Take me away? I look around, but suddenly invisible hands are on my arms, tugging me forward, and then I’m dragged out of Rhagos’s throne room and down a hall. I’m led deeper into the palace of the lord of the dead by his unseen servants, and then a door opens. The room I’m led into is opulent and lush—I’m guessing so Aron won’t be pissed that I’m being mistreated—but the doors shut behind me and click, and then I’m locked in.

I look around my new prison, but even this can’t stop the giddy rush in my heart.

Aron’s coming for me.

He’s storming the underworld. For me.

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83

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 grinning.

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 cannot love, but you’re wrong. Ever since you left me, I have been hollow. I am not whole unless you’re at my side, Faith. Be with me? Forever?” He hesitates. “You’ll have to remain with me in the Keep of Storms on my personal plane, but if you like, we can also visit my temples and—”

“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.