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Two hundred years ago, in a frantic fit of grief, my mother stole a piece of Death and bound me to the old god to keep me safe.
Two hundred years ago, my own grief had driven me to say things I didn't mean, but can't take back. And yet... Time heals all wounds. And I'm drawn to the dying for a mere glimpse of him.
But I'm tired, and lonely, and when I finally decide enough is enough-it uncovers a jealous and possessive streak I hadn't known existed.
He wants his ring finger back-returning it is akin to a divorce in the old gods' realm-and I want what I should have taken centuries ago, even if he's determined to make me see the worst of him.
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