Those eyes. Her breath. Those lips formingmyname.
Pulling those screams out of her—with my bone hands no less.
Then. When I’d been getting off on talking shit, fucking with her. And she said she loved taking my cock?
I’d almost shaken apart right then.
I hadn’t exactly been with a woman before. At least not that I could remember. And not for a very, very, very,veryfucking long time.
Through some absolute miracle, I’d held it together. Somehow. But I hadn’t been okay.
Still wasn’t. Probably wasn’t ever going to be again.
Because the taste of her. Pure ambrosia.
I could dine on her, that soul, and her pleasure every day for the rest of eternity.
If only.
Fuck this job. I wantedthatone.
I wanted her.
Overhead, the intercom cut on, a screech of feedback lancing through my renegade thoughts just before someone announced a code blue. An instant later, the scrubs-clad team rushed into action, several members hurrying past me, oblivious to my presence. Or to the fact that their efforts would be in vain, and it was already too late.
Today, I was picking up a Fated.AnotherFated.
The tugging impulse had come to me while Helena slept, and I’d had to leave her there, passed out from getting fucked into oblivion—mind, body,andsoul.
Maybe I should have gone easier on her. But it had been hard enough behaving myself when she’d been so absolutelysoakedbefore I’d even touched her. When she’d been a gasoline-drenched powder keg I’d set off with a few teases. With mybones. Which she’d fuckingloved. Something that had sent my damn ego into the fucking stratosphere—a place I couldn’t seem to wrestle it back from.
My thoughts, too, ran rampant, wildly circling all the ways I wanted to fuck her delirious the next time.
Except there wasn’t going tobea next time. Not for me.
I was done.
Just like this poor bastard I’d come to get, whoever he was.
I stopped in front of his room, the door to which stood open.
Inside, the code blue team stood gathered around the hospital bed, a huddle of controlled chaos, their shouts along with the one-note song of the heart monitor providing a soundtrack to the drama that, like a Shakespeare tragedy—spoiler alert—ended in certain death.
Normally, I would wait outside. Give the doctors time to make the call official.
But sometimes, on rare occasions, souls abandoned their vessels on their own and went wandering. On rarer occasions, I even found them fully formed, cognizant, and… waiting.
“You’re looking for me, I think,” said the spirit who stood in the stretch of hall I’d just passed through. The old man in the hospital gown—I must have missed him because… well, because I’d been distracted.
“This way,” the bearded and gray-haired man said, turning to head down the hall, absolutely atom bombing my daydream to flaming bits with the sight of his bare and wrinkly ass, visible through the open back of the half-tied hospital gown.
My shoulders slumped.
Duty calls, I fucking guess.
And where the hell did he even think he was going?
The old man walked straight into—and through—the closed ICU door, out into the waiting area. Even souls who had managed to disengage from their physical forms early didn’t typically know they were dead and could move through walls.
