Death is a Bitch Read online

  My, he looks more handsome in moonlight. If Damien was hot, Azrael was a wildfire engulfing the blue planet.

  “Abso-freaking-lutely wonderful,” Damien muttered, then snapped his fingers in front of her rapturous face. “Hello? Focus, will you? We have a situation to resolve.”

  If Alan minded being referred to as a situation he didn’t complain. His chin resting against the open car window, he looked like an abandoned puppy awaiting rescue. Nor did he ask who the players were in this bizarre little comedy. Perceptive guy.

  “Don’t raise Alan’s hopes, Damien.” Though she knew full well that Alan could cede his soul to Damien, damning himself for eternity. Not a frequent occurrence, but enough to shake her job security ever so slightly.

  Slow and graceful, Azrael strode to them, the essence of controlled power. “You have nothing to fear, Alan, unless you’ve already committed your eternal soul to the everlasting fires of damnation.”

  Death added, “Then you’ll really be screwed.”

  Damien winced, and moved in front of Alan to block his view. “Pay no attention to them. You’ll have everything you could ever desire.”

  Azrael shot Damien a scowl and shoved him aside. “Except peace. If you disrupt the will of the Almighty I Am, you will exist in torment.”

  Damien waved to dismiss the argument. “There’s balance in everything. For every up, there’s always a down. You learned that in the business world, Alan. It’s how you use them to your benefit that counts. Am I right? Huh?”

  Oh, that final verbal nudge might’ve been too much. Death could feel the proverbial scales tipping as Alan studied Damien, then Azrael, then her.

  Like Azrael beside her, she did her best to send him positive energies to help him find his way. When Alan turned back to Damien, his way wasn’t looking so promising.

  “Your offer’s really tempting,” Alan wheezed out. “I guess a trial period’s out of the question before I make a final decision.”

  Damien faced the archangel, hope distorting his face. “What do you say?”

  Death waited silently. The decision was Azrael’s alone. She acted only as a vehicle for the departed, but right now she was tired of running on idle. Her tattoo tingled as a reminder that others awaited her.

  With no hesitation, Azrael spoke. “You know it’s not allowed.”

  Desperate as a snake oil salesman, Damien loomed in Azrael’s face. “Hey, if we can’t break the rules, who can? Come on, think outside the seven chambers for once.”

  Standing at his full height, Azrael’s wings unfolded with a glorious whoosh. His feathers glimmered white as new fallen snow.

  Magnificent. Death found herself breathless, and wishing those wings would wrap around her. She bit her lip, taking in his full glory, committing every resplendent detail to memory for later fantasizing.

  Right now, she had a soul to take. First she needed to know on whose behalf.

  Stern-faced, Azrael’s voice shook like thunder in the clouds. “Away, cursed one.”

  His mouth forming an O, Damien raised his hands in mock surrender. “Oh, such drama.” He rolled his eyes and turned to the dying man. “I’m not going alone, am I? What do you say, Alan?”

  A sad grin twisted Alan’s mouth. “You’re right. I do want to be with a beautiful woman.” He looked up at Death. “You ready?”

  What a sweetie. Not many humans paid her such compliments, unless they wanted something in return.

  Gracing him with a smile, she bowed her head regally, pretending patience. Not one of her virtues, but she wouldn’t hassle him. He’d almost made the biggest mistake of his life, or death. “I’m at your disposal.” She extended her arms.

  He gave a weak chuckle. “No, I’m at yours. But I trust you.” As he reached out for her, his body slumped away, and his spirit rose beside her, bright as the evening star.

  She bowed again to Azrael. “Many thanks.”

  The archangel spread his wings. “I’ll go with you, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” she stammered. Under her breath, she asked, “Is it review time already?” Aside from these intercessions, that was the only time she ran into Azrael, unfortunately.

  Azrael inched nearer. “I hoped you’d let me buy you a drink at the Nethers.”

  No way did he mean a date. Must be a ploy to pressure me into becoming a team player. “Absolutely.” Something made her glance at Damien.

  The demon glared at her. The second surprise of the evening. Normally, he accepted souls’ decisions in a professional manner. It was work; none of this was personal. When Damien shifted his focus to Azrael, it hardened with palpable hatred.

  Death reached for Alan. “We should go.”

  Azrael touched the small of her back and gestured for her to fly first.

  On their ascent, she gave Alan a reassuring smile, but he focused on the ground below. Still mourning his mangled sports car? Or wondering if he should have stayed? “You made the right choice.”

  “I don’t regret it. But you might.” Alan nodded at the ground. “He looks pissed.”

  She followed Alan’s disturbed stare to Damien, still standing in the same spot. “Oh, he’ll get over it. He should be used to losing to me by now.” She forced a chuckle but couldn’t look away from the demon. He hadn’t morphed into another form, but he now appeared ugly. Vicious. And yes, pissed.

  “I’m glad to be away from him,” Alan said. “He gives me the creeps.”

  An unnatural shiver coursed through Death. “Me too.” On both counts.

  Damien’s eyes glowed red. Except for his Armani suit, he might’ve been Botticelli’s rendering of evil personified.

  Azrael winked. “He’ll soon forget.”

  The force of his powerful wings propelling him upward ruffled his hair across his forehead, making her want to smooth it away. She’d be tempted to kiss him, but then she might get carried away and wrap her long legs around his waist as he flew; they’d spiral through space, the stars and planets a blur.

  She sighed. “Oh yes.” Realizing she’d caught Azrael’s attention, she added, “Damien has the attention span of an amoeba.” She wished she could forget too, but something told her it might be better to remember.

  Chapter Two

  Azrael hadn’t moved his hand from the small of Death’s back since asking her to the bar. She’d made no acknowledgement as they accompanied Alan to the Gate. Nor had she protested when they flew to the Nethers. Now he used it as a pretense for guiding her through the bar to a corner booth. His fantasy of the feel of her was no comparison to the reality. Through the sleek material of her gown, his touch discerned her every movement. Like a hit of opium, it flared through him. He immediately wanted more.

  “How about this table?” Private, and unlike the decorative quasar bits shooting above the dance floor, the muted light of stardust hanging above the booth invited more intimate conversation.

  She flashed him a smile, igniting something unnamable within his chest, unnerving him as it slid lower, past his hips. She took her seat on the velvet cushion and he slid in beside her. The glow of the lantern atop the table softened her features. Gods, she was stunning.

  He finally remembered to speak and filled the awkward silence. “What would you like?”

  To his relief, the server flew up and hovered near. “Sir. Ma’am.”

  “Sangria would hit the spot,” Death said.

  “A carafe, please.” He might need more than one to calm his nerves.

  In an instant, the server disappeared and reappeared with two glasses and the decanter, poured, and then vanished.

  Azrael raised his glass. “Cheers.”

  Death sipped. “I have to admit, your invitation took me by surprise.”

  “Why?” He’d thought about asking her out for ages. Something always came up at the last minute.

  “You’re extremely busy.”

  “No busier than you.”

  She shifted. “Yes, but you have many more under your ch
arge. Including me.”

  Gods. He hadn’t asked her here to discuss work. “You’re busier than me, though perhaps if you delegated your duties, as I suggested, you’d have more free time.” Drat, that sounded like an admonishment. His suggestion would give her free time, a selfish request because he hoped she’d share it with him. “And rank is a technicality. I consider us equals.”

  She studied him intently. “That’s kind of you to say.”

  “It’s more than a kindness, Death. I’ve long admired you. In so many ways.” He held in a groan. Terrible, infinitely awful. He could face down a legion of demons, exude comfort to a human in the grips of grief, but put a beautiful woman in front of him and… pffft. He became a dud.

  Something sparked in her eyes, a recognition of his true meaning. Hallelujah.

  “I hold great admiration for you as well, Azrael.”

  Her words reached deep inside him and twined around his soul. He repressed the urge to reach for her, the urge to open himself to her as he’d never done with any female.

  “I’m always grateful for your assistance.”

  Her utterance stopped him cold. The biggest dud in all the worlds, apparently. How could he get his point across? “By all the heavens, Death, this has nothing to do with our duties.”

  “Really?”

  “Definitely.” Okay, so he wasn’t the most experienced guy in the heavens. If his intention came across as unclear, she had zero interest.

  Warmth glowed in her smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  He inched nearer. “You have no idea how pleased that makes me.” Pleased? Why couldn’t he simply tell her how he longed for her? By all that was sacred, he might as well have inscribed an “L” on his chest.

  He eased away when Hypnos appeared at their table, smirking. “Death. What a surprise to see you here. Hello, Azrael.”

  “Hypnos. I—”

  “Oops, gotta go. Metatron promised me a mojito.” She pointed at Death. “You owe me one, too.” Giggling, she turned away.

  Azrael caught the wink she gave Death. “Did I miss something?”

  Death blinked. “What? No,” she stammered.

  He gulped his drink. Obviously, they’d made him the butt of their private joke.

  She glanced at her tattoo, and relief washed over her face. “Oh, another soul. Oh.” Sadness weighted her tone.

  “What’s wrong?” His hand closed around hers. He relaxed his grip when she tensed, ready to release her. Give up.

  She squeezed his hand. Such a simple gesture, but enough to rekindle hope.

  “An innocent awaits. A babe.” Her gaze went to the spark within the lantern atop the table. “The type of soul I most dread to take.”

  How well he understood. Grieving parents, especially those who’d lost an infant, challenged him most. “I’ll come with you.”

  She withdrew her hand and scooted from the booth. “You don’t need to. It’s my duty. I require no help.”

  She rose graceful as a goddess and her beauty took his breath away. “I know. I want to be with you.”

  A flush of color tinged her cheeks. “I’d like that very much.”

  Something like lightning shot through him, from the tips of his wings through his chest, to below his hips. Consumed by his work, he rarely thought about sex, rarely experienced desire. But with Death, he grew all too aware of those sensations, just as he was all too aware of her. Every movement of her hips, the flow of her long, black hair against her back, the curve of her rear….

  He clambered from his seat, wings fluffing like a peacock in mating season. Instinctively, his hand again went to the small of her back. “I’m ready.”

  If only she knew how ready, and for what, she might flee.

  But after tonight, he was resolved to follow in close pursuit.

  ***

  Death flew through the night, doing her best to focus. Azrael’s steady touch at the small of her back sent her thoughts askew. Had she misjudged him? Mistaken his intense dedication to his job as a high-and-mighty attitude? He had a sensitive side. Surprise of the millennium. Or was this a ploy to observe her “methods” of harvesting souls?

  Still, his awkwardness worried her. Instinct told her his rigidness about work would grate her nerves. Plus, she liked her men self-assured. Not cocky, exactly, but not as stiff as Azrael. If she had to coach him through the process of lovemaking, it would kill her desire faster than a black hole devouring a comet.

  She glanced at him. Power emanated from his every muscle. All angels could stun with their beauty, but Azrael she’d always found particularly handsome. His blond hair fell in layers to his shoulders, and the rush of air as they flew rippled through it. He flashed a shy smile, and deep dimples lined his cheeks, another surprise. He should smile more often. Maybe she could remedy that.

  The tingle in her tattoo grew more insistent. The babe’s time had come.

  Trepidation filled her. Maybe she should have heeded Azrael’s suggestion that she make use of the minions available to her and delegated the next soul. She’d talked herself into thinking she could handle it. It’s your job. Just do it. She wouldn’t expect anyone else to carry out a job she dreaded.

  The name of the city escaped her, but that didn’t matter. Instinct guided her to its suburbs, Azrael at her side. Along a tree-lined street, a cozy home sat between patches of lawn. Small, but the parents couldn’t have been more than thirty.

  Death wished she didn’t know how difficult it had been for them, that they’d endured years of tests and doctor visits. Finally, they’d given up on pregnancy and filed for adoption. Soon after, the wife grew nauseous but craved odd foods. A test revealed what they hadn’t dared hope true: they would become parents.

  Now Death had come to claim the son the woman had borne. Never had she hated her job so much.

  The dim glow of a night light showed a cheerily decorated nursery. As they entered, Death met her twin, Hypnos, who looked dejected. “Is your work already done here, Sister?” If so, Death’s job would be easier. The parents would sleep through her visit.

  Hypnos nodded in greeting, the lids of her large eyes half-shuttered while shuffling toward Death. “These people are too upset to rest. I gather that after you leave, I’ll be needed even less.” Her short gown, blue as the evening sky at dusk, fluttered around her long, shapely legs. She shifted, her attention sharper in turning to Death’s companion. “Hey, Az. Surprised to see you again so soon.”

  Azrael eased closer to Death. “Always a pleasure, Hypnos. I’m merely here to provide support.”

  Not a wonder that humans never mistook her twin for Death. Hypnos’ beauty exuded the same calm, but held no edge of danger, no warning of imminent demise, only sweet slumber, sometimes infused with sensuality.

  Luckily, Azrael had no need of sleep in any capacity, or her twin’s appreciation of him might have roused Death’s jealousy.

  “She does rest uneasily.” Death glanced at the young mom sleeping in the rocking chair.

  Hypnos’s worn bunny slippers scuffed along the carpet. “I’ll leave you to your work. I’m needed elsewhere.”

  “Good night, Hypnos.” Death steeled herself for the task ahead.

  Inside the crib, the baby boy’s raspy breaths grew uneven.

  “Shhh.” She reached for the infant, only one month old. When she cradled him to her bosom, the baby stilled, watching her with wide blue eyes. Born prematurely, his lungs hadn’t fully developed.

  She stroked his cheek, staring into his sweet face. “Poor darling. It’s all right.”

  Azrael stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder. He touched the baby’s downy hair. “A fine boy.”

  Death wondered if she’d ever know the joys of being a family. Moments like these felt like stealing someone else’s memories. Certainly, she stole what memories they might have, along with their joy.

  Death glanced at the mother, who stirred, opened her eyes and listened. After kissing his forehead, Death slipped the baby bac
k into the crib and stepped back. She could wait a little while longer.

  Fear crept into the mother’s face as she rose and went to the crib. At first, she drew the blanket around the baby, then laid a hand on his back, and leaned closer. “Matthew?” she whispered. When the boy didn’t move, her voice grew desperate. “Matthew?” Lifting the baby, the mother peered into his face as he gasped for air.

  “Oh no.” Over her shoulder, the woman called, “John! Hurry!”

  The father shuffled in, fingers raking his hair. “Come on, honey. We can’t stay up every night like this.”

  “He’s hardly breathing!” the mother shrieked.

  Any trace of Hypnos’s shroud vanished from the father’s face. “What?” His hand froze when he touched his son, then slid away. His short paces took him in circles. “Oh God. What should we do? I’ll call nine-one-one.”

  The woman blubbered, rocking the infant and patting his back. “Please,” she whispered through her tears. “Stay with me, sweetie.”

  Death hated this part of her job. The babe hadn’t yet begun to taste all that life had to offer. He was never meant to, but that mattered nothing to these poor parents. Death could offer a few stolen seconds, but little else. Now even those had run out. The glimmering thread of life connecting the infant to this world thinned, and then split apart.

  The baby’s spirit rose up, its brilliance dazzling. If only the mother could see its purity maybe it would bring her some comfort.

  Death extended her arms to welcome the tiny spirit. “I’m sorry, little one.”

  Like all of them, the baby’s smile held recognition, but also acceptance. His short time here had proved difficult, and his only attachment to this world was his parents. Love shone in his eyes as he watched them.

  Azrael rested his cheek against Death’s and lifted them up, away from the distressing sobs below. She melded against him, grateful for his strength.

  Touching down in front of the Gate, he leaned down to kiss the baby’s head. Tenderness welled in her breast, infusing her with warmth. The baby floated into the open arms of the waiting angel, and the Gate closed behind them after they entered.