Chapter 2
Elyse
Elyse was enraptured. Lady Death stood statuesque, a single brow arched in cool curiosity.
Her pearlescent skin was stark against the black of her cloak and the surrounding darkness, like she was some sort of beacon.
Elyse was reminded of tales of sirens, luring sailors to their demise.
An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the goddess before her.
Lady Death did not wait for their reply. She glided forward, her movement transcendent, and bent before the flames. As she reached her hand into the flaming bowl, Elyse flinched. But Death never lost composure as she reached into the fire and retrieved her gloves.
“I’ve missed these.” She sighed as she studied the unscorched leather, then slid the gloves on smoothly, pulling the snug fabric over her wrists. “No other pair seems to fit as well as these do.”
Elyse could now see the details of Death’s cloak, the rich obsidian velvet and the fine brocade trim. The dress beneath was every bit as splendid, her figure voluptuous. Power radiated from her, eviscerating everything else in the room. Her stormy eyes dared anyone to challenge her.
For years, Elyse had sought to be this cold, this intimidating. Watching Death now, she felt a confusing mixture of envy and pity.
“Lady Death.” Mr. Grayson dropped to his knees and bowed his head low. “I am honored to be in your presence.”
Elyse fell to her knees as well. Any other time, she wouldn’t have humbled herself so. But for Killian, she would. She would beg, she would grovel, she would debase herself in any way necessary.
And for Lady Death, whose power demanded reverence, she would make an exception.
“Why have you summoned me here?” Death demanded to know.
“We request your help,” Mr. Grayson answered, his head still bowed. “We offered the gloves as a token of good faith.”
A mischievous gleam shone in Death’s eyes, sharpened by the flicker of the firelight.
“There’s always a string attached,” she purred.
She strode toward the table where Killian’s body lay.
As she passed the black crystals on the floor, intercepting the barrier they made, the crystals hummed with magic. “Name your request.”
Death stood poised over Killian’s body, staring down at him with an interest that set alarm bells ringing in Elyse’s mind. Death already knew what they wanted. She was a cat playing with her food.
Elyse rose to her feet. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Bring him back,” she asked of Death.
Death surveyed Elyse, her expression unreadable. Elyse remained unflinching.
“I am able, but the cost is high,” Death said as she returned her gaze to Killian. She stroked a finger down his sharp cheekbone. “I require a soul. If I cannot have his, then another must be given.”
“Take mine.” Elyse took a step toward Death, the movement involuntary.
“Elyse,” Mr. Grayson breathed from behind her. He’d never used her given name before, and the warning was sharp, even in his frail voice. It might have startled her if she wasn’t so resolved to give Death whatever was required.
Death’s crimson lips twisted into something like a smile. “He is right to urge caution. The giving of a soul is not to be done lightly.”
Abandoning Killian’s body, Death stepped closer to Elyse until she towered over the witch.
She stared down a pale, narrow nose at Elyse, her smoky eyes churning with a desire that went beyond the earthly world.
“You will not know happiness or love,” Death uttered.
The words were cruel, but she spoke them like a lover’s murmur.
“You will only know the basest and grimmest of human emotions: greed, anger, revenge—a thirst for survival, but not for fulfillment.”
“Do it,” Elyse commanded. She did not cower at Death’s words, nor her haunting gaze. It was never a question.
Lady Death’s smile wilted into a wicked grin. She inhaled deeply, as if invigorated by the scent of Elyse’s pain. “So it shall be done.”
Elyse finally released a breath of solace. Killian would come back to her. That was all that mattered.
Death raised a hand and grasped Elyse’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. Her touch was glacier cold. Elyse shivered but did not pull away.
“Do it,” she repeated. She was vaguely aware of Mr. Grayson watching—perhaps beside her, perhaps behind her.
He might have issued a final warning. It didn’t matter.
Elyse didn’t hear him, didn’t see anyone else other than the beautiful devil in front of her.
The key to Killian’s salvation, and the thief of her own.
“Open your mouth,” Death commanded.
Elyse obeyed, parting her lips.
Death lifted her free hand and clenched her fist. At first, nothing happened.
They each held their breath as the candlelight flickered across the walls.
Then a strange sensation began brewing in Elyse’s lungs.
It felt like a storm cloud had somehow entered her body.
Gentle at first, then swirling and spinning all the air into a vicious tornado.
Yet it somehow felt good—a cooling breeze, or the crisp feeling of peppermint on breath.
And then golden light spilled from her open mouth.
Death twisted her hand, coaxing the light. She directed it to flow from Elyse’s mouth into a spinning sphere. The light was blinding, and Elyse’s eyes burned, but it was too entrancing to look away. She was helpless to do anything but watch as the last wisps of gold floated from her lips.
Lady Death tucked her free hand into the folds of her cloak.
When she brought it forth again, she balanced a small chest on her palm.
The chest opened on its own, and the golden light raced to it, filling its confined interior.
Death smirked, victorious, as the lid snapped shut, sealing the light inside.
Then she waved her hand over the box, and a set of iron chains wrapped themselves around it, as if Elyse’s soul might try to escape.
A padlock connected the two ends of the chains, locking in place with a sharp clink.
Death waved her hand again, and the chest disappeared.
Half of the bargain was complete.
Death turned to Killian, not even uttering a word to Elyse now that she’d gotten what she craved. Her ivory finger trailed along his body, tracing a line up his leg, across his torso, until she rested a hand on his cheek.
Mr. Grayson clutched Elyse around her forearm. “Are you all right?” he whispered, his voice hushed but frantic.
Elyse ignored him, her attention solely on Death.
Death stared down at Killian, admiring him, like a patron at a museum. Her lashes hung low, nearly brushing her cheeks. She caressed his temple, and then slowly, she lowered her face until her lips met his.
Death kissed him deeply, her lips dragging across his skin again and again. Her chest heaved as she inhaled. Before she lifted her head, she nicked her teeth across Killian’s bottom lip.
Her eyes remained closed for a long moment as she hovered over Killian’s face. Her rouge lips were swollen, and she murmured something low, words Elyse couldn’t make out.
It wasn’t until Death stood straight again, her poise returned, that Killian opened his eyes.