Page 95 of Death is My Ride or Die

“Stay focused,” Death muttered.

“I am.”

He moved faster than usual. Metal whistled through the air. I saw the blood before I felt the pain. It gushed down my bicep like a river and splattered the mats. Panic took over. My heart slammed into my ribs. I covered the wound with my palm and stared up at Death in horror. He was breathing hard, the catlike tilt to his irises violently stuttering. Jesus Christ. He looked positively monstrous.

“Death,” I panted, “I think we should stop.”

His expression went distant. “Stay focused.”

A horrible feeling settled over me as I realized he was talking to himself. I thought back to Blade’s comment about Death’s scythe affecting the reapers’ inner beasts.

Death lunged for another attack. The clash of metal against metal rang out. The monster laughed and countered my attack, knocking the sword out of my hand like a toothpick. His pupils expanded over the width of his eyes as he snatched my bicep in a viselike grip and then wrapped his other hand around my throat.

“Death! Death, you’re losing control!”

“Stop me,” he purred. “Fuck, your scent is so sweet, cupcake. You have no idea what it does to me.”

His fingers gripped my jaw, prying it open. His power seeped into my skin like a hot oil, and I sank into it. His magnetic influence. His mouth parted above mine. I imagined Death inhaling and ripping my essence from my body, ending my life, and something triggered inside of me. A will to live. Light cast across Death’s face. Shock rippled over his expression as my fist connected with his face. A blinding light ensued, and the stench of burning flesh filled the room.

Death released a bestial howl and reared back, clutching his cheek where the outline of my knuckles was engraved like a branding iron.

I looked down at my hands in awe. A bluish-white fire licked up the length of my fingers. Turning my head, I saw that Death had sobered up. He grinned like a cat. Shadows expelled from his body, flooding the floor. I kept my hand up and imagined a shield around myself. His darkness hit my light like a wall, recoiling back with hisses.

“That’s my girl,” Death said. He was nearly obscured by his darkness: a mighty creature of the night firing everything he had at me. “You don’t need a weapon to protect yourself.Youare the weapon.”

You are the weapon.

I stood in front of the mirror, nervously playing with the chain of the barracuda around my throat. I wore an oversized Def Leppard T-shirt dress I’d paired with fishnet stockings and low-heeled combat boots. I checked the time.

Thirty minutes until my date with Ace.

Wandering into the main living room, I felt the chill in the air that always seemed to follow Death. I tilted my head to peer at the upper-level glass banister before climbing the staircase and stopping at the top step. Death sat cross-legged on a large area rug. His eyes were closed, and he sat with perfect posture. I shamelessly studied the markings that resembled tattoos across his bare skin, then the curve of his full lips, those long eyelashes brushing against his cheekbones.

He had great cheekbones for a “don’t look at me wrong way or I’ll skin you alive” kind of man.

The calm state made him appear gentler, softer—two words I would have never expected to use to describe Death. Seeing him like this felt strangely intimate. Like I was watching him sleep.

He was clearly deep into some sort of meditation, and here I was gawking. I started to retreat down the stairs.

“Don’t bother tiptoeing,” Death said. “Your crackly ankles disturbed me the second you left your bedroom.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned toward him. His eyes were still closed, and he hadn’t moved an inch. Slowly, I made my way to him.

“Never pinned you as the ‘balancing my chakras’ type,” I said.

“I’m not meditating. I’m sending my duplicates to do their tasks. Takes a deeper level of concentration.”

“So . . . meditation.”

A gruff noise. “You’re wearing perfume.”

“I am.”

His eyes slowly opened, lingering for a long, leisurely time on the fishnets before flicking to my face. He said nothing. He didn’t have to. He said it all with his hungry eyes.

A coy smile curved my mouth as I took a folded blanket from a black basket. Carrying it to the area rug where he sat, I placed it on the floor like a cushion and sat down so I was directly in front of him.

“Thought you don’t wear dresses,” he muttered.

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