Between the Moon and Her Night (Between Life and Death #3)

Chapter 28

Aurelia

M y feet slowed.

I was the reason he’d created the tiers.

I didn’t know why—maybe I was a fraction too gullible—but . . . I believed him.

For once in my immortal life, I was at a loss for words. I didn’t know what to say or how to feel. All I knew was that a part of me that had hardened myself to him, it had started to soften.

Was that how it would always be with us—a mixture of bad and good?

Was that what relationships were meant to be like?

Because for so long, all I had known was bad.

Whether that be my relationship with Aurelius or my interactions with Von in the past. Both males had hurt me deeply—one stole my worth, while the other stole my purpose. But the thievery of my power to create was steeped in grays—unlike what Aurelius did to me, which was as stark as black and white. Von’s reasons for doing so had been multifaceted. Complex. I was the wife of his enemy. A means of getting his lost realms back. But Aurelius? I was his wife , the woman he had given his heart for, and he still chose to mistreat me. To abuse me.

But now the circumstances had changed.

Von was trying to make the living conditions better for the people of this realm. On top of that, he had come to my aid, helped me free the prisoners, without question or demanding payment. I looked down at the beautiful dress I was wearing. He hadn’t made it because it appealed to his tastes, he had done it because he thought it appealed to mine. Because he thought that I would like it. And I did.

All of that was the good. Von was being . . . good to me.

Because to the rest of the world, I am the villain, but to you, and you alone, I no longer wish to be. His words replayed in my head, pulling me back to that memory. Of when he had healed more than just a broken finger. He had healed a part of my broken spirit that day—I just hadn’t realized it at the time.

Now, I did.

“Are you coming?” he asked over his shoulder. His stroll had that casual arrogance to it—unperplexed by the giant, meaningful thing he had just told me and the shifting that was beginning to occur inside of me—separate from the bond.

“Yes,” I said, blinking away the bits of mist that had formed in my eyes. I quickened my pace and caught up with him.

Neither of us said a word as we walked in silence down the rest of the corridor .

When we reached the end, we both took pause.

Giant sconces, lit with violet flames, flanked the sides of the very last painting.

This one was a sight to behold.

An intricate pattern of vines and bones were carved into the wood, a heavy layer of black lacquered over top. Within the painting was the God of Death himself, wrapped in all his dark, ancient splendor—an unmatched warrior king. His floating crown above his head, an apple in one ringed hand, a smirk on his lips, and—

My brow furrowed.

Four slashes were slit directly across his neck, causing the painting to sag a bit.

“Wild guess here, but I’m thinking it’s not supposed to be like that,” I pointed out.

“No,” he sighed. “Although I have a good idea who did it.”

“Who?”

“More than likely, it was my sister, Saphira.” He shrugged his broad shoulders and then turned to the right, starting down the hallway.

I stole one more glance at the wickedly handsome male in the painting, and then chased after the real thing. “Why would she do that?” I fell into step beside him.

“Because she is angry with me for trading the realms and Aurelius in exchange for you and so she has become like a child and is acting out.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” I asked with a degree of seriousness.

“I’m not entirely sure. My sister can be rather bullheaded at times.”

“It must run in the family.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards into a sly grin as he purred, “You have no idea, Kitten.”

“I think I have a fairly good grasp.”

“Do you now?” he teased in a deep, dark rumble. Three little words had never sounded so good. Like an invitation to take a sip of something you knew was going to rot you to the core, but regardless, you drank anyway—just so you could know what it was like to feel alive.

I opened my mouth to say something back, but the hallway suddenly ended, caving into a set of ominous stairs that disappeared into darkness. Something sinister ran its fingers down the length of my spine, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to raise.

“Go on,” Von purred from behind me, and I realized that the touch had been his. But it had felt different than it usually did. It felt . . . cold. Hard. Unnatural.

I turned to look at him. “Von, I—”

My words died on my tongue as my heart launched into my throat.

The right half of Von’s face was as I had always known it to be—achingly handsome. But the other half was—

Horrifying.

On the other side of his face, the flesh and muscle were . . . gone. Revealing nothing but bone. Bone that was not of ivory, but of polished, dark silver. Like metal. The only thing that remained was his eye—still a vibrant green.

“What is this?” I gaped, my brows pressing together as I stepped away from him, away from the stairwell and whatever lurked down there.

“Need I remind you that I am the God of Death, sweetheart? This is who I am.” He extended his hand to me in offering. I peered down at it, finding nothing but silver bone, the knuckles stamped with the word king. His rings hung loosely, yet gravity held no dominion over them as they stayed firmly in place. Loyal to him.

His eyes shifted to his right, towards the stairwell.

I followed his gaze. “What’s down there?”

“Your future,” he answered, retracting his offered hand. He turned to the stairwell, beginning his descent. “Come along, Little Goddess. We have left them all waiting long enough.”

Them all?

With a harsh swallow, I hoisted my skirt, hesitantly following after him.

When we reached the bottom, a hallway spanned before us, dimly lit with flickering candlelight.

The air felt different. Ominous.

It reminded me of what it felt like when I’d taken the captain’s hand to step onto the floating boat. There was no flesh or muscle or sinew, only cold, hard bone. That’s how it felt, but far more concentrated—like the threads of life had been stolen from the tapestry of the world.