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So I wait.
Impatiently.
It seems that whatever weird “between” I existed in is no longer the case—my hands are solid, my mind is sharp, and my stomach is hungry. Plates of food are offered up to me, appearing like magic in my room, and for a while I think I shouldn’t eat them. I remember stories of Persephone in the underworld and how she couldn’t leave after she ate one shitty pomegranate. This isn’t pomegranates, either. It’s fresh fruit, sure, but it’s also Yshremi sweetcakes and thick slabs of amazing-looking cheese. It’s roasted meats and breads, bowls of nuts, and it all smells so heavenly—and I’m so hungry—that my hunger strike lasts all of a day.
I mean, I’m already dead. Isn’t “being stuck in the underworld for the rest of my days” kind of a default at this point? So I eat. And I sleep in the big, fluffy bed. I bathe in the tub that shows up full of hot, steaming water, and I try not to think if the invisible servants are watching me scrub my girly parts. I wear fresh clothes, and I wait for Aron.
My Aron.
I’m bursting with love, and I can’t wait to touch him again. To hold him, to hear his sexy voice. I want to hear him laugh. I want to breathe in his scent. I want to bask in his presence.
He didn’t forget about me.
I’m just an anchor, a mortal, but he remembered me. I matter to him. That makes me so happy. My Aron wants me back at his side so much that he’s coming to the underworld to claim me. I can’t stop gri
One morning—at least, I assume it’s morning, since time is impossible to tell in the underworld—a trunk of clothing is delivered with the food. The hint seems pretty obvious to me, so I get dressed in the somber black gown trimmed with red. It’s better than the gray shift I was wearing, though I’m still not a fan of the color scheme. I take a few bites of food, and then an invisible hand touches my arm.
“What is it?” I ask.
I’m tugged at, indicating I should follow.
I get to my feet, take one last bite of food, and then brush my hands off. “Okay, but this better be good. Breakfast is sacred.”
The doors to my room open as I stand, and to my surprise, I’m staring right at the man I love.
Aron of the Cleaver.
Lord of Storms.
Butcher God of Battle.
He walks in, his axe sheathed on his back, and he wears studded armor that’s covered in blood, and thick, heavy boots. His hair is pulled back in its war-braid and he’s wearing an eyepatch.
He looks so fucking good.
I let out a squeal of happiness as his gaze locks onto me, and before he can say a thing, I launch myself into his arms.
Aron catches me. Of course he does. He’s amazing. He grabs me and holds my hips even as I fling my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips. His mouth crushes mine in the hardest, most delicious kiss ever, and lightning crackles between us.
I moan against his mouth. “Fuck, I missed you.”
“Faith,” he murmurs, biting gently at my lower lip. “I do not know whether I should throw you down on the bed and take you, or if I should put you over my knee and spank you.”
“Who says we can’t do both?” I ask him, breathless. I pepper his face with kisses. “Oh my god, Aron. I can’t believe it’s you. I’ve missed you so much.”
“Faith.” He kisses me back, equally as frantic. “Don’t you ever, ever do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Sacrifice yourself.”
“Spoiler, I’m already dead.” I nip at his jaw. God, I am so horny already. He growls low and I lift my head. “Wait. Am I dead? Did you make a deal with Rhagos?” I stare up at his face, at the eyepatch where a bright green eye used to be.
“Is it not obvious?” He gestures at the patch.
“Oh, Aron,” I say softly, caressing his cheek. I reach up and peek under the eyepatch, but he doesn’t push my hands away. Where his eye used to be is just a long, flat scar. It’s not grisly or gross, it’s just gone as if it was never there. He’s still handsome—maybe even more so like this—but I ache for his loss. “Are you sure?”
He grabs my chin between thumb and forefinger. “Faith. If you are asking me if one stolen eye is worth your life, then you are the most foolish mortal I have ever met.”
I bite my lip. “But I’m already dead, Aron. It had to happen. The Spidae told me.”
“I know,” he says grimly. “The moment I returned to the Keep of Storms, I immediately went to the Spidae and demanded that they work you into the web again. They said it had to happen. That anchors are the final sacrifice before one re-ascends.” His mouth curls with irritation even as he cups the back of my head and studies my face. “So I went to the High Father instead.”
I’m breathless at how much he’s done for me. Me. “You did?”
“I did. I told him that casting us out in an Anticipation every few centuries is a mistake. That we would retain our humanity far more if we were given an anchor constantly instead of just when we misbehave. That all of the gods have a companion at all times to keep us in touch with our human side.”
I gasp, clenching at the collar of his armor. “Does this mean—”
“You are my anchor. For now and forever.” His gaze is intently focused on my mouth, and he leans in and brushes his lips over mine with the softest of kisses. “As long as you are willing to serve as my anchor, you will be at my side for all time.”
“What does that mean, serve as your anchor?” I rub my thumb against his neck, over where his pulse beats, hard and fast. Everything about him is hard and fast, and lordy, I love it.
“You give me perspective,” Aron says. “You tell me when I fuck up. You tell me when I am too ruthless. You are my humanity when I threaten to lose mine.”
“And what do I get out of this?”
“My love. Eternally.” With one arm locked around my waist, he takes the hand I have at his collar and presses his mouth to my palm. “You said a god ca
“Yes,” I say quickly. “Yes to all of it. We can live in the sewers of Katharn if it means we’re together.”
Laughter rumbles up out of him. “We don’t have to go that far. But you accept?”
“Of course. I love you, Aron. I have always loved you.” I smile at him, at his beloved, wonderful face that even the eyepatch doesn’t mar. He’s just my big sexy pirate now. “I would do anything for you. That’s why I did what I did—I needed to make sure you were the last man standing. Does this mean we get our bond back?”
“All you have to do is take my hand,” he says, and offers it to me, palm up.
I slap my hand in his so fast that our palms smack. Lightning crackles.
The world flashes around us. Air swirls, and there’s a boom of thunder, and I swear it’s like riding a cyclone. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold onto Aron, his arms tight around me. My clothing whips around my body as I hold onto him, and I’m not entirely surprised to see that it looks like we’re standing in the middle of a hurricane, the wind so thick and fast and crackling with electricity that it makes my hair stand on end.
“This is how you travel?” I shout into the wind, clinging to his thick neck.
I feel his laughter rumble through my body and he presses his mouth to my skin even as we surge and the tornado seems to move faster. I hide my eyes against him, holding tight.
Then, slowly, the wind dies.
“You can look up,” Aron murmurs.
I do, and we’re no longer in the underworld. We’re in a new place, and I see green, grassy fields framed by distant mountains. There’s a large, stone fortress at the foot of the mountains, and over it, lightning seems to crackle on a constant basis. Above us, the deep purple clouds dance with light and swirl like they’re in a snow globe. It’s terrifying, but also beautiful. “Where are we?”
“This is my home, the Plane of Storms. Here, my faithful make war and then feast with me when the day is done.” He strokes my hair and gives me a hungry look. “I am not a god of peace, or a god of kindness, Faith. I worry you won’t like being here with me.”
I give him an incredulous look. “I’ve known who you are the entire time, Aron. You can be a god of battle. You can be the god of storms. You can be the god of dirty brown assholes, remember? You just have to be my man.” I lift one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Besides, my schedule’s a little empty at the moment.”
“I will treat you like the goddess you are,” he promises me.
“Am I a goddess, then?”
“You are my anchor and immortal because your life is tethered to mine. In that sense, yes. You will still need to eat and drink and sleep like a mortal, I’m afraid.” His gaze roams over me, and for a moment, there’s a fierce possessiveness in his eye. “But you will never be hurt ever again. Ever.”
“I’m down with that.” I pat his chest. “Can we go home now?”
“Of course.” He lifts a hand to the air, and the tornado whirls around us once more, and we ride it toward the castle.