Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
There’s a prickle at the back of my neck, a feeling of unease creeping through me. I can’t explain it, but something is off here and I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s just the fact that Death has his gloves off and he’s not giving me any explanation.
“I don’t want to get too close,” I tell him, inching forward until I’m as close as I want to go. “Maybe you should put some gloves on. Would make me worry a little less.”
He tilts his head, seeming to think something over.
Then he reaches out for me with his hand.
I scream and try to move back, my heels tripping on the rugs, but he’s fast.
Too fast.
He grabs my wrist, his grip strong, preventing me from falling backward onto the carpet. The feeling of his palm on my skin makes me scream again, expecting certain death, for me to disintegrate into Oblivion, just as it happened to Alku.
But as he pulls me toward him, his other bare hand going to my waist, and grins down at me, I realize I’m not dying.
I’m not dead.
Holy fucking shit.
I AM the chosen one!
I break into the biggest grin, my heart leaping in my chest.
“You just touched me!” I exclaim. “I’m the one! The prophesized one! The chosen one! I’m the one to unite the land.”
He just smiles at me, and what little lucidity I saw in his eyes suddenly fades, like all the lights upstairs were just turned off.
“The chosen one,” Death’s voice booms, mocking me. It doesn’t come from the man holding onto me, it comes from behind the curtain. The man who is holding me may look like Death, but with sudden clarity I know he isn’t.
Suddenly the curtain parts open.
Death steps out.
My Tuoni.
The real God.
He’s also shirtless, but he has his leather gauntlets on up to his elbows. The look on his handsome face is pure amusement, a wicked gleam in his shadowed eyes. Oh yes. This is my husband.
I stare at him and then eye the version of him holding onto me, gazing down at me with vacant eyes, a half-smile frozen on his face.
“Okay, before I have a total meltdown, will the real Slim Shady please stand up?” I ask.
“Who the fuck is Slim Shady?” Death asks, a snarl to his lips.
Yes, this is definitely him.
I give him a look and try to get out of the grip of the other Death but he’s not moving. “Can you tell him to let go of me or do I need to knee him in the balls?” Part of me really, really wants to do it, too. Would serve him right for the whole oubliette thing.
I watch as Death’s eyes go completely white, like they roll back in his head.
Creeeeepy.
Suddenly the Death that’s holding onto me lets go and then walks back, retreating to the corner of the room. He sits down on an ottoman and stares at the floor.
The real Death’s eyes go back to normal and he gives me a twisted smile. “It’s still not perfect, but I’m getting there,” he says.
“Look, you’re going to have to humor me because I have had no clue what you’ve been doing up here and I have no clue how this is possible.” I gesture to the other Death. “Who the hell is that? Do you have a twin?”
He nods, running a hand over his jaw, making his beard bristle against his glove. “I do now. That’s my Shadow Self. That’s my experiment. I let him loose from his bottle, been trying to perfect him until I let him loose into the public.”
I make a face, not understanding any of this. “Why do you need a twin?”
“So that I can be two places at once,” he says. “It’s not unusual for kings or queens to have them, especially in times of need. Doppelgängers, as you might call them. In my case, however, he is created from me, fused by magic. He doesn’t have his own autonomy, he isn’t his own person. He is me.”
I glance at the Shadow Self, who is staring blankly at nothing. “So, he’s like a stupider version of you?”
Death snorts, but when I look back he’s glowering. “He is me. Through magic, I learned the art of splitting myself. I have to master the duality of mentally being two places at once. What he feels, I feel. He is me. I am him.”
“So, when you touch my skin with his—your—bare hand…”
His face falters. “I wasn’t able to feel you in that way,” he says, quiet disappointment in his voice. “It’s as if I were still wearing gloves.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling disappointed too. Then it dawns on me. My brows go up in horror. “Wait a minute. How did you know his touch wouldn’t kill me, too?”
He looks a little sheepish. “I tried it out on Rauta. He didn’t die, so…”