Page 89 of Death is My BFF

Picture my surprise when the deity of death’s identity was not monstrous, and instead the face of an ordinary man. His dim amber eyes were lined with dark coal, olive-toned skin marked by branchy tattoos.

“Clever child,” Ahrimad said. “You know not what you have done.”

Then he grinned, slow and damning, revealing a mouthful of fangs like knives.

I stumbled to my feet, pure agony ripping across my body.

Panicked, I gazed down at my armor and rapidly shrugged out of the heavy equipment. My skin had paled to that of a corpse. Directly over my heart, where that old, thick scar tissue lay, black filament veins pulsed outward.

“What is happening to me?”

“You have won our game, Alexandru.Deathis what you hated the most. Take mine life, and with it, my wretched power. It is yours now, after all.”

Pressure grew inside my head. Staggering to the side, I gripped my skull as if to keep the bone from exploding and crumbled to all fours. Pressing my forehead to the ground, I writhed against the earth screaming. Nails split open and extended into talons; muscles bulged and tautened in unbearable spasms. I lifted my head with a gulp of air, bloodied tears seeping into my dry mouth. I was thirsting for air now, begging my failing lungs to work. Suddenly, I stopped breathing altogether, but I was still conscious. Confusion knit my brows as I gazed down at my forearm, my skin color altering back to its normal bronze tan shade.

“I do not feel . . . the urge to breathe.”

“Because you are dead,” Ahrimad said weakly, as oily blood trickled out of the corners of his mouth. “Undead. Your body will painfully change. You will have an endless hunger in your stomach.

Nothingwill satisfy it. You will have to feed on mortals. An eternal monster of Hades unlike any other. Cursed to steal away the souls of the living.” His breathing hitched, as he choked out, “Cursed . . . tolive, Alexandru Cruscellio.”

I gripped the sand with my hands and held on. A bellowing roar was unleashed from deep within me as the nightmare continued to unfurl, and I was reborn . . .

The memory dissipated in my mind as I flicked my lighter closed and inhaled from another rolled cigarette. I stepped up to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked out into the modern labyrinth of New York City.

That was when I was alone against the world, and the world was not merciful. I was its pawn and it continued to beat me while I was down. I’d lost myself to the madness and became what I hated the most. Once, I was just a young man, unprepared for the cards I’d been dealt. I let fate grind me under its heel. Now I was a monster who held the deck. I could screw the whole world over and never look back. I felt nothing. How could I?

And yet . . .

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

One recent missed call from Faith. Five missed calls and a voicemail from one of my Fallen soldiers. “We were attacked by Malphas. Two of ours are dead. Faith encountered him and managed to get away. She ran into a bookstore in Pleasant Valley called the Crossroads. It’s guarded by powerful wards and built on hallowed ground. We can’t get close. Please advise.”

Only one warlock recurrently opened up a bookshop under that title. He went by Ace, just Ace. A powerful clairvoyant and magic user. I hadn’t seen that bastard in centuries. He’d opened up shop in Pleasant Valley, of all places.

Coincidences did not exist. Not with clairvoyants. Ace knew about Faith.

I crushed the phone in my hand.

Shadows curled around my shoulders and mended into my cloak. Lunging forward, I vanished into the dark and reappeared midsprint on the roof of the D&S Tower. My combat boot pushed off the concrete ledge, massive wings unfurling from my back as I dove down into the dusky city.

XVII

FAITH

“How’d you get into this room?”

I whirled around to find a short, angry woman. She looked a few years older than me with high cheekbones and bright-amber eyes that burned with a fire behind each iris. I hoped those were contacts.

A mess of wild brown curls spiraled past a slim waist to the leather belt at her hips, where she kept two sheathed weapons.

“I-I was trying to find an employee to ask to use your phone.

Mine’s dead.” I said, waving my cell. Now that I had to focus on coherent sentences, my mind felt hazy, like I’d been awoken from some sort of trance. “I have an emergency.”

“An emergency?” Her voice was mellow, softer, not quite fitting her harsh appearance, so I had to conclude from her unwelcoming affect this was not the place to make a phone call. It was time to cut and run.

When I went to maneuver around her, she blocked my way. Her hand rested on the gun on her belt. I had to think up a way out of this, fast.

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