River of Shadows (Underworld Gods #1)

“One of many reasons,” he says, his fingers stretching for me, closer, closer now. I swear I feel the heat burning off them, like an electrical wire on the ground, and I wish my nipples weren’t getting hard at a time like this. “But then, if I did touch you, and you died, I’d lose you to Oblivion, which means I would lose you for good. There’s no coming back from that—you would never be in my kingdom. And I haven’t yet decided if I want to keep you or not, or what use you might be.”

Slowly he withdraws his hand and my nerves buzz with relief. “So, as you can see, I’m in a minor predicament. How do I know if you’re the one if I can’t touch you?”

I need to tell him what he needs to hear in order to keep me. If I don’t make a case for myself, at any point he could try the experiment and take off his glove and I would most likely be gone, to suffer for eternity. Because deep down, I know I’m part of no prophecy, no sick and twisted love story. I’m here because I have a loyal heart and a foolish mind, and a bit of rotten luck thrown in there.

Tell him what he needs to hear.

“Perhaps the prophecy takes time,” I say slowly, looking down at the clothing in my hands. “Maybe some other things have to happen first before you’re sure enough.” I glance up at him in a vaguely seductive way, trying to get him to pick up on my meaning without being too obvious about it.

“You think I just need to fuck you in order to find out,” he says, the word jarring me, sending an inappropriate flare of heat through my legs. “That’s funny, that was my idea too.”

Holy shit, he doesn’t mess around!

I refuse to let this throw me off-balance, though. I straighten my shoulders slightly, maintaining eye contact. “I had a feeling. Since you made me get undressed.”

Somehow I can tell he’s smiling under that gruesome mask. “All in due time,” he says, slipping his glove back on. “I was just taking stock of my new possession, that’s all. Seeing all you have to offer.” He looks me over once more. “You’re more exquisite than I could have imagined, little bird.”

He was right in that I always suck up compliments, but I refuse to acknowledge this one.

He nods at the white dress. “Put that on.” He reaches out with his gloved hand and brushes my hair off my shoulder in a strangely tender way that makes me flinch. “With your dark hair and haunting eyes, the black nightgown was far too gloomy for a fairy girl. You should be a bright spot in Shadow’s End…while you’re still here, anyway.”

Then he flips his hood up and over his skull head and turns and walks away, his boots echoing across the room. “We’re having dinner tonight,” he booms without turning around. “I’ll send Raila to help you. I expect you to be washed properly, your hair done, and in a dress from the wardrobe. This is not a request.”

And then he’s gone.

The key turns in the lock.





Chapter 13





The Daughter





After Death left, I wanted to go talk to Bell about everything she just witnessed, but I didn’t have a moment to myself. I had just finished putting on the new nightgown—something white, lacy, and satiny that clung to my curves—and not because Death asked me to, but because I didn’t want to be naked anymore, when Raila came inside the room. She was all a titter about the dinner tonight and getting me ready for it.

Which meant getting me naked—yet again—and into the tub she filled with steaming hot water. I have to admit, getting past the whole being-nude-in-front-of-strangers part, the bath feels wonderful, especially since she just put a whole bunch of fragrant herbs in it that seem to clear my lungs and head. An unexpected bonus is that the tub has a faucet, which means this castle has indoor plumbing. The toilet in my room is more of squat on the floor style, but at least it ain’t shit into a bucket and pour it out the window style. I have a feeling the indoor plumbing thing is something else that one of Death’s errand boys procured from the Upper World and once again I picture some skeleton dude perusing Ikea’s bathroom department.

It’s so very exciting that you get to go to dinner, Raila says as she scoops up the bathwater into a wooden bucket and pours it over my head.

The water gets in my eyes and mouth and I spit it out. She may be my exuberant servant, but she doesn’t have a lot of finesse. “I’d rather stay in my room.”

Oh no, you must not say that, she says, reaching for a tarnished silver jar on the wood ledge beside the tub and giving it a rough shake. Pale gold semi-translucent liquid gel comes out and she rubs it vigorously between her gloved palms. Being invited to dinner with the master is a real honor. You are sure to have the finest food and drink in the land. It’s no wonder that he wants you to look your best, he hasn’t had a beautiful woman in here in such a long time.

She applies the goop to my wet hair and starts rubbing it into my scalp, rather violently I might add. “You mind easing up there?”

My apologies, she says, the pressure lifting just a little. My husband said I never had a woman’s touch. She laughs melodically at that, but considering what she did to her husband leaves me feeling just a tad uneasy.

It also doesn’t help that I still haven’t seen her face beneath that black shroud and she’s still wearing satin gloves despite the fact that she’s bathing me. I mean wet gloves? Ew.

“Speaking of touch,” I say. “Do you have the touch of death too? Is that why you’re wearing gloves?”

Boy, you really weren’t joking when you said you’d be asking lots of questions, she says. She clears her throat, her tone more grave now. No, I wear gloves, and this shroud, because my appearance isn’t very becoming.

“Well, that’s not fair,” I tell her as she continues to massage what I’m assuming is shampoo into my head. “I saw the Deadhands with my father. They were skeletons. Why are the Deadmaidens covered up and the Deadhands aren’t? Seems kind of sexist to me.”

You would have to ask Death, she says. All I know is that this is the way I am always to present myself when dealing with others.

She stops lathering my head and then scoops the water in the wood bucket, immediately dumping it over my head, the soap running into my eyes.

Close your eyes, she says cheerfully.

“Yeah thanks for the warning.” I wipe my eyes quickly before she pours more water on my head, the bathtub filling with suds.

“When was the last woman here?” I ask as she starts shaking another tin jar into her hand. “You said it had been a long time since a beautiful one was here.”

Well, Lovia is beautiful, but I don’t think you mean her. There was Louhi of course. She was Queen. She was the Goddess of the Underworld.

“And what is she now?”

Not here, Raila says simply.

“What does she look like?”

Beautiful, in a savage way, she says, rubbing some thick red goop into my strands, making my dark hair blood-colored.

“Please don’t tell me that’s bat’s blood or something,” I say, gesturing to the lotion.

It’s conditioner, she says. I’m not sure what it does. I don’t have any hair myself, but Lovia created it with the skin of frostberries. Sure does look like blood doesn’t? She says that last part almost wistfully and I try not to cringe.

“But what does Louhi look like?” I ask again, strangely fascinated with Death’s ex and their messy relationship. “Can you describe her?”

Oh sure. Tall. Taller than you. Very slender. Narrow hips. Big breasts. White skin. I try not to roll my eyes, since Death seems to have gone totally stereotypical in his choice of wife. Fangs, she then adds. Claws. White eyes. Several large ridged horns coming out of her head. Giant wings. Long red hair.

“Wings?” My eyes widen. “Horns? Real horns?”

Well, she is part demon, Raila informs me. Part witch too. Lapp Witch, the oldest and most cunning of the witches.

The image I’ve conjured in my head is terrifying. “Something tells me I don’t want to meet her.”