room, turning the white walls, pedestal, intimacy drapes, and the ivory tulle of my dress to gold.
By the Darkness and all its whispers, the mirrors…
The reflection of the man he used to be fills the glass. My ghost stands there, his luminous skin pulled tight over his aristocratic bones, his platinum curls arranged just shy of careless over his pointy ears. His jaw is sculpted into a soft line, almost kind, but with an edge.
The kind I’d gladly cut myself on.
Faint veins trace bluish lines along his knuckles, but his fingers are otherwise smooth and unmarked—almost too clean. Hands that know exactly where to press, how long to linger, how to draw a woman closer and keep her captive.
A beauty that disarms before it strikes.
I meet his blue stare head-on. The color is otherworldly, deeper than the purest mountain lake in the peak of summer, the teal hues interspersed with pieces of a powdery sky.
The reflected image of us standing stock-still in a mix of shock and admiration echoes a hundred times over on each side, and I screw my eyes shut not to see any more.
“Open your eyes,” he says huskily.
My bottom lip trembles. “I’d rather not.”
A simple glimpse of him wrecked me. He’s Fae, alright, and untouchable in more ways than I knew.
“Don’t marry him,” he murmurs, and the words sound more like a command than a plea. “I can’t bear the thought of you belonging to another man. Break it off and come home with me.”
My eyes snap open as the lights above our heads blink in and out of view. No matter if I came to the same conclusion on my own, I won’t let him make the choice for me, or be the reason I walk away from my old life.
“If I cancel the wedding, it won’t be for you. You’re an arse with no sense of personal space and a skewed perception of reality.”
The insult coaxes a joyful grin from him, and my heartbeat spikes. Dark One, be kind, his smile could topple empires.
A white, fancy button-down shirt molds his body, perfectly fitted to highlight his large shoulders. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and swirling clouds are sewn into the collar.
Was he wearing that when he died? I never imagined we would take our clothes with us in death, though I’m relieved not to see all of him. I would spontaneously combust.
His hand ghosts along my chin, tipping my head to the side. It’s clear in the reflection, yet intangible in the real world. “You know I’m right.”
He doesn’t look at himself, not once. His eyes stay fixed on me.
A golden halo lights his skin from within, the phenomenon slightly more pronounced around his head.
He’s so fucking beautiful. I thought seeing him would lure me off my path, but it’s the opposite.
Dead or not, he’s obviously not for me. There’s no world in which the two of us fit.
Him, this bright angelic presence, magnetic charisma, and perfect physique.
Me, a mortal with tepid powers, my neck peppered in freckles, and dark circles under my eyes. Normal. Boring.
The man in the glass is everything but.
He grazes my collarbone, and though he isn’t made of flesh, I feel him. His bite of power smears my skin like warm oil. The debilitating heat from this morning flares back to life, crawling beneath my dermis. Tingling. Alive. It doesn’t hurt. I’m too full for pain, too hot, too ardent.
A swirl of fire snakes out to meet his hands.
“Careful. I can’t control it,” I warn.
My ghost doesn’t retreat. He leans closer, as if the flames are an invitation instead of a warning. “I love to play with fire.”
He pulls me tight against him, and the pressure of his touch leaves deep grooves in the silk cinched around my waist. His breath skims the back of my neck, and the fire inside me answers, piercing through the fabric in a sudden, hungry flare.
The wedding dress gives way with a soft sizzle.
I watch, mesmerized, as the damage spreads. Lace sizzles into ash. Tulle blisters and melts, shrinking away in iridescent threads. With every breath I take, the dress retreats, baring glimpses of the witch I’ve tried so hard to keep hidden.
The reflection splinters behind the flames, each shard of mirror catching a different angle—my freckled shoulder, the taut line of my waist, the soft skin above my hips.
I can’t look away.
“I want to tear what’s left of that dress off you,” he growls.
He closes his fingers around the white silk ribbons holding the laced-up corset in place and tugs. The noose gives way strand by strand, and the criss-crosses loosen, the pressure around my ribs easing.
I’m incandescent now, flames curling around my wrists and chest, devouring more than fabric. This magic—new, feral, undeniable—coils around me like a throng of pet snakes finally finding their way home. They slither and glide, wrapping me in their fiery embrace.
In the mirror, there is no bride left.
Only me—burning and finally unbound.
Ash rains down around me as E feasts on the sight of my body covered in nothing but two frilled scraps of white lace.
“Fuck, you look better in ruins, little fox.” He squeezes my hips, and the hard set of his jaw sends a shudder to my core.
I force a deep breath into my lungs and plead with my serpent flames to stop before I’m left completely bare. They hesitate, giving a soft, worried coo, as if unsure they understood me, but with a little coaxing, I guide them back to their cave. They slip beneath my skin again with a gentle hiss.
My chest rises and falls.
“This is the power Mabel was talking about. You’re a fire witch, Max.”
E leans down to kiss the slope of my neck, and the brush of his dead lips raises all my hairs to attention.
A fire witch… I’ve heard of elemental witches, of course. Blood magic paired with a strong affinity—ice, fire, shadows, water—can shape a witch into something singular, give her command over an element.
But me? I would never—
Lachlan’s voice shatters the moment. “Hey. Fuck off!”
E vanishes to the far corner, away from the mirrors, and the sudden cold leaves me lightheaded.
Lachlan storms through the drapes, knocking them aside as he climbs onto the pedestal with me, his chest rising fast. “When I pulled the drapes to take a peek,” he says with his fists clenched at his sides. “I swear I saw a man with his arms around you.”
My gaze drops to the floor where a fine coat of ashes lie at our feet.
His eyes follow mine. “Did you try on the dress?” He looks around, baffled. “Where is it?”
I fold my arm over my chest, and my voice comes out raw. “I can’t marry you, Lachlan. I’m sorry.”
His expression hardens. “There was a man here, wasn’t there? Where did he go?” He rushes to the changing room where I left my clothes, only to find the small cubicle empty, and returns to my side, more confused than ever.
His fingers dig into the flesh of my arm, hard enough to bruise. “What’s going on, Maxine?”
I open my mouth to answer, but E’s reflection returns to the mirrors.
E stares at Lachlan without blinking, and the corners of his mouth curl up in a villainous fashion.
“What the fuck?” Lachlan’s wide eyes go from the terribly beautiful and intimidating reflection to the empty space next to me.
“You heard the lady,” E murmurs with a satisfied grin. “She doesn’t want to marry you anymore. Get lost.”
Lachlan’s arms shake at his sides. “I always suspected—I knew something was wrong with you. I thought it was the orphan thing, that you’d had one too many traumas in your youth, but this is next level. What the fuck did you do to me? Did you drug me or something?”
E snarls in response.
Lachlan signs the cross over his forehead and chest and inches away.
My brows rise. I don’t think he’s set foot in a church since the day I met him.
“Now you understand why I can’t marry you. And if I heard you right, you don’t want to marry me either,” I say.
The words slip out with a touch of sadness. This is the final straw that buries the woman I meant to become, the life that came with her, and the ordinary future I will never touch.
E’s voice cuts through the silence. “Max.”
I keep my gaze riveted on my ex-fiancé and catch the curl of his upper lip, the tremors in his hands. He doesn’t look sad but downright terrified of me. Disgusted, even.
He never loved me—not really—and right now, I’m not sure I ever loved him. If that’s what archers do with their flimsy love arrows, it’s a cruel trick indeed.
“Max,” E insists.
My attention slips away from Lachlan.
E’s bright reflection blurs as mist curls along the edges of the mirror. At first, a thin sheen of moisture clings to the far side of the glass, droplets settling like dew behind it. Then they begin to slide down, gathering momentum and weight as they seep through to my side.
“Fuck.”
A cloud of mist flumes down the frame and spills across the tile floor. The smell of cold earth and rot assaults my nostrils. The air thins, making each new inhale harder than the last. The cramped fitting room closes in around me like a coffin steadily filling with smoke.
A claw glides out of the mirror. Hooked. Bone-white. Searching.
Another follows it, then an impossibly long arm, the skin stretched tight over protruding tendons. The emaciated frame steps through, its faceless head sweeping the room to sniff out its prey.
A sickening wave rolls through my stomach. Monsters are never far behind when I’m involved. I dragged these innocent people into a nightmare because I wanted to see myself in a wedding dress I ended up burning to dust. Bridal shops are meant for happy tears and champagne, not bloodshed.
“Run, little fox,” E orders.
Lachlan stands stock-still, eyes wide, mouth parted in a silent cry that never forms. The creature doesn’t even look at him. It steps forward with a predatory tilt of its head, focused entirely on me.
It wants me. Only me.