Deidre's Death

"Deidre?" He faced her fully. "You're alive."

She nodded.

Stunned, he was speechless for a long moment. His eyes swept over her. Her hair was still pink and in a loose bun on the top of her head. She wore the clothing of the women of Hell: a black, silky, backless dress that reached the tip of her sandaled feet. The faded signs of massive scarring were on one side of her neck while there was blood on the other, as if someone had just hurt her. Her eyes were red-rimmed, too, and his gaze rested on the tiny fangs resting on her plump lower lip.

"What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

She jumped at the harsh words. She glanced at Darkyn, who was still. Silent. Watching. Gabriel couldn't take his eyes off the woman who had been his mate, for however brief a time.

"I, um, made a deal with Darkyn. I went to Hell and …" Deidre drifted off. She crossed her arms, the range of emotions crossing her face too fast for him to decipher.

Suddenly, Andre's cryptic warning made sense.

"…had the tumor removed which happened to be past-Death's soul. Darkyn brought past-Death back, fulfilling their mystery-deal, and you were at the mercy of Darkyn," Gabriel finished.

She nodded. "As his mate."

"His mate." This was almost beyond Gabriel's ability to believe. He began to think this was a shape-shifter demon, like he originally thought about past-Death when she suddenly appeared.

He started towards her, senses trained to catch any movement from Darkyn before the demon attacked him. Darkyn did nothing. Deidre skirted away, placing the recliner between them. He stopped and searched her face.

"I just want to see the mating marks. That's it," he said.

She hesitated but nodded.

"You okay?" Gabriel asked in a hushed voice. His jaw was clenching and unclenching. He was tense enough to feel claustrophobic.

Another nod.

Gabriel stretched towards her slowly, afraid of spooking her. He had no idea what she'd been through the past few days at the hands of Darkyn. While she looked healthy, she bore blood on her neck that made him feel ill at the thought that Darkyn was bleeding her dry.

Deidre didn't move. He took her arm with one of the hands that had explored every part of her body - or the body he thought was hers - not even a few hours before. He tugged her out from behind the chair then turned her gently. He pushed her hair over one shoulder, and his hands dropped.

"Gods, Darkyn," he muttered, astonished.

She wore two mating markings: the Immortal tattoo and the mark of a blood-bound demon.