XVI

Being in Death's penthouse piqued my curiosity, but I was dog-tired and anxious about being alone. The only way to keep my mind off the uncertainty of Marcy's situation and the insane happenings of my life was to focus on a purpose; otherwise, I knew I'd lose my grip. Getting Death to train me seemed like the perfect distraction.

Walking down a long hallway, I found four open guest rooms and a closed door at the far end. I had a feeling it was Death's bedroom. Slowly, I padded down the hallway and tried the handle. Locked. Not surprising.

I entered the guest bedroom on the right of his. Dark-gray flooring led to a queen-sized bed with light-gray sheets. There was a glass dresser in the corner of the room, a closet that would currently be useless to me, and my own bathroom. Every aspect of the furniture and decor reflected Death's cold, hard nature.

The bathroom was larger than my bedroom back home, with a luxurious rainfall shower and a massive tub. There were a couple of high-end shampoos and conditioners lined up on the edge of the tub. The counter held lotion, hand soap, toothpaste, and a sad, lonely toothbrush.

I showered quickly then looked in the dresser, where I found plain underwear, two bras, two pairs of leggings, and T-shirts. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the dull clothes in my lap.

The world began to close in. I'd never feel at home in this dead penthouse. Tomorrow, I wouldn't wake up to the sound of Mom doing dishes and frying bacon at an ungodly hour because that's what the best moms do, or hear the coffee pot sputter to life as Dad made a thermos of coffee with milk for me to take to school. I wouldn't eat tacos at Manuel's every Tuesday with my best friend and gossip with her about all the stupid drama that didn't matter much before, and— Oh God, Marcy .

On the edge of losing my identity forever, the only thing that pulled me back from the ledge was hope. Hope that this all wouldn't end as horribly as I was imagining. Hope that I would survive and so would Marcy, that I would win this battle. Giving up meant giving in. It meant saying goodbye forever to everyone I'd left behind.

I pulled on the clothes and lay down on the bed. Mentally exhausted, I figured I'd try to take a short nap, and by some miracle, I dozed off.

I woke up to darkness, except for a thin line of yellow light under the door. How long had I been asleep? Where was I?

The bed shifted. Something lay beside me. Whatever it was, it was too small to be a person and too big to be a cat. I reached out with a tentative hand. My fingers pressed against short, velvety hair. When I flatted my palm against its body, I felt warm muscle twitch against my touch. It snorted, and a wet nose pressed against my arm and nuzzled. Sniff . Sniff . Sniff . It licked me with a coarse tongue.

It was just a dog.

A dog?

Wait a minute.

Death had never mentioned anything about a dog.

Two big, fiery red eyes burst through the darkness in front of me.

"Neerggghhhhhffff!"

I shrieked and fell off the bed, my pillow thankfully falling with me and protecting my head from the ground. Rolling over, I crawled rapidly across the floor toward the crack of light under the guest room door, threw it open, and raced into the penthouse.

The front door was locked. I banged on it nonstop.

"Let me out of here! Death! Death! Somebody better get me out of here right now!" Rage overtook me, and I tugged on the door handle. "Death, if you don't let me out of here right now, then—so help me, God —I will kill you! I will make you deader than you already are! I'll—I'll double kill you!"

"Neerggghhhhhffff!"

I spun fast and plastered myself against the wall.

A miniature black stallion appeared out of thin air in the foyer and came galloping toward me. In his mouth was a blue ball, which he dropped at my feet. He looked up at me, tail swishing rapidly back and forth, and I just stared. And stared.

I picked up the ball, and the mini stallion whinnied, stomping his hooves. The creature was about three feet in length. He had a silky black mane that blew back as he raced around me like an excited puppy. Dark markings and fading scars riddled his body. The resemblance he had to Death's demon stallion was alarming, but this tiny stallion couldn't have been the ginormous horse from the alleyway . . .

I fished for his name in my racing mind. "Cruentas?"

The tiny stallion nickered, black eyes glowing red, and a puff of smoke and a bit of fire blew out from his nostrils. I jumped back, startled by the flames.

I threw the ball. The stallion dashed across the room at lightning speed and caught it. Ball in mouth, he trotted back to me with pride.

"This is so freaking weird . . . " I reached out and patted his neck. He whined softly, dropped the ball, and lay on his side so I could scratch his belly. "But you're so cute . What a good boy!" I cooed as his tail thumped against the carpet. "Who's a good—?"

He vanished.

"Boy," I finished to empty air.

Two black gym shoes stepped into my line of vision. Tilting my head up, I slowly raised my face to the Angel of Death. He wore a baseball cap that cast the tiniest shadow, shading those glowing green eyes. A devastating smirk sliced across his mouth.

"Let's put you to work, cupcake."

He placed me in the corner of his personal gym, where I alternated between hitting a punching bag, squatting with weights, and doing push-ups and sit-ups. This went on for hours , while Death read a book on the opposite side of the room. He didn't give me any instructions, except for a few corrections about the form of my punches. I didn't feel like I was doing anything right, and I'd never worked out that hard in my life. Despite him appearing absorbed in his book, I knew he was testing me. Testing to see if I would give up.

At the end of the training, I couldn't tell if I'd passed or failed his second "trial" of the day. My legs felt like noodles as we climbed the staircase from the gym to the main floor. I had to hold on to the railing like an old lady, still wheezing from Death's merciful command to do a finishing move of twenty burpees.

"We'll regroup at five a.m.," Death boomed from the top of the stairs.

I couldn't hide my excited grin as I raced up the last five steps. "Really?"

He nodded once, albeit reluctantly and with an annoyed grunt.

"Yay!" I performed a little victory dance by tucking my hand behind my head and fanning out my other arm horizontally to mimic the movement of a sprinkler with dub music sounds. "Mm—mm—mm—mm!"

Feeling Death's judgmental stare, I swiftly composed myself by smoothing a strand of my sweaty hair back from my face. "I mean, cool," I said with a jazzy snap.

Cringecringecringecringe.

"Five a.m.," Death repeated.

Then he turned sharply and vanished in a black mist.

In the shower, all I could think about was what I could learn. Maybe I'd finally feel in control of my ability and be able to protect myself! I also wondered where Death had gone away to this time. All those thoughts distracted me from thinking about being alone again. I changed into an oversized shirt and underwear and passed out within minutes in my new bed.

A wave of raw heat jolted me into awareness. I was hanging halfway off the mattress. Panicked, I pulled myself up and swatted at my smoking black wool socks and locked eyes with the blazing red eyes of the supernatural creature at the foot of my bed.

The culprit.

"Cruentas!" I shouted, shooing away the miniature stallion. He hurdled over the mountain of blankets and stomped playfully toward me. "What are you, my alarm clock?"

Air pushed quickly out of his nostrils in a high-pitched whine. Sounded a lot like laughter. Speaking of alarm clock, the one beside my bed read five-thirty.

"Aw, crap," I muttered, throwing my blanket off.

"You're late," Death said as I raced into the training room. He sat in his usual place in another set of dark gym clothes. "Start running laps."

There was almost no conversation. Once in a while, Death would turn down the hard rock blasting from the gym's built-in speakers and bark out a short order. I bit down on my lip multiple times to keep from cursing at him.

I'd thought he was pissed because I was late that day, but when I arrived earlier at the gym the next day, his mood had only worsened.

The next three days of my life were, to put it lightly, horrible.

The good news was Death always made sure I ate, although his concern (if we even want to call it that) began only when I felt faint during our gym sessions. He'd take me to the refectory in the building, which never had any people in it, at least during the day, and would sit silently across from me with his hood drawn over his face. He wore black aviators there and sometimes in the gym, which I knew was because the lights bothered his eyes. It was also a way to avoid interacting with me.

"Why don't you eat with me?" I asked after swallowing a huge mouthful of mac and cheese. Day four of working out had consisted of upper body, and I swear my fork was shaking in my hand from all the push-ups I'd done. "Candy and chocolate milk isn't the most nutritious diet. Well, I guess you don't need mortal food to survive, but you said it helps, right?"

Grouchy remained silent in response. If I didn't know any better, I'd have said he'd fallen into a deep depression because of his scythe.

"What's the update on Marcy?" It was a question I'd asked him every single day, nagging him for an answer.

"They're close. I feel confident they'll recover her soon."

Later, alone in my bedroom, I realized that for that entire day, Death had said only those two sentences to me. The whole not-talking-to-me thing was starting to feel vindictive, and that feeling drove me crazier than the arduous workouts, but I was too stubborn to bring it up at first. Was he seriously still mad at me about his father? What about everything he'd done to me? What the hell was going on in his head? I shouldn't have cared so much, but he was my only point of contact. Stockholm syndrome was looking awfully fashionable these days.

This was probably another one of Death's games, but I wanted him to train me, not play games.

"I quit," I said on the fifth day of doing the same boring, repetitive workout and getting the same evasive answers about Marcy. I wiped sweat from my forehead and marched toward the exit. "This is pointless. And the silent treatment you're giving me? Childish. I'm going to go eat a big, fat chocolate bar at the refectory and then take a twenty-eight-hour bubble bath."

The gym door was locked.

Death bookmarked a page in his book. "You have five hours in here with me every day. No bitching. No whining. And no chocolate." He pushed his aviators down his nose and gave my body a once-over. "You can have a salad after your workout."

My jaw hit the floor. "A salad?"

"Yes, a salad . It's pointless to work out as long as you do and then eat junk food. Pizza, mac and cheese, donuts. Do you even eat vegetables?"

I stormed over to him. "Are you calling me fat?"

"The only place you're fat is your ass." His voice hit a new deep, raspy low that enticed a dark part of me. He studied my hands, which were in tight fists and unusually hot. If I didn't know any better, I would have said Death was purposely trying to get me angry.

I ripped his stupid book out of his hand and heaved it across the gym with a grunt. Death sat back in his chair and crossed his thick arms, and I desperately tried not to pay attention to the fact that his long legs were lazily spread open on either side of me.

"Doesn't take much to get you fired up, does it?" Death asked. "We need to work on that, bubble butt."

Bubble butt!

He was trying to provoke me. Another one of his tests.

Inhaling slowly, I crossed my arms over my chest in an attempt to look unfazed. "You can't just stick me in front of a punching bag for a week and expect me to learn something."

"You need discipline and patience. I've seen little progress with either of them. You held out longer than I thought you would, but you're not ready to move on."

" Show me what I need to do, and I'll do it. These simple workouts you're giving me are pointless. Sit-ups and push-ups won't help me control my power. I'm ready to jump into the next step. Why don't you teach me more of what we were doing in your dining room with breaking the vase?"

Death rose to his imposing height in a slow, lazy way. He was so close that I had to tilt my head back to meet his glare, and I swallowed a dry lump in my throat. "You think you know better than me?" he growled.

"Yes," I said.

"Then congratulations, you're fully equipped to get yourself killed."

"I've controlled the power before," I maintained. "I'm determined to learn, and I learn fast. I can do this, Death. I'm ready to jump into it."

"Then leave this place and kill a demon," he seethed. "Show me you're ready to ‘jump into it.' Because let me tell you something." He leaned in, and it took everything in me not to lean away. "If you're so na?ve that you think you can just jump into this, then you're in for one hell of a rude awakening. You need to train at a realistic pace to succeed against an enemy. In this gym, I'm your enemy."

He bared his fangs in a vicious smile. He and I both knew he was my enemy outside of the gym too.

"I won't go easy on you," Death purred, and a chill crawled up my back. "If you don't like my methods, leave. Go stare at the wall in your guest room for all I care. If you stay, leave your Googled training tips and positive mantras outside of my gym. They'll only convolute your preparation and make me laugh harder when you prove yourself wrong and I knock you down on that perky ass of yours."

My mouth popped open to defend myself, but he was right. Especially the positive mantras bit, which I'd been vocalizing . . . often out loud . . .

"When I give you a task in this gym," Death said, "it's for a reason. I've been exactly where you are. I've made the mistakes that you're capable of." He faltered a bit, as if regretting admitting that last part. "In my world, you need to strengthen your resilience to face things most mortals can't mentally handle. You'll need patience to get there, and I'm not seeing any of that from you."

His words left me silent.

"When you get that through your little mortal brain," Death continued, as he began to stalk away, "then we will move on."

My fingers rolled into fists. Jerk . "Einstein's brain was the size of a cantaloupe, you know!"

Growling, I turned on my heel and stalked toward the punching bag to whale on it.

When I got back to my bedroom later, I was a sweaty, sore mess and horribly moody. I couldn't sit on my bed, considering the fact that I probably smelled as bad as I looked. So I sat down on the floor, leaned my back against the wall, and had a proper pity party by crying my eyes out.

Afterward, I unwrapped the pre-wrap from my hands. My knuckles were split and had blisters underneath. I winced as I removed the final strip of cloth and flexed my fingers. As I stared down at my hands, I attempted to trigger the healing trick I had done before. After a few minutes of concentrating and letting out frustrated breaths, I gave it a rest.

"This is so hopeless," I said.

But I wouldn't give up. No, I had a point to prove, and a prophecy that I couldn't forget. I wouldn't stay behind while Death retrieved his scythe. I needed to be strong enough to fight alongside him and stop Ahrimad and Malphas.

That way, when the time came, I would be strong enough to do the same to Death and Lucifer.

After a nightmare-infested four hours of rest, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. In the silence of the dark room, low vibrations of music shook my headboard. At two in the morning, I kicked off my blanket and slipped a sweatshirt over my camisole to find out where it was coming from.

The hard rock grew louder as I approached the gym, and when I peered inside, I saw what all the commotion was about.

A pile of mauled practice dummies were heaped in the corner, and a shirtless Death stood in the center of the room. He had his back to me, and when he rolled back his shoulders, corded muscle shifted massive, jagged scars that came together at his lower spine in a V. He wore obscenely low-riding sweatpants and held what appeared to be a black bo staff in his right hand. I had to remember to duck behind the doorway as he rotated in my direction and twisted the staff with him.

I watched him methodically set up six new dummies around the room. His skin glistened from exertion, painting a portrait of a Fallen angel in the rain. Locked in concentration, his chin pointed down slightly, he circled one of the practice dummies. He snapped out his staff like a whip, striking hard and fast, slamming his first target to the ground. Shadow poured off him, pooling across the floor as he kept up the momentum and rotated the weapon around his body. Flashes of the gruesome battle in the alleyway came to mind. How he'd torn and sliced apart Malphas's underlings in a matter of minutes.

He executed like a trained killer. As Death methodically defeated his imaginary enemies, suddenly a surge of emotion overcame me so intensely that it was hard to breathe. I was anger . I was chaos . I was grief .

I was Death.

Death stalked across the floor, consumed by darkness. It pooled in the mismatched greens of his eyes, poured off his shoulders in the form of shadows like weeping branches. He glided with the grace of a panther between the remaining practice dummies, weaved and bowed, shuffled and blocked. Strike . Strike . Strike .

Snap . His staff broke in two, and he discarded it. He flexed his talons, working his neck. Muscles shifted in his immense frame as he lashed out with his talons and his legs in unrelenting swipes, punches, and kicks.

Anger . Chaos . Grief .

Punishment .

He was punishing himself, but why?

Perspiration dripped down the sides of his face. It curled his black faux-hawk into a wet mess, slipped down the edges of his chiseled physique to the dusting of dark hair that trailed down his ripped abs. Hair like an arrow on a map, pointing toward those godforsaken pants and the treasure outlined underneath.

"Get back to bed, mouse," Death barked.

I startled. He was glaring right at me.

I scurried to my room like the scared little mouse that peep show had made me.

The next morning, I hid in the gym closet and wrapped and rewrapped my hands exactly twenty-two times.

"Playing hide-and-seek, are we?"

His deep voice trailed down my spine like a caress. I slowly turned around, praying I wasn't acting as awkward as I felt. Death towered over me, blocking the light from the gym. He stood with his arms folded over his chest and wore a cold, menacing expression that I'd learned was his resting face. For someone who had slept even less than me—or not at all , for all I knew-—Death looked frustratingly sexy in black sweatpants and black pullover with—plot twist—a forest-green collar.

A splash of color today, I see .

A small, nervous man with spectacles peered around Death to look at me. He held a clipboard in his hands, and there was a stopwatch dangling from his wrist.

"Glenn," Death said, still glaring down at me with those catlike eyes, "once Faith stops cowering in here, remind her of the drills she's scheduled to complete today." Then he pivoted on his heel, vanishing into a black mist.

"He thinks he's so cool with that exit," I muttered, walking out of the supply closet.

"It is rather cool, though," Glenn commented, "how the shadows embrace him like he's a part of their ‘squad,' as the kids say . . . " The demon noticed my sharp stare and coughed into his fist. "Anyway, Ms. Williams, I'll be timing you through the Graveyard today."

"The what ?"

Glenn pushed his glasses up his nose. "Oh, apologies. It's an obstacle course he created for you. Located in another gym in this building. He calls it the Graveyard."

Just one day of navigating the Graveyard and I felt like I'd dropped thirty pounds. After just a few rounds of tire jumps, sprints, cone drills, and bodyweight training, I was flat on the mat with my mouth open as I wheezed like a fish out of water.

A shadow appeared, haloed in the light of the ceiling as Death's upside-down face loomed over me. "On your back for me again, cupcake?"

He circled around me once, letting out a low purring noise as if he'd discovered his prey sleeping soundly with no way to escape. Dark aviators shielded his eyes, but I could tell he was livelier and fuller than usual by the golden-bronze tint of his skin.

"Just taking a quick nap with my eyes open," I said. "Back from pawing at your ball of yarn and coughing up hairballs?"

Death slapped his combat boots on either side of my body and grinned down at me with those pearly white fangs. Then he lowered himself to a low squat, balancing on the balls of his feet. He had fantastic hip mobility. What a weird , weird thing to think .

"You think you're cute, don't you?" Death asked.

"I know I'm cute." I smirked.

"Tomorrow, you train with me," he said. "I won't be going easy on you."

I sat up on my forearms and felt my shoulders shake with the small movement. "I don't recall asking for you to go easy on me."

Death's lip lifted in a snarl, as if he were frustrated that his bullying hadn't worked. Surprisingly, that frustration transitioned into something else. And he looked almost . . . impressed.

"Hmm," Death said. He rose to his feet and stalked away. "Peel your swamp ass off my mats, cupcake. Class is dismissed."

"I'll bring catnip tomorrow in case you get tired!" I called after him. I could have sworn I heard Death laugh as his darkness devoured him and he left again.