River of Shadows (Underworld Gods #1)

Each powerful pump of his hips, each time his cock drives in deeper into my slick heat, each breathless gasp I make, each hungry groan that he makes, and I’m falling.

Cracking.

Breaking.

The glass shatters.

I give in to him.

Give myself to him.

Soul on a platter.

Ready for him to consume.

“Oh fuck,” I whimper as the pressure in my core tightens like a feverish spiral and my eyes pinch shut, my body pitching over the edge. I clutch him hard, nails digging deep.

“Fuck me!” I cry out and my words turn into a garbled mess as the orgasm crashes into me. My head goes back, my eyes opening to see the sky so bright beyond the looming darkness of the castle towers.

A sky of periwinkle blue.

I feel as free as that very sky.

Death is coming now too, a gorgeous, primal groan pouring out of him. Nothing has sounded sexier as he grunts into my neck, his forehead hot against my skin. His thrusts slow, then still, our chests heaving with our ragged breath.

A chilled breeze smelling of sea spray and garden mint washes over the open walls, cooling our heated skin. He pulls back and gives me a lazy grin. No, wait. It’s more of a smirk. I don’t think Death is ever lazy.

“There’s nothing more beautiful than this,” he says, brushing my hair off my face. “You’ll make a lovely bride, little bird.”

And then the hard, cold reality comes crashing into me again.

I’m going to be the Bride of Death.





Chapter 20





The Bride of Death





Despite Death’s wishes that our wedding be quick and rudimentary, word of our nuptials spread quickly across both the realm and the castle. It wasn’t long before others were planning the wedding for us. Or at least attempting to.

And by others, I mean Lovia.

Death’s daughter was beside herself with joy, probably already picturing her exit into the Upper World, and convinced her brother to ferry the dead for the upcoming week so that she could devote all her time to me.

Which is nice and all. I like Lovia a lot, and with Bell gone, it’s nice to have someone else my age (give or take a few eons) to talk to, especially someone familiar with my world and who doesn’t look at you like you have two heads when you start talking about life back at home. But the more she gets excited about the wedding, the more I feel this crushing pressure, like I’ve been placed in a slowly turning vice.

I don’t want to get married. I most definitely don’t want to get married to Death, someone I can really only stand when he’s shoved deep inside me. Growing up, tying the knot was never one of my goals. I mean I get it. I get that people want to be with the one they love for the rest of their years, especially when raising a family. But I guess I just never let myself even fall in love. Not really. And a family was always this wonderful thing that was meant for other people, not me.

After all, my family was fractured at such a young age…maybe I was the reason? It's a hard belief to shake, either way. Maybe all children of divorced parents think this way, but you can’t help but blame yourself a little. Or a lot. Maybe there was something wrong with me, that’s why they split. Hell, since I’m going down this path, maybe that thing that supposedly makes me “powerful” here, whatever that is, is what drove my parents apart.

“Why are you looking so glum?” Lovia asks, eyeing me in the mirror. She’s standing behind me, trying to figure out what way to do my hair for the wedding. So far she’s tried a million different options and doesn’t seem satisfied with any of them. “Getting cold feet?”

That’s putting it mildly.

“I’m just…I never thought my wedding day would be like this,” I admit, toying with how much I should say. “Honestly, I never gave a lot of thought to it. The only thing I did know was that if it ever did happen for me, my father would be there to walk me down the aisle…” I trail off, trying to hold back the tears that are abruptly rushing to my eyes, making my nose burn.

Fuck, I am so over crying.

“Oh,” Lovia says softly, her face falling in sympathy. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

Honestly, neither did I. Not until now. Because none of this has felt real. Maybe that’s why I’ve just bounced along with everything that’s been happening to me, going with the tide, no matter where it takes me. Ever since I stepped foot in this crazy world, I feel like everything has been happening to some other version of me. Like there’s a chance that Hanna Heikkinen is still back in Los Angeles, taking pictures for her social media account, completely oblivious to what this version of myself is going through.

But this is real. Isn’t it? That reflection in the mirror really is mine. This isn’t some bizarre extended gothic sex dream, this is my life now and it’s changing by the second.

And it hurts, it hurts so much to know that my father isn’t here for these changes, as strange as they are. Hell, I even wish my mother was here. I would love to hear her commentary on what’s happening, hear her criticisms over what royal death gown I’m wearing for the day, or whether I’m polite enough to the Deadmaidens.

I just feel so alone and powerless and even though the wedding isn’t what I really want, it doesn’t feel right to have to go into it like this. I should have a partner in all of this, but that’s not what this marriage is all about anyway.

This marriage isn’t about me. It’s not even about us. It’s all about Death. It’s all about politics and tactics and appearances, everything to make him seem more formidable and in-charge, as if there’s anything else more formidable than the God of Death.

To make things worse, I actually haven’t really seen Death since he “proposed.” After our little session in the garden, he’s been elusive and he hasn’t been showing up in my bedroom at night either. The one time I did run into him in the halls when I was taking my morning stroll, and asked him where he’s been, he said he’s been busy and basically brushed me off. When I brought it up to Raila, she said that he was adhering to tradition, which is to not be with the future bride before the wedding. Like okay, but does he have to be a dick about it?

I have a hard time believing that, regardless. I know that Death sticks to traditions, but really, no sex before marriage? Is that a thing among the Gods? The God of Death?

Then again, Death is rather superstitious. I’ve noticed that he prefers things in certain numbers (in threes), that he never has his back to a door, and that he does certain things on certain days. Guess I’ll have plenty of time to figure that out since I’ll be fucking marrying him tomorrow.

“There’s that face again,” Lovia says. “Is it still your father? Or is it the hair? We can try a different look.”

I don’t give a shit about what my hair looks like for the damn wedding, but Lovia is so invested in it that I don’t want to break her heart. She’s probably the only person in this whole castle who is actually looking forward to this thing. I guess weddings aren’t very common in Tuonela.

“The hair is wonderful,” I tell her adamantly. “Really. But please, let’s not fuss over me. Your father said he wants it to be as quick and painless as possible.”

She rolls her eyes. “Such a romantic, right?”

“He is the king and he knows what he wants,” I tell her firmly. “Besides, this is all for political gain. You know that, don’t you? He doesn’t love me.”

I don’t mean for it to come all out like that, but it does.

Lovia doesn’t seem bothered, though.

“Do you love him?” she asks, and I swear she looks hopeful.

I try not to wince. “Does it matter?”

She sighs, pouting slightly with her pink lips. “I guess not. I’m just happy that he has someone.”

I snort.

“Even if that someone is literally forced into the marriage?”