Read Online Dead Of Winter (The Beautiful Dead Book 2) by Daryl Banner - Free Book Online Page B

my horror when my First Hand and I were captured by the Deathless. His name is … was Brandon.” His gaze drops to the garden, thoughts holding him hostage. He was made to witness his First Hand Brandon’s demise, if I remember correctly. It was a cruel practice of the Deathless. “Anyway.” He pulls himself out of it. “I’m still looking forward to learning my False Self. I want to know what my name was, most of all. Hey, we kept our promise, didn’t we? We survived long enough to hopefully soon learn our False Selves. We’re still alive.”
    “Not technically,” I point out, and we both crack up, finding the joke way funnier than it is.
    The backdoor swings open and Marigold emerges with two tiny plates, a slice of cake slapped onto either one. “They taste like sugar wonderlands, these adorable delicacies!” She shoves a plate into Ben’s hand, the other into mine. “Don’t be shy, you two.”
    Knowing the cake is likely made of wax or clay and will simply drop into my belly and sit there for all eternity until it’s somehow removed, I politely hand my plate back to her. “Why don’t you eat a sweet little slice in my stead, Mari? I’m … ah … trying to watch my figure.”
    She giggles, her eyes squeezing halfway into her nose. “Yes, yes, cute thing like you! Of course. I’m so excited with all the Upkeep I’ll get to do after this party!”
    She’s undoubtedly referring to all the cake she’ll have to remove from Undead bellies tomorrow. Marigold never ceases to amaze me with the grotesque things she finds “fun” and “exciting”.
    Ben, far less reluctant than I, grabs the fork from his plate and joyfully helps himself to a bite.
    Then all the happy leaves my face.
    “Oh my,” Marigold exclaims in half a gasp, the happy vanishing from hers as well and instantly being replaced with horror; not an expression she often shows. “Oh …!”
    Ben belatedly yelps out in pain. The plate and fork drop to the ground. The pretty cake splatters everywhere. His mouth full of frosting, dribbled up his chin … he stares at his trembling hand in total bafflement.
    Steam rises off his palm, right where he held the fork.
    “Benjamin?” I manage to say, still staring. Asking a question with the one word … with his name. I’m dead and my bowels don’t function and yet I have a sudden urge to be sick, and I ask again: “B-Benjamin?”
    “What’s happened?” he asks no one in particular, gawking at his hand, shaking, terrified.
    “The f-fork …” I stammer. “It’s … It’s …”
    “Made of steel,” he finishes.
    And the Undead can’t cry, but when he lifts his gaze to mine, he looks on the verge of a million tears that will never, ever meet his face. We’re both thinking the same awful thing, and we’re both confused by the same awful fact. He is not Deathless. But why, then …?
    “This is not a good thing,” Marigold decides, takes a bite of cake, chews, swallows, then repeats, “This is not a good thing at all.” Her rattled eyes never leave Benjamin.
    “I’m not Deathless,” he announces very suddenly.
    I nod at once. “I know.”
    “I’m not.”
    “We …” I look at Marigold, beseeching her. “We can’t let anyone know what just happened. We can’t tell anyone about this. No one.” She takes another bite of her cake, nods slowly, then swallows. “This … Benjamin, listen to me. This is just some strange—some very, very strange—and random occurrence, and … and …”
    “Yes,” he agrees, clinging to my every word. The steam is still rising off his palm like a freshly put-out fire and we’re all pretending to ignore it. None of us are ignoring it.
    “So, um …” He wants me to say more and I have no idea what to say. “Just, um … Listen, Ben, just don’t touch anything—metallic—for a while and … and we’ll figure this out. Don’t tell anyone. Neither of you.”
    Marigold nods again, but she’s the real one I’m worried about. The dear