I grind my teeth furiously. My revenge is ruined because of my carelessness and her foolish decision to run away. I can’t break her without breaking myself, at least not until we both learn to exercise our barriers. I scowl. My expectations for Briar are low. I’ve always felt that soul-bonds are a weakness, a chain for romance. And now I, Death himself, have become soul-bonded to a mortal—of all creatures. The bond is permanent, unbreakable and irrevocable. If anyone ever hears of this, I’ll either be the laughingstock of the Gods, or I’ll make myself a target. Both are unacceptable.
Worse, the more distance I put between myself and Briar, the more pain I'll feel. When we're apart, both of us will feel as if we're being torn apart inside—melancholic and pained. It is a weakness in physical form, most of the time willingly entered into. Briar and I won’t be able to stand being in two different cities, much less in two different realms, without feeling violent pain in our very souls. Something must be done. I have never known anyone personally who elected to create a soul-bond. Most of my associates, Gods and Reapers and members of my Court, are too selfish and calculating for such a foolish move.
I’ve only heard rumors of those who made the decision. Living happily ever after, people have said. I sneer. I refuse to allow the bond to continue. It’s too great a weakness for me, and it takes the fun out of toying with Briar. If I can’t hurt her without causing myself pain, there’s little point to the pleasure. My eyes drift towards the bookcase and I wonder if I have any records of the soul-bond being broken. It’s worth a try, despite the supposed impossibility. I can’t do nothing.
My thoughts stray to the warm sensations I felt when Briar first employed the bond without knowing. She was feeling warm and caring, romantic even. And it was my name she thought of. I purse my lips, eyes narrowing. If things were different, I might consider her warming up to me a good sign and an advantage in my revenge. Now, it only makes me uncomfortable. I wonder if mortals can fake those emotions with the same ease they fake their attitude or words. Briar can’t be trusted, especially not after the stunt she pulled today. If not for her, we would be comfortably un-bonded, and I would be toying with her as planned. But now, she’s feeling something unfamiliar to me, something unsavory.
Despite my anger towards myself and Briar and the pressing matter of the bond, my eyelids droop with sleep. I sag, muscles heavy. It takes only a few minutes for sleep to take me. I dream of dancing flames shaped like skulls and red, glowing eyes. A dark figure creeps at the fringe of my dream, and I know it’s the Nephilim’s master—hidden in the mortal realm. I toss and turn in my sleep, chasing the elusive figure. And behind me, always, is Briar.
About the Author
Bailey Dark is obsessed with all things dark, hot, and supernatural. From Fae to Aliens, her heroes are thoroughly alpha and pure raw masculinity. When she’s not writing (which is hardly ever) she’s busy watching every movie in the marvel universe, or binging supernatural on her couch. So come along, and enter her dark world. . . .
https://www.baileydarkromance.com/
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Chapter One
Altair
The purple hue of the dusky sky is fringed with orange. The sun is rising, though the daylight hasn’t yet driven out the night. The stars are still visible, winking above the city and the palace. From the roofless tower, I can hear my people below. The sounds of the city echo towards me, reaching high into the sky. Music and laughter. Laughter that will soon fall silent forever.
I narrow my eyes, staring angrily towards the mountain range in the distance. I can almost see Maaz and her Bloodbane witches soaring over the mountain peaks on their deadwood brooms. But it’s only a flock of birds.
I’m running out of time. The night is disappearing, and the days are passing too quickly. I relish the night. Every morning, as dawn approaches, I can’t escape the memory of the day Maaz cursed me. Cursed me to become the beast she saw when I refused her. I close my eyes, envisioning the moment.
Maaz, dressed in the blood-red gown slinked into my throne room as if it were hers already. She had dragged her long, black fingernails across my throat and down my chest, grinning.
I will never forget that grin. Cursed, she had said. Cursed for a thousand years or until I find a Bloodbane witch to break the spell and bind herself to me willingly. Cursed to die, along with all of my people, at the end of the thousand years.
And time is running short.
My stomach twists as Maaz’s cruel smirk flashes through my mind again. The wind caresses my cheek, and I open my eyes to stare down at my city once more. My coat snaps out behind me as the wind speed picks up. It’s coming from the West, towards the mountains.
I scowl, probably a reminder from Maaz. A gloat. A boast. She thinks she’s won already. Fury sweeps through me, sending my blood singing with blood lust. I swing my arm towards the flag pole beside me, where my banner proudly waves, and drive my fist through the wood. It splinters loudly, and the pole breaks in half. It clatters to the stone floor of the tower, the flag coiled beneath it.
I stare down at it, at the black hawk poised to strike
