Land of the Beautiful Dead

by R. Lee Smith

advanced one step, only one, his eyes burning bright enough to burn colors across her sight. “You know what I want. You told me plainly enough, and whether you knew it or not, you were right. I want you.” She could only shake her head, not in defiance, but in helplessness. “I’m here, aren’t I?” “I don’t want you to be here.” He cut his arm through the air, summing up and dismissing all of Haven at once, then seized her arm and yanked her stumbling to him. He caught her chin in a rough grip, forcing her head back, making her look at him and see the way he looked at her. “I want you to be mine.” “Azrael—” “Lord! Lord Azrael! Whose is this city? Whose, this conquered land?” He pulled her even closer, his face mere inches from hers. “I own you. Before ever I set eyes on you, I owned you. You were born into my possession. You have waited all your life upon my whim to claim you.” He took a breath—her breath, drawn from her body—and snarled, “And I am done bartering for what I own. Say that you are mine.”