Page 40 of Death is My Ride or Die

“No harm will come to your family.” He steepled his gloved fingertips together, contemplating. “As for your friend, we have very skilled trackers that I will employ to find her for us. We don’t want you caught in any . . . crossfire. It’s best I stay by your side for now.”

Taking a deep breath, I tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind my ear. “I have one more request. I want you to teach me how to control my . . . um, light . . . thingy.” Under his intense and judgmental stare, heat flooded my face. “I don’t have a name for it yet, okay? I want to learn how to control my power.”

“Do I look like a fucking sensei to you?”

“Next time I’m up against Malphas or Ahrimad, I want to know how to protect myself. Doesn’t that benefit both of us?” I left out the fact that not being in control of my power had resulted in Marcy being taken. It’s not like he would have given a damn.

“I’ll consider it,” Death said.

“Did you just ‘nes’ me?”

He leaned his head to one side, like an animal.

“The noncommittal answer between yes and no,” I seethed. “You did. You just nesed me. Bro, this is a contract, you can’t just—”

“I’m not your bro.” He flicked his fingers, shadow swirling amongst the papers. “I’ve added in a trust clause. I said I’ll consider it. Anything else?”

Another dodge. All right, so it was going to be like that.

“I sign this, I don’t want to hear any ‘I own your mind, body, and soul’ lines from you. You only get my soul out of this, and no other sneaky benefits.”

“I’m not catching your meaning.”

I knew damn well he understood. “You can’t use me for sex, Death.”

A vein in his jaw pulsed. “I don’t fuck women who don’t want me, and I never have.”

I don’t know why, but I believed him for once.

“Write in the clause,” I said firmly.

His laughter had an edge. He made a gesture with his finger, black smoke swirling around the contract as words inserted themselves into the document. Death’s expression was passive again, but by his careful, controlled posture, I could tell I’d offended him.

“Guess I found the one despicable thing in this world that’s beneath you,” I said, adding insult to injury.

Death worked his neck to one side, as if he were trying to keep a vicious comment at bay. He failed. “The second despicable thing would be havingyoubeneath me. Besides the unwilling, I don’t fuck awkward, geeky virgins.”

“And I don’t sleep with two-faced zombies.” The bitter words flew out before I could stop them.

Death barked out a laugh that startled me, the mere sight of his fangs making my heart palpitate. He stood and rounded the table, his amused chuckle slipping into the low, sinister rumble of a seductive villain. That was when I realized I couldn’t move my feet. Looking down, I could see his shadows had latched to my ankles, and my heart hammered into overdrive.

Death’s gloved fingers swept over each chair as he passed, beginning a mental countdown as he neared my chair. I kept my eyes focused forward, averted from him to show no fear.

Whistling, he tore out the chair next to me, straddled it backward, and rolled it into me. Every fiber of my being was aware of his presence. The heat of his body, his cologne, even the lingering fruity scent of cherry cigarettes. Death stretched out his long legs so that one leg trapped the back of my chair and the other trapped my legs.

“You know what I think?” he asked. Heat licked up my body as his hand gripped the back of my chair and pinned my braid beneath his hold. “I think,” he whispered in my ear, “you’re abad liar. I think I’m in your head. You try so hard to fight me. Then the light fades, and it’s night. You’re alone in bed, all those dark fantasies coming out to play. I’m there, aren’t I? I’m there with you, while your sweaty thighs twist and writhe in your sheets.”

I kept my attention forward, my posture unflinching despite every part of my soul electrifying as his breath caressed my throat once more.

“I’ve got you all wound up tight, cupcake . . . ”

“I’m sure you have balls of yarn that are more wound up than I am.”

Death laughed again in a low, alluring manner. “Balls of yarn don’t shout my name over and over again while I pound into them.”

I turned toward him. “Which name?”

Death pulled back sharply, and his nostrils flared. “Ha.” Reaching into the front pocket of his black jeans, he flipped open a small pocketknife and slapped it onto the table. “Sign. In your blood.”

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