Little Saint Bride [Death and the Maiden, #1]

Chapter Nine: The Kiss of Death

I turn around to see how my husband—turned—conquest is taking the news, but he's already walking off, as if he's keen to shed me as quick as he can. He doesn't even spare a glance backwards. I stare daggers at the back of his head, which is a mess of sexy dark hair that I really want to run my fingers through—and God, does that make me even angrier.

I literally died for this dude. How desperate.

My arms are folded in defiance before I can even register I'm doing it. They're folded in the same way I folded them the day our mother left us, and Dad tried to convince us all that she might come back. I fold them the way I did the day I made the decision that hunting Death for answers was my priority— even more than my own life.

And now I fold them once more.

I make a vow: Death will not defeat me.

Death will come crawling to me.

I have to pick up my game because he's not interested in my meek princess act. In fact, he doesn't seem to be interested in a bride at all— which makes me wonder, wasn't this his idea? Why isn't he even trying to engage with me? Did he turn away all the others by not speaking to them?

As I stare, the King is accosted by girls, from teenagers to middle-aged women, hanging on his arms and flattering him. I can hear their laughter, their corny jokes. If I wasn't so intent on learning more about Death, I would have giggled at their awful flirting.

But the King laughs. It sounds oddly cheerful, and not quite what I imagined his laugh to sound like. Kind of...airy.

How can he flirt with those girls so easily, and yet not say a word to me?

Although, no wonder he hasn't picked a Queen. He seems to have a choice of whichever girl he wants, whenever.

I am beginning to think that the King isn't only uninterested, he's actively avoiding me.

Time to pull a better stunt.

One that will grab his attention.

The King sits back on his throne, surrounded by his harem of girls. They hover around him like flies on shit, and the whole scenario makes me want to go over and tear their pretty little hairs from their heads. Including the sexy tousled hair of the King.

What can I do?

I have to get close to him.

But I will not lower myself to compete against those girls.

The music starts again, and suddenly I'm surrounded by a flurry of energetic couples dancing away. I'm soon jostled from the floor, avoiding being stepped on by the bizarre trotting dance these people are performing. I have never danced in my life, and I don't intend on starting.

Instead, an abrupt turn takes me away from the dancers and into the crowds milling by. After stepping through a few talking groups, I'm greeted by the sight of Mercer talking to a statue.

Now this is one hell of an idiot.

He takes a deep gulp from a dark bottle he's holding in his hand. He misses the majority of his mouth, and I wince at the cracking noise as it hits his teeth instead, sloshing orange liquid down his chin. After some coordination difficulties, Mercer finds his mouth and takes a swig.

I wave at him, catching his attention from the statue of the naked man he was conversing with.

'Oh. Ners...Neis...Na...whatever.' Mercer frowns, as if my name truly is bothering him. He gives me a disconcerted look. 'Meet my friend...'