That first kiss, oh, the surprise of it! The agonizing uncertainty… was it all right to allow this? How could it feel so incredibly good?
Could she possibly kiss him again?
Oh, when could she kiss him again?
The burning that took hold, the incandescent light that shone despite all the shadows stacked around them. The unbearable, delicious hunger that was the sweetest pain… that she would give anything, anything, if only she could feel it again…
Always before, when she had played, she’d had the awareness of the violin and the bow as instruments in her craft. Her music had been self-conscious, aware.
Now, as she played, she went somewhere she had never gone before. She lost awareness of the violin altogether.
She became the music.
She was the story, the vibration.
She became the story of love, the notes written in kisses and caresses on her skin. She felt the symphony, the swelling highs in the lifts, and the terrible lows in the falls, and hope was the cruelest note of all, the devastation that came afterward, utterly intolerable.
She poured it all out, all the emotion, the experience, the exquisite delight along with the terror. There was no hiding any of it from a god anyway. The only other being she had been so naked with was Morgan, and he was gone.
Gone, while the love she felt for him had become the very breath of life to her.
Give him back to me, she begged with her music.
Give him back.
When the last note speared through the air, she had nothing left to give. Lowering the violin, she stared pleadingly at the back of the one who held her future in his hands, whatever that future might be.
When he turned, there were tears on his cheeks.
Death whispered, “I knew a love like that, once.”
Her lips formed the words she no longer had the energy to say. Give him back.
Azrael strode to her, and she braced herself to bear the onslaught of his proximity.
Tilting her chin up with long fingers, he said, “You have moved me, musician. You’ve won your wager. But as I told you, the first blow Morgan took with my blade was irreversible, and Isabeau cast a spell with that blow that cannot be undone. Only death releases him from the geas.”
Despair crushed down, bending her spine.
Before she could crumple, he added, “The only way I can give him more time on this Earth is if someone else holds the handle of his chain, so you must claim it. But you must give me your life in return. Your life, not your death, which I already own. That is the only bargain I am willing to make. Do you have the courage to take it?”
She swayed as she tried to absorb the enormity of what Death offered. Morgan would never be free of the geas. If there was one thing she could do that he would never be able to accept, it was this.
She whispered, “He’ll never forgive me.”
“You did not ask for forgiveness,” Azrael said. “He’ll have life, which is what you begged for.”
“Dealing with you is going to be the death of me,” she breathed.
His answering smile was a blade. “Of course.”
Two tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes. “What do you want me to do for you?”
“You will control Morgan’s geas, but he will remain as leader of my pack,” Azrael told her. His green gaze gleamed with fierce light. “At the end of each year he and the other Hounds will join me on my Hunt. I always claim what is mine. Together we will chase down any souls who have sought to cheat Death. At this year’s end, we will have plenty of prey, as it has been quite some time since I’ve sounded the Hunt. As for the rest of the year, he may live it as he chooses. And as for you… you will be Death’s musician. Your music will be mine. Whenever you find yourself alone, and you remember what has happened, play for me. And wherever you are, I will hear you.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
His smile widened. “A sacrifice made of your free will, with the gift of life made in return. My brother god will be pleased. Now I will offer one more gift, if you have the will to take it. You may become one of my Hounds, if you wish. The Hounds born of my blade are subject to no other leader. The sorcerer will command his pack, but you would be sovereign in your own right and may walk your own solitary path, wherever the muse may lead you. It will give you longer to wander this Earth you care so much about, and you will be faster, stronger, and immune to human disease. Perhaps most importantly, you will no longer be Powerless in a Powerful world. But be very sure of your answer, Sidonie Martel. Remember, the first blow from my blade is irreversible.”
“I’m sure. I’ll take it.”
She closed her eyes, so she wouldn’t have to see the strike coming.
A thin, sharp pain pierced her heart. The pain grew into a gigantic wave of agony that reformed her flesh and bones. She would have screamed if she could, but she had no breath. After an eternity, it began to fade, until at last she could see and think again.
Panting, she looked around. She was no longer in the black and white hall. Instead, she was back in the great hall, on her hands and knees.
Morgan lay nearby. He still looked peaceful, but that would change soon enough. The shreds of his shirt lay to either side of his torso. There was a silver scar where Isabeau had stabbed him, and another one where his other wound had healed completely.
All the smells and sounds were a cacophony in her head. In the distance, she heard shouts and people engaged in urgent movement. From the snatches of what she heard, she gathered the foundation of the castle had cracked, and the Queen had suffered a terrible injury. The court was evacuating to the summer palace, wherever that was.
Reeling from the deluge of information, she clapped her hands over her ears. Becoming a lycanthrope would take some getting used to.
On the cracked floor beside her lay an open violin case. The ebony violin she had played for Death rested inside, along with the bow. The golden strings gleamed in the torchlight. Of all the instruments that were famous works of art, this one was the most exquisite she had ever seen.
And of all the instruments in the world, there would never be a more expensive one she could acquire. She had paid for it with an endless lifetime of service.
Carefully, as she closed the lid and latched it, she thought, I was broken, and broken again, until I became someone else.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Morgan stirred.
Instantly abandoning the violin, she leaped to his side. The boundless power in her muscles flowed effortlessly. That would take some getting used to as well.
Leaning over him, she stroked the hair back from his face, watching ravenously for every small shift in movement, every telltale sign of life.
His dark lashes lifted, and his eyes were cloudy with confusion. The Power his body contained… it almost made her reel. He carried a massive inferno of magic, and she had never been able to sense it before now. She had known he was skilled, but she had never suspected anything like this.
Frowning as his gaze fixed on her, he reached for the area of his chest where Isabeau had stabbed him.
“Yes,” she whispered, laying her hand to his cheek. “It happened.”
“I don’t understand.” His voice was gravelly, as if he had just awakened from a deep sleep. “I… died.”
“Yes,” she said again.
Leaning down, she nuzzled him. The last of the hunter’s spray had worn off, and his warm, masculine scent was intoxicating. This moment they shared was so fleeting. She concentrated on soaking up everything so she could remember.
When she pressed her lips to his, he kissed her, touching lightly at the skin beside her mouth, just as he always did when he awakened first thing in the morning.
Then he drew back sharply, nostrils flaring. As he stared at her in incredulity, she sat back on her heels. Letting him go felt like another kind of death.
“What happened?” he demanded, springing up to crouch before her. “You’re a lycanthrope!”
This time she didn’t bother to repeat an affirmative. The evidence of what she had become was clearly before him.
Whirling, he stared around the empty great hall. The two bodies sprawled on the cracked and ruined floor were their only witnesses. His breathing roughened. “I could have sworn I hurt Isabeau too badly for her to strike at you too.”