Page 13 of A Waltz with Lord Death
“I said…” She coughed, her breath struggling against the sudden fiery ache in her ribs. “I said to make a wise investment. You interpreted my words wrong. You lost your own money.”
“Quiet, you low-born doxy!” he shouted, and a moment later, his foot connected with her ribs. “You will pay me back every penny lost—”
Michell cried out, startled, as Death grabbed a hold of his tunic and threw him across the hallway. Swirling shadows danced across the corridor like an overbearing fog. Death’s eyes blazed black, a power radiating from him so dark that she couldn’t look at him. His power stretched around her, but never touched her.
“Wh-wh-who are you?” Michell stuttered.
“They call me Death. But you may call me your nightmare. I will make the rest of your short, lousy life a living hell.”
“P-p-please, no. I never meant it! I wasn’t going to hurt her. Really.”
Through the fiery pain in her side, she grunted and managed to turn her head enough to find Michell’s shirt fraying and falling apart to dust where Death had touched it.
“You had minutes left on your lifespan. I was wondering how you would die. Now I know.” Death advanced on the man, and he shrieked as he scooted backward with terror in his eyes. A ribbon of shadow shot toward Michell and entered his nostrils. Moments later, he began to convulse on the ground.
She pushed herself upright. “Stop. Please, Death. Don’t kill him.”
The shadows and darkness slammed back into Death, and he glanced in her direction with a frown on his face. “You would have me spare such a vile creature?”
“Yes.”
They gazed back at one another, an obvious retort on the tip of his tongue. But before he managed to speak, Michell released a war cry and tackled Death to the ground. The man readied a fist, but when he attempted to punch Death in the face, the Lord of Darkness caught it in the air.
Death swore under his breath and kicked the man off him. “I’m sorry, Meira. I didn’t mean to touch him.”
Starting at his hand, a paleness traveled up Michell’s wrist, to his arm, and when it reached his neck, he began screaming. The scream cut off suddenly when his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he collapsed to the ground. His empty, lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling.
Her mouth dropped open in horror. She had never seen someone die.
“Y-y-you killed him.”
“I didn’t mean to. I swear, Meira.” He held out his hands to show his palms to her. “Everything I touch dies.”
“W-w-will I die?”
Once again, her gaze fell upon the lifeless body only feet away from her. Fear clouded her heart in a dense fog.
He shook his head. “If you were to die from my touch, you would have died when we first met, when you took my glove off.”
“Why am I d-d-different?” Curse her stuttering tongue! She wanted to put up a brave front, but Michell’s death had shocked her. Her hands began trembling, and her side ached fiercely from where Michell had kicked her.
“My guess is that you were meant to become Lady Life. I don’t have all the answers, Meira. If I could only ask Barret, he would know.”
“Who is Barret?”
“He used to be Life.”
Another wave of fire shifted from rib to rib, and she took a moment to take several deep breaths. Death quickly moved to her elbow. She didn’t shrink away from his touch, even though the primal part of her warned her to run.
“He hurt you,” he whispered. “I’m not sorry for killing the bastard.”
He helped her to her feet, and despite her urge to flee, she found herself leaning against him for support. His earthy, masculine scent enticed her closer—not at all what she thought the master of death would smell like—and she couldn’t help but breathe him in during their close proximity.
What would it be like to enjoy his scent for the rest of eternity?
Her eyes widened. Where had that thought come from?
She pushed away from him, ignoring the heat flaming in her cheeks to match the flare in her side. For a long moment, she gazed back at him, the unspoken question hanging between them.
