Page 41 of Death is My Ride or Die

“Excuse me?”

He gave a half-shrug. “It’s an evil thing.”

“Yeah, no. You’re going to have to accept a normal red gel pen—OW!”

Death snatched my hand in his strong, gloved fingers and bit down on my pointer finger. Did I mention he had a mouthful offangsinstead of normal teeth? When he unclamped his jaw, my poor finger was all disfigured and bloody, and my eyes were wide with disbelief. The shock of the situation took precedence, and bile rose in my throat.

“Yes,” Death said, red staining his bottom lip, “orno?”

“Yes.”

Death carried my hand to the contract and let go so that my finger fell onto the paper. A burn went up my thumb into my arm, then to the center of my chest, lingering over the phantom scar over my stomach. I choked out a cry as my lungs tightened and my bones locked into place.

I stood up sharply from my chair, my chest heaving as the blood from my finger soaked into the parchment, forming my signature in a haunting crimson.

Then the contract was gone in a billow of smoke. I hadn’t even read it.

“Oh God,” I whispered.

“Hecan’t save you. I’m your god now.” Death spun me around to face him. He lifted my bloodied hand to his face to inspect the wound. When I tried to tug away, he held it firmer.

“Your soul, rightfully mine.” He placed two kisses down my wrist, and it shouldn’t have been so arousing to feel his lips brush against my skin. “And yet . . . the greed in me craves more.”

My mouth popped open as his tongue swept along my cut, his catlike eyes swimming with mischief. He slipped my injured finger between his lips, sucking gently. Desire shifted to fear as he sipped my blood. I tried to pull my hand away from him, but his other gloved fingers clamped down on my forearm in warning. He took two more hard pulls andmoaned, deep, low in his throat, moving over my skin like a warm, sultry caress. His eyes briefly fluttered back before his mouth lifted.

I snatched my hand back and cracked it across his face. His head turned to the side slightly, as though intentionally, to give me the brief illusion that I could hurt him, and my palm stung. He gave a dark snicker as he slowly swiveled his head toward me again. His face was a sight I would never forget.

“Again,” he dared in a velvet-clad purr.

Death’s ruthlessly beautiful features sharpened to somethingelse. His mismatched green eyes had been consumed by black, just like his father’s. They were like mirrors opening into his dark soul, and their reflection was ruthless and sinister andhungry. The tattoos crawling up his neck and jaw shifted, slithering like snakes as they spread out across his face until his tan skin began to turn to night.

I stared at the monstrous sight of him in horror, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His tongue slid out, and he bit down on it, drawing blood.

“Come here, mortal,” he commanded in a husky drawl. Then he snatched me by the back of the neck and slammed his lips against mine in a searing kiss. A branding mark. A fever rolled over me as his sweet blood dripped into my mouth, a soft moan carrying me away into the moment as he parted my lips, his tongue rolling over mine in a slow, ardent caress.

When he stepped into me, his leg speared between mine, pinning my thighs back against the table. Large, gloved hands gripped my hips and lifted me onto the meeting table with ease, and I buried my fingers into his surprisingly soft hair and tugged hard, eliciting a gruff noise from his throat.

When I slipped my touch down the broad expanse of his back, he stiffened.

“Hands to yourself,”Death hissed against my lips.

I gasped as his shadows sprung from his body and pinned me flat to the table by the wrists.

“M-m-my lord,” a shaky voice announced.

Death tore away from me with a vicious foreign curse. The spell had been broken, but I remained possessed. I took in Death’s appearance, his lips and jaw dripping with the blackish-red mix of our blood, before quickly sitting up from the table.

A little man with a clipboard stood in the room with us.

“My apologies for this intrusion,” the little man said. “You w-wouldn’t answer your phone, and you k-k-k-k-k-kept kissing—”

“Antichrist,” Death growled. “Spit it out, Glenn!”

“It’s the warlock, Ace!” Glenn’s throat bobbed down a nervous gulp. “He’s recovered and sent a message about an urgent matter he needs to discuss with you.” His beady eyes darted to mine. “Bothof you.”

XIV

Ace had recovered from Death possessing his body.

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