XV

The rain showed no sign of stopping as Death pulled up onto the sidewalk. I got off the bike, soaked, freezing, wretched, and overwhelmed, but that didn't stop me from noticing where we'd stopped.

Billionaire's Row .

We were on Billionaire's Row.

Aka the most expensive real estate in New York City.

Death stood up to take off his helmet, and his motorcycle completely dissolved into black smoke like some epic magic act. The shadowy substance absorbed into his jacket. His helmet vanished too as he yanked up his hood.

"Now wait a second," I said as Death stalked toward me. "You're telling me we were riding a shadow that whole—"

Death clamped his giant hand down on my shoulder. I only managed to suck in the tiniest breath before the world went black around us. We emerged elsewhere, and I collapsed against a black door.

"You . . . could at least . . . warn me," I gasped.

Death grunted a word under his breath and punched a passcode into a lock right beside my head. I moved to the side as he opened the door. The dark void of a room opened like the mouth of a monster, and cold tingles raced up and down my legs.

Death's apartment.

I could only imagine what was inside. Swinging blades as you walked in, mortal souls screaming in the walls, a bed with spikes for a mattress, freezers filled with the heads of his enemies, and a blazing fireplace that led into Hell.

"Stop daydreaming and get in," Death growled. "I don't have all day."

Grumpy bastard . I entered the dark space, and the lights slowly came on by themselves.

"Holy moneybags," I blurted.

A gorgeous open-concept penthouse unveiled itself. Death's place was, of course, dominated by black. Black marble flooring, massive black leather couches in front of a flat-screen television, and a black marble fireplace. No Hell entrance, as far as I could tell, though.

Every aspect of his space gave off an intense, overtly masculine energy. Dim lights hung like daggers over a medieval-looking dining table. A high ceiling with a skylight captured the gray sky above. Another floor was visible past a glass railing, accessed by spiraling modern staircases beside the foyer.

"Wow," I said in awe. "This place could house a whole army."

"Welcome home, King D," announced a seductive woman's voice. A touchscreen to my left blinked as she spoke, and I realized it was some sort of high-tech computer the penthouse was hooked into.

I rolled my eyes. "King D."

"Damn right." Death tossed the keys to his motorcycle into a black and gray checkered dish by the door. I shadowed him into a magnificent kitchen. If there was a magazine for villain kitchens, this one would make the cover page. Was that . . . a battle axe hanging over the stove? He yanked open one of the two industrial-sized fridges, pulled out a carton of chocolate milk, and chugged down at least half of it. Dude was a sugar maniac.

"You'll be staying here with me," Death said, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand as he put away the milk and closed the fridge door. "Indefinitely."

Living in a penthouse.

With Death.

Indefinitely.

I took in the stunning apartment again. Didn't seem all that bad, all of a sudden.

"There are four floors." Death yanked a little on the waistband of my leggings to get me to face him, and I jolted in surprise. "We're on the main floor. There are two kitchens, but you will only use this one. Two living rooms, and a media room."

"Why can't I use the other kitchen? Keeping the frozen heads of your enemies in the freezer?"

"What a fantastic idea, cupcake." He gave me a pointed once-over that made me sweat a little before he jabbed a leather-clad finger down a hallway. "Bedrooms. Pick whichever guest room you want, I don't care. Just know that Cruentas has a thing about the ones to the right."

I blinked. "Cruentas, as in, your horse ?"

"Any door that's locked stays locked," Death continued like I hadn't even spoken. Somebody was running low on his social interaction battery. "All calls coming out of here are screened, and you'll be provided a new cell phone."

I patted my pockets. "Where's my phone?"

"I yoinked it from your pocket an hour ago and crushed it."

"What?"

"RIP." He checked his watch. "As of thirty minutes ago, a few of my subordinates went to your parents' home and changed their memories. They believe you're away at an accelerated program for the arts where you have little reception. When shifting the memories of a mortal, it's best to give them something believable to replace reality. Hence, why we sent you to Dweeb University."

I gave him a flat look. "Will you send those subordinates to find Marcy now too?"

"Didn't I already tell you I would?"

I really wished I could use my power at will, so I could fry his ass.

"TV is loaded with all the boob tube mortal crap. HBO Max, Prime, Netflix. Video games. Password for the fridge and any pantry doors is 666. No, I didn't pick that, and no, I don't have any kids. Cruentas can open doors."

The second mention of his horse had me spinning around as if the giant stallion would come charging out of nowhere.

"If you need me, don't," Death said. "Call Leo instead."

"And how do I call Leo?"

"There's contact information on the touchscreens, located in every room. Use those until I get you the new phone."

Then he just turned and walked away from me.

He started to fade, but I picked up a ceramic vase and chucked it him.

Death turned, his body almost entirely shadow as his hand snatched the vase in midair, and he became corporeal again. "You better have a damn good reason," he snarled.

"Sorry," I said quickly, wetting my dry lips. "Actually, no, I'm not sorry. You were about to leave again without giving me any closure, and I'm not going to stand for it." It felt like my skin was slowly simmering underneath that hidden glare of his. "I—I need to have a conversation with you about what happened at Spades."

Death went quiet for a long, dangerous moment. I imagined he was contemplating grating me like a block of cheese in the kitchen.

"You know Ace was telling the truth," I pressed on. "We both were in that vision. If we don't go together, couldn't that affect you getting your scythe?"

Death's jaw tightened. "Since when do you care about my scythe?"

"You seem to be the only one who can face off against Ahrimad and Malphas. I don't want anyone else getting hurt or taken like Marcy."

Death flexed his gloved hands and lowered his head so that his hood shadowed his face like an assassin.

"I really think Ace is trying to help you," I pressed.

"We only gave Ace the time of day today to ensure he stays in line. He could have reported me to the Elders in Heaven and screwed me into another punishment. If he truly wanted to help us, he wouldn't have humiliated you by forcing you on dates with him because he thinks we're fucking."

"He's hurt, and yes, he's clearly feeling vindictive. But can you blame him?"

Death took a step forward. "Let me be perfectly clear," he growled. "I work alone. And if I wanted a sidekick, which I don't, you would be the last person in this entire irritating realm that I would choose. You're emotional, stubborn, soft, and . . . friendly ." He made "friendly" sound like a dirt sandwich between two pieces of wet cardboard. "Not to mention, you have the coordination of a puffin."

"What the hell is a puffin?"

"I'm not your Google."

At approximately two thousand years old, he might as well have been.

"Doubting our own trainer capabilities, are we?" I taunted.

Death closed the distance between us in a few strides, and I gasped as his darkness pinned me to the wall without him touching me. "Maybe you haven't put two and two together, but I'm starving right now. Far too hungry to be ping-ponging with you back and forth like a sitcom. So, unless you have something else to offer me . . . " His velvet voice slipped over my skin like warm wax as he flicked his gaze over my body. My face felt hot, and I dropped my gaze to his chest. A low, gruff laugh huffed out of his nostrils. "Yeah, that's what I thought, cupcake."

Then he stalked past me.

"I want to know where we begin," I snapped at his back, hurt wobbling my voice.

Death halted but didn't face me. "You can't begin with someone who ends, Faith."

"Then meet me halfway," I said. "I'm not a child, so don't treat me like one. You brought me into your world. All I'm asking is that you don't leave me defenseless in it."

"Putting you up against Ahrimad and my father is a death sentence." He turned his hooded head slightly over his shoulder. "I need to protect you."

"For your and Lucifer's sake?" I spat. "That's not protecting me, that's—"

"Keeping you in one piece for our own personal gain," he finished. "You're finally catching on. This is the end of the discussion."

But I wasn't done with him, and I sprinted forward to block his path.

"You little—" The rest of the sentence was cut off in another language, one that I'd begun assuming was Latin.

"Train me recreationally," I said, spreading my arms out to appease him. "On a trial basis, and then you can decide if I've made enough progress. We have about two weeks, don't we? What if you gave me one?" When he just scowled down at me, I got the sense that I was wearing him down. "What if I need to protect myself against Ahrimad or Malphas again? You can't just hold me prisoner here and take me out to play with whenever you want. I know you don't want me to hate you."

He leaned into me. "What makes you think I care if you hate me?"

My throat felt thick with emotion as I couldn't think of a single reason. "I'm teachable. Give me a chance to prove it to you."

Death straightened and ran his gloved hand over his jaw. "Are you going to make a huge fuss out of this?"

"Yes, yes I am."

Death growled deep in his throat and crossed the room to pick up the vase I had thrown at him. When he came back, he grabbed me roughly by the arm and hauled me over to stand in front of his dining room table. He set the vase on the table and stepped back.

"Break the vase," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry?"

"Break it. With your power."

"Oh," I said. "Right." I lifted my hand, narrowing my eyes at the vase for about twenty seconds. "Can I have a little space here? And maybe some hype?"

"Break the vase, or you're ugly."

His sarcastic sense of humor always surfaced at the strangest times, and I couldn't help but snort. Focusing on the vase again, I strained to make something—anything—happen. The tiniest ache of a headache began around my eyes before I let my arm fall with a frustrated sigh.

"Guess I'm ugly."

Death edged closer, and my heart picked up speed. His belt buckle brushed my back as he lifted my arm back up to point at the vase. "Relax," he murmured. "Picture your light coming forth at your command. Think: break ."

Easier said than done when all I could focus on was his grip, the memory of the heat of his body beneath his clothes on his motorcycle, the notes of leather, earthy woods, and smoke in his cologne, and the distinctive scent of him tying it together in a bundle of enticement. I felt ashamed by this relentless, undeniable attraction to him. Even after everything he'd done, all the pain he'd caused me, it remained. Not to mention Marcy—

A bullet of power unleashed right into the wall of his penthouse, and I quickly wiped away the tear that had rolled down my cheek.

"Hmm." Death analyzed the tiny hole I'd made in his wall. "Pitiful."

"Pitiful! Look, man, it came forth , didn't it? And in only five minutes."

"You shut your eyes ," Death hissed, "and you shot with a finger gun ."

I winced. "All right, that is pretty cringe. But it worked, didn't it?"

I couldn't see his face, but I could feel his stare as he returned to his spot behind me. "Try again."

I hid my surprise as I got into position again.

He ended up coaching me for the next fifteen minutes with the same drill. Over and over again, I lifted my hand with the visualization he instructed of firing my light at the vase. And over and over again, nothing happened. It was embarrassing and frustrating, but for some reason, Death hadn't left. No, he just kept pacing. Pacing back and forth like a panther.

"Focus," Death snapped. "You're distracted."

By you .

Death strode into my line of vision and leaned over the dining room table. "Sinning on the mind, cupcake?" He tilted his head, and I could see the sly grin on his mouth. "Maybe your light isn't what you want to explode."

White sparks ignited my fingertips, and I yelped in surprise. Death pushed off the table, his hooded head aimed like a hawk at the light growing in my palm. My gaze flicked to the vase ahead, but I struggled to multitask holding the light and firing it at the same time.

"You're thinking too much," Death said. "Let the power come to you."

The more force I put into it, the more it seemed to want to burn out, but I held on. Sweat dripped down my spine, and my teeth were clenched tight. "I don't . . . have control."

The air shifted, and suddenly Death's breath fanned the back of my neck. "I could always take the lead," he whispered in a low, sultry purr.

"Stop," I seethed. "I'm going to . . . lose it."

"I haven't put it in yet."

"Shut . . . up !"

"You're all red and sweaty."

His tongue touched my ear, and I flinched.

"You better cut it out!" I cried in a laughably high-pitched tone.

"Or what ?" he growled, slipping back into exasperation as if the flirting tactic hadn't gotten the reaction he'd wanted. "Finish the threat and show me what you're made of."

"If it's so easy, why don't you do it?" I shouted, pivoting to jab his chest with each word. It felt like I'd jammed my finger into steel. "Sweet peaches in a pie . . . that's a ton of muscle."

Death looked down at his chest. Then he flicked my finger away like it was a piece of lint on his shirt. For a second, I thought he would reach for my neck and wring it for touching him. Instead, he raised his gloved hand and made a small motion. Shadow fired from his fingers into the vase, shattering it into a million pieces.

"My vase!" I hurried to the table, collecting the broken pieces into a sad pile. "I was being hypothetical!"

"Could have been you breaking it if you didn't have the attention span of a goldfish."

I whirled around to find him crossing his arms over his chest in a cocky manner. "Whoop-de-doo, you can break a vase. Can do you do card tricks too?"

Death dangled a pair of underwear from one gloved finger. "I can make your panties disappear."

My mouth went slack as I looked down at my pants. Of course, the pair I'd put on were borderline granny panties. Mortified, I let out an inhuman noise and went to snatch them, but he extended his arm, dangling them over my head. He teased me a few times before tossing them in the air, where they vanished in a puff of smoke. "Oh, darn. Where on earth did they go?"

"You son of a . . . " I shouted. "I ought to fry your stupid hooded face off with my— my —!"

"Aw, how adorable. She doesn't have a name for it." Death circled me in a slow, calculated way, and I followed his every move. He stopped and shoved up the sleeve of his sweatshirt to check the time on a high-end watch. "I'll be back in three hours to train you."

I blinked. "I passed your test?"

He held up a gloved finger. "One training session. One more chance to prove me wrong. That's it."

I threw my arms outward, a celebration dance in my wake, when it dawned on me that he was leaving me alone.

"Hold on, where are you going?"

"Take a wild guess, cupcake."

He was going to collect. And some of the souls he feasted on would die differently than they were supposed to. Because that was just the kind of monster he was.

Death leaned into my ear. "I'll think of you when I feed," he whispered.

When I turned back, all that was left of him was a black mist.