Page 15 of Death is My Ride or Die

“Yes,” I whispered in horror.

A loud slurping noise drew my attention to the chupacabra. His illusion of a human man had slipped again as he dipped his bony fingers into his fresh goblet of blood. My mouth felt dry. I gulped down the Grave concoction, quickly realizing it was delicious and rat-poison-free but highly alcoholic.

“Why?” I asked Death, coughing as the drink burned my throat a little. “Why am I beginning to . . . ?”

“See into my world?” Death offered, grinning like a piranha.

“What’s happening to me?”

Silence.

My whole body pulsed to the pounding rhythm of my heart. “You know what all of this means, don’t you?” I lowered my voice until it was barely audible. “You know what I am.”

“I told you: I know everything about you, Faith.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love when you’re vague and enigmatic?” I asked sarcastically.

“Get used to it, princess. I lost track of those questions of yours: that one can be fourteen.”

We stared at each other. Me, furious, and him, amused.

The waiter returned and placed a plate of food in front of me, squashing all my anger.

A meat dish and a salad. Not trusting the meat, I pushed the plate toward the center of the table, sloshing Death’s drink a little before he plucked it up. The salad had questionable red slices of some sort of vegetable, peaches, sweet potato, and crumbled cheese with greens and a vinaigrette.

This sure wasn’t my usual food of choice.

I poked my fork into the dish and cautiously brought a red slice to my mouth to chew. “Phew,” I said and pretended to wipe sweat off my forehead, “they’re just beets.” I scooped a larger forkful. “And they’re not bad.”

Death dropped his napkin into his lap but made no move to eat. “Beets are an aphrodisiac.”

I stabbed at the salad, avoiding a beet this time. “I would need twelve truckloads of beets to ever come on to you.”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he angled his body in my direction and watched me with a painful intensity. I busied myself with my food. One of his hands gripped the table, and the other gripped the back of my chair. From the corner of my eye, I saw him leaning into me.

“Your first kiss,” he said, mischief coating his voice. “Stolen. Just like that. Tell me, was the big, grand kiss wasted on me?”

“I don’t know,” I answered calmly. “Is it grand for your first kiss to tell you it shouldn’t have happened? Is it grand for them to screw with you just to get in your pants?”

“Virgins and screwing don’t mix well with me. I’m not a gentle giant.”

I sipped my drink again to relieve the sudden dryness in my throat.

He leaned closer. “I want to hear you say it,” he whispered huskily. “How hot and bothered I get you. How you crave me. A nice, good human boy won’t do it for you anymore, will he? Say I’m wrong.”

I’d never focused so hard on beets in my life. “Have you always deflected with anger, humor, and perverseness? Your defense mechanisms are showing.”

“So spiteful,” he murmured. “Must be all that pent-up estrogen.”

“Never to be released by you.”

“I’m curious, does the nun have an elaborate fantasy for losing her V-badge too?”

The second Death had his corpse back, I was going to penalty kick him soccer-style in the dick. Why was I not at all surprised thatDavid Starhad never had a serious girlfriend? Death was a total hound.

“I can visualize the first-time attachment syndrome already,” Death continued. “When you finally lose it, you’re going to koala hug the poor lad’s leg all the way out the door. I’m cringing already.”

“What’d you lose yourclumsyvirginity to, Roman man?” I interrogated. “A toga? A hole in a tree? When I give it up, it’ll be to someone special. Someone who’s kind, thoughtful, hardworking, and honest. A simple, easy love.”

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