XXXII

Death shouldered open a metal door into the parking lot and blew it straight off its hinges.

"Uh." I indicated the fallen door as we left. "Aren't you worried someone will break in?"

"To what? Steal a bunch of plywood?" Death summoned his motorcycle. "My shadows will eat them alive before they get one step inside."

My eyes widened, and I couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "How come Cruentas can manifest all the way to the warehouse, but you can't?"

"Manifesting a long distance like that would compromise my energy," Death said. "I already have thousands of duplicates out collecting as we speak."

"Couldn't we ride Cruentas back to the penthouse?"

"Cruentas can only manifest one person at a time, and although he's faster than my bike, I don't need you throwing up on me your first time traveling on a hell horse." He glanced up at the night sky. "If you're feeling bold, we could always fly back. Weather seems to be holding up."

"Death, I'm terrified of heights."

"You were also afraid of riding on a motorcycle. The harder you resist fear, the more power you give it."

I saluted him. "Rain check."

He laughed in a way that made my face burn. "I'll hold you to it, cupcake."

He wasn't wearing a shirt beneath his leather jacket. My chest fluttered as I locked my hands around his bare midsection, his hellish heat keeping me warm the entire ride.

We entered the lobby of his apartment building and took the elevator up.

"You're not healing," Death said, inspecting my arm with the rough pads of his fingers. "Get to it before you lose too much blood."

"I don't know how . . . "

He glared.

"Jesus Christ, I'm tired. Can you just drop some of your blood on it again?"

"What if I want to lick your wounds clean instead?"

My eyes widened, and a slow, devastating grin spread across his wicked mouth.

The tension between us had intensified. The elevator doors chimed open, and he stormed out like a predator.

"Death—"

He grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me in for a kiss. The smallest moan escaped me. My hands didn't know where to go and gripped his bare forearms. His tongue flicked against my teeth, and I tasted his blood dripping into my mouth. It poured down my throat like hot, liquid sugar. That strange, sweet, thin texture of a Fallen's blood. The madness of his bloody tongue slid across my lip one last time before he pulled away. He threw open his apartment door with a ragged breath.

"Get in. Now."

I crossed the threshold and whirled around right as his lips crashed into mine. His hands greedily slid up my waist, clutching the back of my head and prying open my mouth as he stroked my tongue. I slid my grip up his powerful arms to the back of his skull to have an excuse to touch that silky-soft hair again.

The sound of male voices and laughter echoed down the entryway.

I felt my strength return full force as I pushed him away, breathing hard. He thumped a little against the opposite side of the hallway with his black hair sticking up from my hands and gaped at me with dark, carnal eyes. He prowled toward me, but I pressed my hands against his concrete chest.

"Stop," I hissed. "There are people here."

"It's the Seven. They each have a key. Probably thought we were spending the night at the warehouse. I'll kick them out."

Death stalked down the hallway, and I followed him.

Imagine our surprise when we discovered the reapers watching Jurassic Park in the living room. Death motioned for me to get back behind the wall dividing the kitchen and the dining room, so that we were hidden.

We observed his subordinates as if we were at a zoo.

Gunner and Wolf were sprawled on the large couch facing the TV, fighting over Gunner putting too many "gourmet spices" in the popcorn. Romeo wore a sleep mask and drooped in a beanbag with one hand resting halfway down his pants and the other holding a bottle of liquor. Denim sat rigidly upright watching the television, fully dressed in gear. Leo was playing some sort of shooting game on a Switch that made him rage quit at that exact moment; Blade had situated himself on the ledge of the fireplace, swiping his dagger over a sharpener; and Flash lay haphazardly on the coffee table in the middle of all of them, snoring noisily.

"I can't believe these seven bozos are your reapers," I whispered over Death's shoulder.

"They're focused when they need to be," Death replied.

As Gunner and Wolf's popcorn argument elevated, Romeo, still blindfolded by his sleep mask, slapped his hand against the floor. "Excuse me!" he screamed, as if he could hardly hear himself talk over his earbuds. "I'm trying to relax here! Can't an ex-animated creature of the night enjoy his steamy audiobook in peace?"

"Disgusting," Blade hissed. "Didn't you get enough bloody action tonight with those twins?"

"You're jealous because he did, and you didn't ," Wolf said with a grin.

Blade feigned a laugh. "How about I punch your face down your throat and screw your mutilated head?"

Death looked back over his shoulder with a "we should try that" face. I punched him in the bicep, suppressing my laughter at his silent, theatrical reaction.

"I think you should make your entrance now," I whispered.

Death's fists clenched until his knuckles cracked, and he released a bestial noise. "Well, isn't this cute ," he boomed, charging into the living room. All the reapers froze like children caught misbehaving. "My seven feared soldiers of death having a slumber party . . . in my fucking living room ."

Leo stuffed his Switch in the crack of the sofa. Denim, perhaps recognizing he looked overly invested in a dinosaur movie, hoisted himself up too fast, which resulted in catapulting the TV remote off his lap and hitting Wolf in the head with it. Wolf scrambled for the remote to shut off the television as Gunner panicked, tried to hide the popcorn, and lounged on the floor to cover it with a big, goofy grin.

"Before you get mad," Flash said, wiping a bit of drool from his mouth as he jabbed a finger at Gluttony, "Gunner's the one who locked Glenn in the coat closet with a confining spell."

Romeo flipped up his sleep mask. "Mumzy and Zaddy are home!" His neon-pink eyes landed on my torn clothes. "Well, I'll be hanged. That's a lot of blood. Hath the Prince of Darkness slayed the forbidden maiden?"

Curious eyes bounced back and forth between us as they took in my bloodstained clothes and Death's lack of shirt.

"It's not what it looks like," I said. "Death—er—healed me . . . "

Romeo raised a sly eyebrow. "Where's your shirt, my lord?"

"Yeah, where's your shirt, virgin killer?" Wolf pressed.

"We were sparring ," Death sneered, his nostrils flaring. "Which one of you morons had the bright idea of trashing my apartment? You got shit all over the floor."

"Deflection," Romeo sang.

"Indeed," Denim said, "the subject has been changed."

Death made a monstrous noise at the back of his throat. "Enough ," he snarled. "I want all of you out of here, and all of this cleaned up. Tomorrow we meet at the agreed time."

They groaned but vocalized their agreement in unison. Each reaper cleaned up their mess and vanished, while Death stormed to his coat closet and threw it open. Sure enough, the little man with glasses came ambling out.

"My-my lord!" Glenn stuttered, and then he pushed his glasses up. "Ms. Williams! So nice to see you together on this . . . unpleasant night."

Death stabbed his finger toward the front door. "Goodbye, Glenn."

Glenn scrambled to collect himself. "Goodbyemylord!" He dove through the front door as if it were a hologram and evaporated.

"I like Glenn," I decided. "He's funny and awkward."

Death lifted his lip in disgust. "He's a disease."

"Your Highness," Leo called from the living room. "May I ask who will be protecting the girl tomorrow while we meet Ahrimad?"

"Lucifer will be."

I looked up at Death, having hoped he'd changed his mind on leaving me behind.

"I'm ready," I insisted. "I'm in this fight too." When Death didn't budge and kept his eyes forward, I looked pleadingly at Leo.

"Perhaps she has a point, my lord," Leo said. "It may be safer for her to stay in plain sight. I can accompany her if you wish."

I looked up at Death again, thinking that was a decent plan.

"No," Death said. And that was that. "You're dismissed."

Leo stood there a moment longer before nodding once. "As you command, my lord." He'd started to turn when he caught my eye and nodded. "Good night."

"Good night . . . "

Once Leo was gone, Death gave me a seething look before stalking away. Frowning, I trailed after him. "What's the matter with you?"

"You put yourself in the middle of my discussion with my subordinate. Don't do it again."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't do it again," he repeated, pivoting to face me. "Or you will be punished."

"Wow. Here come your outdated villainous torture tactics, right?"

"Who said it'd be that kind of torture?" The sinister flicker of desire in his green eyes sent chills down my spine. "Maybe I'll take it out on your soft thighs."

"If you haven't gotten the memo by now, everyone is sick and tired of your ‘I lost my scythe boo-hoo' moods. You're mad because I agreed with Leo, and you know damn well you're embarking on a suicide mission. Get over yourself and go take a shower; you smell like the undead."

His face was priceless. Of course, he didn't smell bad, he never did—which was beyond me—but he didn't have to know that. I brushed past him, feeling pleased with myself, and was heading down the hallway to my room when Death manifested in front of me, blocking my way. His arms were spread, his hands braced on either side of the hallway, drawing attention to his upper body and outrageous abs. And he knew it.

"Only if you take a shower with me."

The back of my neck prickled. I tried to keep my utter disbelief hidden, but I knew I was failing.

"My shower is much more efficient than yours," Death explained with feigned concern, stretching his hands higher on either side of the hallway to stretch out his abs. "We'd be saving a ton of water."

All I could do was stare at him, dumbfounded that we were even having this conversation.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his grin widening. "Afraid of what will happen after you see me all wet and sudsy? A certain appendage , perhaps?"

"I'm not afraid of your dick," I snapped.

"Whoa there, cupcake," Death said, dropping his arms to stalk a slow circle around me. "Didn't know you had it in you to speak so explicitly."

He flicked a strand of my hair.

"Let me guess," I said, whirling around to face him. "You want to deflower the virgin before you kick the bucket."

"You think so little of me." He lowered his head slightly, looking at me from under his lashes in a mischievous way. "Maybe I want to spend time with you."

"Naked in the shower?"

His sinister laugh made my stomach tingle. "It was a joke; don't get your panties in a twist. Like you'd ever strip down and take a bath with me."

"Ah, the ol' reverse psychology trick," I said. "I thought cats didn't like baths."

"I do. I like to soak." The way a piece of his wavy black hair had fallen into his eyes was driving me insane. "You're looking a little rosy, Lamp Girl. I haven't even said anything that dirty. But the night is still young."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I'm going to go take a shower, and then I'm heading to bed. Alone ."

Death manifested and blocked my way again, sprawling lazily against the hallway wall with sin pooling in his mismatched eyes. "Honestly, cupcake, lighten up. Everybody gets a little panicked about being naked with someone else for the first time. Except for me, of course, but that's because of my very sad, very rare condition. TBDS."

"You know what I'm thinking right now?" I asked.

"Crickets chirping?"

"I think you need to find a hobby outside of getting under my skin and talking about your manhood like it's the Great Bambino of dicks."

I brushed past him, and he grabbed my hand.

"Wait." When I looked back at Death, he slid his hand from mine and into the pocket of his sweatpants. "Never deny that slice of me inside your soul. It belongs to you. Light is your hope, and darkness is your strength to make the choices nobody else can."

My throat felt tight. Nodding once because I didn't know what to say, I shut the guest room door behind me and braced my back against it.

The thought of losing Death made me feel like I was drowning above water. He'd become the angel before the fall, the darkness I'd forgotten how to live without, and we both stood on the edge of the night with everything to lose. Waiting for the inevitable meant we had time. Time, instead of the threat of destiny and a crooked hourglass ticking away our last few grains of sand.

I took a long, leisurely shower to wash off all the blood and loosen up my sore muscles. Then I pulled on a pair of shorts, soft knee-high socks, and a baggy band T-shirt and paced back and forth. It took a long internal pep talk to muster up the courage to exit the guest room.

Wandering around the penthouse, I sought him out again. Past his gym on the bottom floor of the penthouse was a decked-out man cave. Two pinball machines, a pool table, Skee-Ball, and a dual-shot basketball arcade game. Various old photos of celebrities and a popcorn machine.

I passed a flashing neon-pink silhouette of the Grim Reaper cutting off someone's head on the wall and rolled my eyes. Past the two side-by-side doors was an explosion of gunfire from an action film. Death sat on an enormous black leather couch in front of a large flat-screen TV.

I padded across the room and peered at him from the side, admiring his sinfully handsome profile.

Taking a deep breath, I came around the U-shaped couch to sit. Death's eyes shifted away from the movie and snagged on my bare legs as I tucked them into my chest.

He paused the movie.

What are you doing? he asked, but his mouth did not move.

Keeping you company , I replied in my thoughts. But you already know that .

"How many tattoos do you have?" I asked out loud.

"They're not tattoos." He seemed to hesitate before he pushed up his T-shirt sleeve and laid his forearm on my bent legs. Turning his palm over, he displayed the tribal-like designs from his fingertips all the way up his tan bicep. "They started showing up after I was cursed by Ahrimad, then more when I fell from Heaven. I used to only see them when I was in my full form, but now they've become permanent, shifting around every so often. I've been told they're relics, remnants of old magic or something."

I leaned forward, outlining the curve of one of the markings with my finger. His skin was hot to the touch. "Do you know what they mean?"

He shook his head, jaw tight. "No. I don't want to know."

"Why?"

"Don't care."

I had a feeling he did. Maybe ignorance was bliss.

I shivered at the sensation of his fingertip drawing a slow shape on my bare thigh, and that was when I realized he'd never removed his arm from my leg. "I have a question," he said.

Laughter that I didn't quite recognize tumbled out of my mouth. "I might have an answer."

"You said you wanted to be loved your first time. Why?"

I blinked, totally not expecting that one. The seriousness in his expression was off-putting. Like he genuinely didn't understand. It took me a second to think about what I wanted to say.

"There's a coldness in not feeling anything. I don't want to remember feeling cold. Not for my first time. I associate love with feeling secure, warm."

"Coldness." Death stared into nothing as he sketched small shapes on my thigh. "I think I can understand that."

I tried to articulate my opinion carefully. "People who don't want to have attachments to others, they learned how to flip a switch. They know how to feel nothing. And I . . . can't do that. I feel things fully. Most of the time, I feel too much. When I don't want to feel anything at all, it builds up inside me until it surfaces, until it explodes."

"Because you're young," he said. "The world hasn't had its way with you yet. Nobody is born with thick skin. You're tried and beaten with life's weapon of choice until you decide how much more you can take. True power is controlling how you react. To everything."

"Love isn't just a reaction," I argued.

"It's a mental, physical, and hormonal reaction based on subconscious, innate behaviors."

"You can't be serious, Death. Love is healing and powerful. It's what connects people to others."

Death let out a bitter laugh and shook his head. "Your poetry is cute. If only it wasn't based on the deranged romantic fantasies of mortals and had some merit. I have a hard time believing the worldview of a girl raised in a safe, nurturing family, sheltered from all the horrors of the world. What could you possibly know about life to be so certain about love?"

I knew this wasn't about me, and it broke my heart. "Your mother loved you, Death. I could tell in the memory I saw of you as a little boy. She loved you."

"Sometimes. In a cold way, I suppose." He gave me a meaningful look. "My father—well, you've seen how naturally paternal he is. And my mother—she allowed my father to rob me of my childhood, mold me into an executioner. All for power, money, materialistic things to fill the voids inside them both. Children reflect their parents. If I reflect my parents' love, then I am twisted and cruel and vacant. So vacant that I have become nameless."

Feeling like I couldn't breathe, I got up from the couch and stood over him. "Is this the lie you've trained yourself to believe? That you're nothing? You are not nothing. Living without any connection to others is a trauma response. You're so afraid of being hurt again that you've convinced yourself that you don't need love. And that's not living. That's just . . . existing."

This dark revelation confirmed what I had hoped was not true.

"In the warehouse," I continued, prying the difficult words from my mouth, "you said you envied mortals because their lives had significance. I saw something in you that frightened me." I halted as my vision blurred and my throat tightened. "You don't care whether you live or you die, do you? You haven't for a long time."

Death shut his eyes and leaned forward onto his knees, raking his fingers through his hair from the back of his skull to the top. "Faith."

"That's why you're afraid to get close to anyone. You push people away because you don't want them to see that you're suffering inside. And let me tell you something. That makes you as human as I am. Your life is not insignificant, Alex."

His head snapped up. His expression sent a chill down my spine as his eyes erupted with a glowing kaleidoscope of green. It felt as if I'd wrenched something merciless and haunting out of his soul.

"You matter," I said, finding the bravery to continue. "If you were gone, I would grieve you. I would miss you. I want you to live. You've become . . . everything to me. If that means anything to you, anything at all . . . " My shoulders slumped as a sob shook my voice. "Promise you'll do everything in your power to stay."

Death remained unmoving, gazing up me with slightly wide eyes as I wept.

"Come here." He reached out with both arms, and I let him tug me into his lap. He cradled me into his chest. "You sweet, beautiful, foolish little mortal. I'm not worthy of these tears, and you should be frightened by what they awaken in me." He took my hand in his and flattened my palm over his heart. "Until you feel that coldness, I promise."

My eyes drifted closed as I pressed myself deeper into Death's warm embrace. He kissed my forehead and rested his chin on my head, and I knew. I knew he loved me.

Death stiffened. The stench of smoke and burning flesh.

"Isn't this sweet," announced a British voice. "The bitch and the zombie canoodling like it's the end of the world."

My heart plummeted. Duncan, the master vampire, stood in the door of the entertainment room with one hand clasped behind his back. The fabric of his shirt had burned away, leaving a few strands of silky material hanging from his lean, pale chest. The porcelain skin of his face and his right arm were slowly healing from a vicious burn that was so deep, it exposed sections of bone.

Death moved in a blur, placing me behind him. "How did you get past the ward?"

"Oh, you have much bigger things to worry about than your little ward," Duncan said, flashing his fangs. "I come bearing a lovely gift. From Ahrimad." His amiable veneer vanished. "Meet us at the Greywood mausoleum in one hour. Both of you. Or the warlock dies."

He thumped Ace's bloody cane to the floor.