Aric’s father is a towering blond man with broad shoulders. Though his eyes are ice-blue to Aric’s amber, there is a distinct resemblance to his son. I understand their language as if it were my own; Matthew must’ve bridged this vision for me.
“He is already tending the sick.” How can my father look a decade older than he did just yesterday? “I took him directly there.”
“Good, good,” Father says, his mind distracted. “I’ll return anon.”
“But you’re exhausted. You need to stay strong for Mother. Is she resting?”
He nods. “I insisted upon it.”
“This can’t be easy on her.” Many of those who visited our hall were stricken, their daughters especially. “I shall return in your stead.”
His forehead creases. “But if something happened to you . . . if you were beset . . . I couldn’t bear it.”
“I’ve never been sick a day in my life. I’ve made my decision not to start now.”
With that hint of a grin, Father looks more himself. It’s been strange not to hear his laughter in our hall, a welcome accompaniment to Mother’s.
I put my hand on his shoulder, holding his gaze. “Mark my words, we will get through this.”
His blue eyes glint. “Have I told you how proud I am to be your father?”
I cast him a feigned look of grievance. “Daily. Since memory. It’s ingrained in me, as if carved into a rune stone.”
“But not yet today.” Father clasps his hand over mine. “Son, I’m so proud . . .” He trails off with a frown.
“Father?”
His gaze widens, his skin paling. When his expression grows agonized, panic grips my chest. “What’s happening?” I lay my palm on his cheek; angry black lines begin to branch out over his face.
Like those of the afflicted villagers.
“S-son?” Suddenly his fists clench, his muscles seizing.
“What is this, Father?” I enfold his convulsing form in my arms, easing him to the ground. “What is happening?” As I gaze down at him, a beatific light spills upon his anguished countenance. It shutters . . . when I blink? “Tell me how to help you!” I beg him, “Please, please tell me!”
He cannot answer me, his body strangled of air. Of life.
He is . . . dead.
Even as grief overwhelms me, a suspicion tries to force its way into my mind—
“Aric!” Across the hall, my mother sees her husband. She screams, her hands covering her rounding belly, instinctively shielding the babe they’ve so long wanted. She sways on her feet, her legs buckling.
I don’t think, just run for her. In a fraction of an instant, I’ve somehow crossed the distance. I reach her in time to catch her as she falls.
She shrieks at my touch.
“Mother? No, no, no!” Black lines fork out along her arm, emanating from my hand.
With a yell, I release my hold. As comprehension dawns, my heartbeat pounds in my ears like the gods’ thunder. The sickness is coming . . .
From me.
“Mother, fight this!”
Grueling pain has robbed her of breath, has twisted her lovely face. But I can read her dread. “A-Aric?” She too suspects me.
She writhes in agony—yet I cannot defend her, comfort her. “Please, stay with me!” My tears strike her cheek. That same light shines down on her face. “Fight, Mother. Fight for your babe. F-for me.”
She stares up at me, seeming mesmerized by my eyes—as her own grow sightless. Her life is done. She has passed beyond.
My parents gone.
I’ve wrought my family’s destruction. Killed those I loved most, with my very touch.
My dark precipice has been reached. I throw back my head and roar as recognition takes hold.
I am Death. . . .
31
When I woke, muddy boots filled my vision. Jack?
“Get away from her, Reaper.” He was pointing a gun! “Or I’ll plug you.”
“Indeed?” Aric’s fingers stroked my cheek, smoothing away . . . tears?
I craned my head around. He sat beside me, and he didn’t stop caressing me—despite the threat.
I turned back to Jack. “Please, put that down.”
“My gun and your skull, Death. I warned you.” He faced me, his gray eyes crazed. “You slept with him?”
“What? No!” Okay, the scene looked bad.
Aric was shirtless, wearing only low-slung leather pants, his armor stacked against the wall. His glowing gaze was hooded with pleasure.
Voice relaxed, he asked, “Can you comprehend what it’s like to touch her after so long without? For this bliss, I’ll risk the bullet. I’ll take a bullet.”
When I jerked back from Aric, he tsked, as if to say, More’s the pity.
“Is this what you did at Death’s?” Jack demanded. “Let him touch your face, you? After you danced for him?”
“Just put down the gun, please.”
Stalemate. “Why didn’t you answer the radio?”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t hear anything.”
“Because I turned off the volume,” Aric said with a shrug. “The Empress needed to rest more than she needed to talk to you.”
“Jack, you’re scaring me. This looks much worse than it is.”
Precarious moments eked by before he lowered the pistol. “You’re right. I’m sorry, bébé.” He tucked the gun into his belt. It wasn’t one of the pair he’d left here. Had he carried a hidden pistol?
“She refuses both our advances, mortal.” Aric leaned his head back against the wall. “Until she sees her way clear to me.”
“Advances? You mean you messed with her head some more and reminded her of old games?”
“Not at all. I merely pointed out some of the countless ways I’m better for her than you are. Even you recognize this.” Aric rose with that supernatural speed, standing before Jack. “You keep going on about Stockholm syndrome—because you don’t want to consider the alternative: that she wishes to be with me. That she was genuinely happy with me.”
When Jack clenched his hands, I shot to my feet. “Don’t touch him!”
“Not goan to poison myself, no. Not when I have a future to look forward to.”
“Ah, yes, a new start with Selena. My wife and I extend our felicitations.”