XIII

Blood pulsed in my ears as Death crinkled a candy wrapper in his hand, drawing my attention to the sharp points of his talons straining against black leather gloves. Broad shoulders and sinewy muscle filled out a lethal leather jacket. Beneath it, he wore a plain black T-shirt. His long, powerful legs were clad in dark jeans with heavy combat boots planted firmly on the ground.

Even dressed casually, he intimidated.

"I know what happened with your friend," Death said, tossing the candy into his mouth. "Leo informed me—"

"I'm not doing this again," I said, keeping my voice as steady as possible. "I'm here for Devin, not you."

Shadows shifted over the upper portion of Death's wicked features, revealing those sharp teeth again in an unfriendly smile. "I'm afraid my father took a jet to Japan earlier this morning." A strong sense of déjà vu overcame me. He'd recited nearly the exact same words that "David Star" once had. "Meanwhile, he's put me in charge. Why don't you tell me more about this ‘help' you seek?"

"Please, don't do this. Marcy's life has nothing to do with us—"

Death cut me off with a raised hand. "Agreed. Which is why I'm certain Malphas will be lenient with your insignificant friend's life. He was, after all, so generous with Thomas Gregory, no?"

I took a step forward, forcing myself to be strong. "Calling on Malphas was a mistake. I have no connection to him. Marcy being kidnapped proves that."

"All it proves is you failed him," Death said, his voice low and cold. "You failed to stab me and paralyze me at the Halloween ball, and Malphas failed at getting the Book of the Dead for Ahrimad. Now he's retaliated to weaken your will. The way I see it, this is a lesson learned."

"You can't possibly be this heartless."

The vicious grin that sliced across his face said otherwise.

"Don't do this, Death. Don't let her die because you hate me. She's my best friend. My sister ."

"You want my help, Faith?" His deep, velvety voice had slipped into a predatory growl. "Then I'm afraid you're going to have to beg. Fall to your knees and get those tears going. I do revel in a mortal's desperate cry."

Pain radiated in my jaw from clenching my teeth. He was using this opportunity to hurt me again, toying with me like I was his plaything. I couldn't hold back.

"Not in a thousand years," I seethed.

"Oh, I've got time, cupcake. I've got forever. But what about your mortal friend?"

Death's gloved hand lifted to his lips. He bit down on a wrapper and slowly slid another candy into his mouth. His veiled glare pierced mine as I battled internally to hide my frustration. There was no reasoning with him, and I couldn't be selfish. Not when it was life or death for Marcy. Denying him was a privilege I didn't have.

For Marcy . With my chin lifted high, I strode forward. My knees hit the ground, the thin material of my leggings allowing no cushion against the cold, unforgiving marble floor.

"Look at me," Death demanded.

The monster before me embodied pure, unfeeling evil. Shaking with mortification, I refused to give him the satisfaction of my defeat.

I slowly tilted my head up to glare at his tattooed throat.

Death's long leg stretched out, the heel of a black, worn-out leather combat boot slamming into the floor like a hammer and startling me as it came down right beside my body. The throne-like desk chair slid against the floor, slowly dragging him closer until the apex of his thighs nearly touched my chest.

" In the eyes. "

I lifted my chin. Shadows fell away from his features like tendrils, and I ceased any movement.

Death's true identity drew me in like a predator luring in its prey. He was a monster in an angel's skin. His lighter green eye sported a long, jagged scar that stretched from his eyebrow to his high cheekbone. I imagined something with hooks for nails had ripped into his face and not even immortality could heal it. He kept his hair shaved short on both sides of his skull and longer at the top, his thick midnight mane of loose curls shaped into a messy faux-hawk. Stubble shadowed a masculine jaw, and his nose was strong and Roman. That harsh scar over his eye, paired with a few piercings scattered around his carved features, made him look vicious, like he'd scalp a guy for looking at him sideways. Fit his personality to a T.

His expression held not even a flicker of humanity or emotion. No amusement in his eyes, no arrogant twist to his mouth. Nothing. A blank slate—an empty canvas daring the interpretation of my brush. The careful intention of this communicated a high level of intelligence, a self-awareness beyond my years of experience, and a terrifying level of control. Control that had saved my life once or twice—if saved was even the correct word. Control that could flip on a dime and put the whole world in peril.

Death could be the poison, or he could be the cure. Maybe that was why he was such a beautiful yet frightening sight to behold.

He reached toward me, holding my jaw in place to keep our eyes connected. Another piece of my heart fragmented beneath his touch as he whispered, "Now say please."

A few tears that I'd desperately tried to hold back came forth, despite my best efforts to keep them in. "Please," I said tightly.

His gloved thumb dragged across my wet cheekbone, curiosity mingling with wicked intentions as he studied my face in the palm of his hand. I pictured the inhuman strength behind his touch, how he'd torn Malphas's underlings apart in the alleyway, and the vicious power beneath the thin layer of his glove. He intercepted a droplet as it slid down my cheek, my lips. His mouth tilted up at one side before he aggressively swiped away the tear.

He rubbed the moisture slowly between his thumb and middle finger. Fastening his eyes on mine again, he then dragged his wet thumb over his tongue.

"That will suffice," Death decided. "For now."

Whatever spell he'd had me under shattered as his boots landed on the ground on either side of me. He lifted his enormous frame from the chair, and I had to sit back on my heels to avoid his legs hitting my face. He towered over me like a brutal god.

I crawled backward and hurried to my feet, but standing did very little to close our height difference or ease my anxiety.

"Stop crying," Death said. "It's time for solutions."

He prowled away without warning, heading to the glass meeting table. Hugging my arms, I followed him. Death peeled his leather jacket off and dumped it haphazardly on the table, knocking over a container of pens in the process. I tried and failed to not notice the way his long-sleeved T-shirt clung to his powerful upper body. He plucked a black pen from the mess, uncapped it with his lips, and spit the cap out like a bullet to the floor.

"Sit."

Sit. Like a dog. I lowered into the modern swivel chair opposite him, simmering with rage on the inside.

"Malphas will not kill your friend," Death said, countering what he'd said earlier, to my surprise. His voice had slipped back into that cold, predatory growl, the magnetic pull between us gone. "When he killed all those guardian Light Angels, it was strategic. They were sacrifices to resurrect Ahrimad's soul from the Underworld. What Malphas wants now is power over you . He has less of it if Marney—or whatever her name is—dies, because losing leverage over you lessens his chances of getting the Book of the Dead . Which is something he cannot afford."

"But why would he take Marcy? I don't have the Book of the Dead , and neither do you."

"Yet," the Grim Reaper said. "Your aunt is the current protector of the grimoire; therefore, she knows its location. I suspect that Malphas or Ahrimad have figured out her connection, and that's why Malphas had an interest in you all along."

"That's where Lucifer is right now, isn't it? Prying the location out of my aunt."

Death gave away nothing.

"If he hurts my aunt . . . " I began.

"If I were you, I would worry less about your aunt right now and more about you ," Death replied. "Sarah may have been in possession of the book, but you're potentially the first mortal in three hundred years who can read it."

Blood pulsed in my ears. Just like Aunt Sarah's letter. I feigned surprise the best that I could. "How do you know that?"

Death leaned back in his chair like he had all the secrets in the world and unwrapped another candy from his pocket. A blue Jolly Rancher. This guy had one serious sweet tooth.

"About nineteen years ago, a powerful clairvoyant came to Lucifer with a vision given to her by the Fates," Death elucidated. "She said a girl—spared by, well, me —with a luminous soul would mature into a great power." His mismatched eyes snapped to mine with a sharp intensity. "And with that great power, the Chosen would be able to decipher the Book of the Dead ."

I couldn't believe it. Death was giving me answers. Answers that I knew were true because Aunt Sarah had confirmed them.

"Lucifer believes you're the one who was prophesized," Death continued. "He's much older and much more powerful than Malphas. Which is why, if you want your friend back, you'll do what he wants and sign over your soul to me. He can get her back unharmed."

Death fired his gloved hand toward the table, shadows dispersing as a pile of documents now lay on the table. A contract. My contract . My mouth popped open. "You can't possibly expect me to read all of this."

Death's mouth curved into a fleeting smirk. That was precisely the point.

"What about you?" I asked. "What do you get out of all of this?"

"Irrelevant."

"That's not an answer."

He winked . "It's the one you're getting, cupcake."

I shoved the ridiculous mountain of pages across the table to him. "Forget it. I'm not signing this shit until you tell me about your part in this."

"Then you die, along with Mercy."

" Marcy , you son of a bitch. Marcy !"

"I'm not the one who will have to spell it for her tombstone."

Throwing back my chair, I stormed toward the exit, but Death suddenly manifested in front of me, darkness pooling off his shoulders as he strode forward with his gloved hand clutching the air. " Sit . Back. Down."

With each word, there was a tugging sensation deep within my chest, and my breath came out in shallow gasps. My soul. He was clutching my soul .

My eyes widened as the tugging sensation turned into a shove . I staggered backward to sit down. He kicked my chair in, and I braced my hands on the table to stop myself from slamming into the glass.

"Where would you go?" Death asked. " Home? Yeah, because that really worked out great the first time. Don't be a fool, Faith. You're not in control anymore. Besides . . . " He leaned in over my shoulder to murmur, "I know something you don't know."

Moving into my line of vision from the right, Death grinned and crossed his arms, cotton stretching against muscle.

"Your expiration date was Halloween," he said. "At eleven-fifty-nine p.m."

My heart fell to my stomach like lead.

"The only reason you're still breathing is because I was sent to Limbo," he continued. "All priority deadlines from Hell were automatically extended. So, in case you thought you had an option here, you don't . You leave, you die."

Death had said I would drop dead if I reneged on his agreement, but that hadn't happened yet. In all the chaos that had occurred since Halloween, Aunt Sarah had forgotten about that bit too. The only thing keeping me alive was the possibility that I could read the book.

Otherwise, I was a dead girl walking.

"Holy shit," I said.

"There's nothing holy about my shit, sunshine." The words grated through his serrated teeth. Death leaned his gloved hands on the glass table. "You leave, you die. You die, your friend dies too. Your choice."

He shoved the contract closer.

My hands grasped the end of the table with a white-knuckled grip. "You said you'd leave room for negotiations. I sign, my family and everyone I love will be protected. And you'll help me get Marcy back."

"No harm will come to your family." He steepled his gloved fingertips together, contemplating. "As for your friend, we have very skilled trackers that I will employ to find her for us. We don't want you caught in any . . . crossfire. It's best I stay by your side for now."

Taking a deep breath, I tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind my ear. "I have one more request. I want you to teach me how to control my . . . um, light . . . thingy." Under his intense and judgmental stare, heat flooded my face. "I don't have a name for it yet, okay? I want to learn how to control my power."

"Do I look like a fucking sensei to you?"

"Next time I'm up against Malphas or Ahrimad, I want to know how to protect myself. Doesn't that benefit both of us?" I left out the fact that not being in control of my power had resulted in Marcy being taken. It's not like he would have given a damn.

"I'll consider it," Death said.

"Did you just ‘nes' me?"

He leaned his head to one side, like an animal.

"The noncommittal answer between yes and no," I seethed. "You did. You just nesed me. Bro, this is a contract, you can't just—"

"I'm not your bro." He flicked his fingers, shadow swirling amongst the papers. "I've added in a trust clause. I said I'll consider it. Anything else?"

Another dodge. All right, so it was going to be like that.

"I sign this, I don't want to hear any ‘I own your mind, body, and soul' lines from you. You only get my soul out of this, and no other sneaky benefits."

"I'm not catching your meaning."

I knew damn well he understood. "You can't use me for sex, Death."

A vein in his jaw pulsed. "I don't fuck women who don't want me, and I never have."

I don't know why, but I believed him for once.

"Write in the clause," I said firmly.

His laughter had an edge. He made a gesture with his finger, black smoke swirling around the contract as words inserted themselves into the document. Death's expression was passive again, but by his careful, controlled posture, I could tell I'd offended him.

"Guess I found the one despicable thing in this world that's beneath you," I said, adding insult to injury.

Death worked his neck to one side, as if he were trying to keep a vicious comment at bay. He failed. "The second despicable thing would be having you beneath me. Besides the unwilling, I don't fuck awkward, geeky virgins."

"And I don't sleep with two-faced zombies." The bitter words flew out before I could stop them.

Death barked out a laugh that startled me, the mere sight of his fangs making my heart palpitate. He stood and rounded the table, his amused chuckle slipping into the low, sinister rumble of a seductive villain. That was when I realized I couldn't move my feet. Looking down, I could see his shadows had latched to my ankles, and my heart hammered into overdrive.

Death's gloved fingers swept over each chair as he passed, beginning a mental countdown as he neared my chair. I kept my eyes focused forward, averted from him to show no fear.

Whistling, he tore out the chair next to me, straddled it backward, and rolled it into me. Every fiber of my being was aware of his presence. The heat of his body, his cologne, even the lingering fruity scent of cherry cigarettes. Death stretched out his long legs so that one leg trapped the back of my chair and the other trapped my legs.

"You know what I think?" he asked. Heat licked up my body as his hand gripped the back of my chair and pinned my braid beneath his hold. "I think," he whispered in my ear, "you're a bad liar . I think I'm in your head. You try so hard to fight me. Then the light fades, and it's night. You're alone in bed, all those dark fantasies coming out to play. I'm there, aren't I? I'm there with you, while your sweaty thighs twist and writhe in your sheets."

I kept my attention forward, my posture unflinching despite every part of my soul electrifying as his breath caressed my throat once more.

"I've got you all wound up tight, cupcake . . . "

"I'm sure you have balls of yarn that are more wound up than I am."

Death laughed again in a low, alluring manner. "Balls of yarn don't shout my name over and over again while I pound into them."

I turned toward him. "Which name?"

Death pulled back sharply, and his nostrils flared. "Ha." Reaching into the front pocket of his black jeans, he flipped open a small pocketknife and slapped it onto the table. "Sign. In your blood."

"Excuse me?"

He gave a half-shrug. "It's an evil thing."

"Yeah, no. You're going to have to accept a normal red gel pen— OW! "

Death snatched my hand in his strong, gloved fingers and bit down on my pointer finger. Did I mention he had a mouthful of fangs instead of normal teeth? When he unclamped his jaw, my poor finger was all disfigured and bloody, and my eyes were wide with disbelief. The shock of the situation took precedence, and bile rose in my throat.

" Yes ," Death said, red staining his bottom lip, "or no ?"

"Yes."

Death carried my hand to the contract and let go so that my finger fell onto the paper. A burn went up my thumb into my arm, then to the center of my chest, lingering over the phantom scar over my stomach. I choked out a cry as my lungs tightened and my bones locked into place.

I stood up sharply from my chair, my chest heaving as the blood from my finger soaked into the parchment, forming my signature in a haunting crimson.

Then the contract was gone in a billow of smoke. I hadn't even read it.

"Oh God," I whispered.

" He can't save you. I'm your god now." Death spun me around to face him. He lifted my bloodied hand to his face to inspect the wound. When I tried to tug away, he held it firmer.

"Your soul, rightfully mine." He placed two kisses down my wrist, and it shouldn't have been so arousing to feel his lips brush against my skin. "And yet . . . the greed in me craves more."

My mouth popped open as his tongue swept along my cut, his catlike eyes swimming with mischief. He slipped my injured finger between his lips, sucking gently. Desire shifted to fear as he sipped my blood. I tried to pull my hand away from him, but his other gloved fingers clamped down on my forearm in warning. He took two more hard pulls and moaned , deep, low in his throat, moving over my skin like a warm, sultry caress. His eyes briefly fluttered back before his mouth lifted.

I snatched my hand back and cracked it across his face. His head turned to the side slightly, as though intentionally, to give me the brief illusion that I could hurt him, and my palm stung. He gave a dark snicker as he slowly swiveled his head toward me again. His face was a sight I would never forget.

"Again," he dared in a velvet-clad purr.

Death's ruthlessly beautiful features sharpened to something else . His mismatched green eyes had been consumed by black, just like his father's. They were like mirrors opening into his dark soul, and their reflection was ruthless and sinister and hungry . The tattoos crawling up his neck and jaw shifted, slithering like snakes as they spread out across his face until his tan skin began to turn to night.

I stared at the monstrous sight of him in horror, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His tongue slid out, and he bit down on it, drawing blood.

"Come here, mortal," he commanded in a husky drawl. Then he snatched me by the back of the neck and slammed his lips against mine in a searing kiss. A branding mark. A fever rolled over me as his sweet blood dripped into my mouth, a soft moan carrying me away into the moment as he parted my lips, his tongue rolling over mine in a slow, ardent caress.

When he stepped into me, his leg speared between mine, pinning my thighs back against the table. Large, gloved hands gripped my hips and lifted me onto the meeting table with ease, and I buried my fingers into his surprisingly soft hair and tugged hard, eliciting a gruff noise from his throat.

When I slipped my touch down the broad expanse of his back, he stiffened.

"Hands to yourself," Death hissed against my lips.

I gasped as his shadows sprung from his body and pinned me flat to the table by the wrists.

"M-m-my lord," a shaky voice announced.

Death tore away from me with a vicious foreign curse. The spell had been broken, but I remained possessed. I took in Death's appearance, his lips and jaw dripping with the blackish-red mix of our blood, before quickly sitting up from the table.

A little man with a clipboard stood in the room with us.

"My apologies for this intrusion," the little man said. "You w-wouldn't answer your phone, and you k-k-k-k-k-kept kissing—"

"Antichrist," Death growled. "Spit it out, Glenn!"

"It's the warlock, Ace!" Glenn's throat bobbed down a nervous gulp. "He's recovered and sent a message about an urgent matter he needs to discuss with you." His beady eyes darted to mine. " Both of you."