Page 72 of Death is My Ride or Die

“I intended to take you back to your room,” he explained slowly, “but you started to violently shake. You had a fever of one hundred twelve degrees Fahrenheit. It didn’t drop for two hours.”

“That’s impossible. A fever that high would . . . it would—”

“Kill you?” Death offered, pushing up from the chair. He closed the distance between the chair and the bed with two smooth strides. “Or at least leave you with severe brain damage, wouldn’t you think?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

We stared at each other.

“Headache?” he asked.

“No.”

“Chills?”

“No.”

“Seeing double?”

“No.”

“Pain anywhere?”

I did a quick assessment of my body. “Um, no.”

He pinched my arm.

“Ow!”

“You still feel pain. Good. When’s the last time you had your period?”

“What?”

“Well, you see, Faith,” Death began in that husky, monotone way he spoke when he was being sarcastic, “when it’s that time of the month, a woman begins to—”

I reached back and whacked him hard with a pillow, which curled his lips into almost a smile. “I’m getting the heck out of here.”

When I attempted to sit up, he pushed me back down with a single poke to my chest. “Not until I say so, cupcake.”

With a growl, I swatted his hand away and yanked the covers off me.

Death kept his eyes on my face even as I felt a breeze on my legs.

“Holy—!” I pulled down the oversized shirt I was wearing and then yanked the covers back up. I had on cotton underwear but no pants. “You changed my clothes.”

“Had to,” Death said. “You were soaked in sweat and threw up all over yourself—and me, for that matter.” He stretched out his gloved hands. “Ever try to get vomit out of leather? Fun time.”

I glanced down at the crumpled blanket around me, trying to wrap my head around the fact thatDeathhad taken care of me.

“Take my word for it or don’t,” Death continued, “but I didn’t look at anything or touch any inappropriate areas. You weren’t naked either.”

“Thank you,” I said, “but couldn’t you have at least put some pants on me once the fever broke?”

“What do I look like? Goodwill? Besides, all my sweatpants are in the wash, and you don’t want my wash mixing with yours. All the blood and gore I get on my pants never comes out in one cycle.”

I blinked.Good God.

“Get me a pair of clean pants before I scream,” I said calmly.

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