Little Saint Bride [Death and the Maiden, #1]

Bonus Chapter (Hadrian's POV): Tigress

A/N: As a thank you and because Chapter 3/4 was requested, here is Nerissa and Hadrian's meeting from Hadrian's point of view. It's a long one...nearly 4000 words! So happy reading.

If I get the chance, I'll also add in another Chapter. I think 9 was popular. Let me know your thoughts about Hadrian's chapter in the comments!

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My court is beautiful.

Alright, to be precise, it's vintage. Shabby chic. Actually, it's probably one of the ugliest sceneries in any of the gods' villages, but that's beside the point. The Ice Court has sculptures of crystal angels, and the Autumn Court has that special harvest all year round which makes a rustic red and orange theme very easy. Even our rivals in Spring have the glory of flowers and meadows and Hell knows what else, but in my eyes, nothing quite equals my court.

The Underworld.

Apart from a series of very large, deep and deadly rivers leading to one extremely large waterfall, there's not a lot in the way of nature. I don't have fountains to await my guests (I do have Jefferson, though, which must be a negative mark). What buildings we do have are made of old, worn stone— I did say vintage— and some dreadful craftsmanship, so that everything is a little ramshackle.

What I love most, though, is that my court has life in a place where only death awaits.

What can I say? I'm a proud father of a strange city of souls.

Unlike the other courts, most of my denizens were once human, and that puts me in a very unique position: my head isn't stuck up my ass yet.

Whilst Summer parades in sweltering suns and forgets how much destruction a drought can cause, the Underworld takes in the souls that aren't ready to go beyond the waterfall. And these souls provide a vivacity that the other courts don't have, because they retain that essence only humans have. It also brings their world and mine into very close perspectives, and I, as death, walk among them.

So when someone decides to mess with my Underworld, in my court, on my turf— I personally oversee the investigation.

That's how I ended up here, trudging along the banks of the Styx.

In the past few months, over twelve of my Ferrymen have died. One death isn't too uncommon— it's a tough job. Then another occurred and all the ones that came after, and we thought that there might be a spirit on the loose. A banshee or a rusalka, perhaps. But when my scouts brought back the bodies, no such spirits attacked like that; as though they'd shredded the Ferrymen and enjoyed it.

No, it's something worse. We know that now.

We discovered two more bodies earlier today. All left lifeless and dismembered, evidence spattered along the ground in a way that left no evidence at all. Char, the Ferrymen's leader, gave up after the second. He takes their deaths much worse than I do— he knew them all, trained them all, then scooped their innards off the banks of the Underworld's rivers.

Char's face, despondent and lost, was what drove me to continue the search without him. Whilst he had to do the hard work of informing any close friends and other such arrangements, my time had been free.

Now, I'm spending it catching a killer.

I've passed some of the Ferrymen already on the other rivers, but everything has been in order. Everyone accounted for, and as a bonus, there'd been no erroneous limbs or missing digits. It's bestowed a certain confidence that perhaps the day can't get worse. The Styx, unlike some of the other rivers, has suffered a loss from a few of its Ferryman, so there's only one remaining. With any luck, that will still be the same. But my heart sinks as dark shapes begin to form in the distance— by the Stygian dock where a Ferryman should be.