Gisa - Nearly controls a sentient undead

Wilhelt kept staring at her as she raised her hands and whistled, a long, low note that seemed to hook itself around the base of his spine and yank, like a hook sliding into a fish. He was faced with the sudden, near-irresistible desire to lay down his axe and go to her, to surrender the fierceness of will that had called him from the grave to raise an army of his own and go to her side. To be a thrall and not a commander, subject to the whims and whimsies of her desire.

His arm trembled, muscles suddenly tired of holding his great weapon high, and he trembled as well, with the force of resisting. He had come here to join her as an equal, not as a thrall, but in the eyes of Gisa Cecani, the dead could never be equal, could never be peers, could be beloved, certainly, kept as pets were kept, but could not be her home or comfort.

He was not a possession. He was Wilhelt, dubbed the Breathtaking by every woman who had ever beheld him—every woman save for one—and that was the only woman who could possibly have been good enough for him. He had called his own army forth, despite not being considered a ghoulcaller in life, and they marched to his command. He would not yield. Gisa pulled. Wilhelt pulled back. Gisa yanked. Wilhelt nearly stumbled, his will yielding, before he recovered his mental grip and yanked in answer, breaking the tie between them as Gisa's whistle died, choked off in her throat.

She coughed, spitting out a few dissonant notes, then looked at him with narrowed eyes. "So, it's to be like this?" she asked.

***

THE DANCE OF UNDEATH