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It was clever, Lara thought with admiration. A very clever, incredibly sad method of self-preservation. This man, this being, was thousands of years old—how long had the fire been burning for up until now?
How long had he kept apart from everyone and everything else in the world just to keep himself sane? She had to admit, Death having a mental breakdown and taking himself on a mindless killing rampage was her idea of a fucking catastrophe…with a capital C.
“That sounds…lonely.”
Strong masculine hands lifted to his neck, long fingers disassembling the tidy knot of his tie. Those stunning eyes stayed on her as he left the silk dangling and slowly, temptingly unbuttoned the first three buttons on his shirt. “Life is lonely, little grasshopper. We are brought into this world alone, live our time on this earth alone, and in the end, die alone.” When she narrowed her eyes at him, he laughed. “Don’t look at me like that. It sounds ridiculous, but even those of us who have existed for hundreds of lifetimes will come to an end at some point. Even me.”
Still on her knees, Lara frowned up at him. “But you’re Death—Death can’t die.”
“Of course, I can. Not through any mortal means, but as I said, when the end of days arrive and my position in the system is no longer required, I will be the final cog removed.” He spoke of it so easily, but then she supposed he knew better than anyone what happened in the last moments of life. “Not to be rude, but I brought you here for the purpose of playing your requested game.”
She cocked her head. “If there’s no time here, why should it bother you if we talk for a while longer? Afraid you’ll become attached to me?”
“I attach myself to nothing, Ms. Townsend. This is simply…a diversion, and although time stands still, the orders from above do not stop.” Death circled his fingertip against his temple. “A constant and revolving list of names, places, times, and method of removal from the system running through my head.”
Lara blinked. “But there must be hundreds of thousands dying every day.”
He shrugged, running his tongue around his teeth. “The numbers change daily. There might be a natural disaster, a terrorist incident, which escalates the figures. Some days can be quieter. It all depends on—”
“The system.”
“Yes,” he crooned with pride, a teacher attempting to educate a dim-witted pupil. “The system is essential. My ability to control time, my access to the portal, are my only tools. I can slow it down to milliseconds if needed. Reaping doesn’t take much time, and it helps if there are several cogs in the same area.”
She shuddered. Being referred to as a cog in a machine didn’t make her feel human or special or alive. Perhaps that was his intention—dehumanize his work so that it wasn’t as complicated to remove them. “I don’t think you can reap that many souls by yourself.”
“Can, have, will.” Fire flickered in his eyes as he tilted his head. “The game, Ms. Townsend, unless you’ve decided to simply surrender to your fate?”
There were still a million and one questions she wanted to ask. Learning about the system, how it operated, what each level strived to gain would help her understand him better, and he was the reason she was here.
Sighing, she tried to stand, but her heels weren’t designed for navigating tricky positions.
“Might as well take them off,” Death murmured. “I do not consider them worthy of the game. The jacket can go, too. What does that leave you with?”
Fuck, she was really doing this. She couldn’t quite believe it even as she unfastened the zippers down the sides of her boots and slipped them off her aching feet. Still couldn’t when she wiggled out of her jacket and folded it neatly, setting it aside with the discarded footwear. “Um…”
“I know you have a voice, and how to use it annoyingly well. Don’t play coy now.”
Oh God, that bite of impatience in his voice was catnip to her pussy. If he continued to tease her with it, she’d likely be rolling around on the floor—or his devilish face—trying to grind her clit against something to relieve the savage ache he created.
“Shirt and bra,” she snapped back, unable to disguise her desire as much as she hoped. “Jeans and panties.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Death rubbed his thumb along his lip. “Three guesses, then you’re mine. First loss results in the removal of your shirt and bra. Second loss, your jeans. Third and final loss, your panties.” His lips twitched at the corners. “And then, Ms. Townsend, you’ll finally get your last request.”
Heat surged up into her cheeks. She wasn’t a virgin, even though her heart had firmly planted itself in this stranger’s hands so many years ago. Her determination to be exactly where she was right now one day had melded with her curiosity, and her desire to be…knowledgeable for him had encouraged her to seek experience.
The ledge she stood on now had steeper drops to either side than she imagined. To the left was ruin and damnation, losing her dream when it was inches from her grasp. On the right was triumph, happiness, and the object of her love.
“All right, then, stand yourself up and move over to the fire,” he repeated his previous order, dominance eking into his tone. “If I’m required to ask a third time, perhaps I should indulge myself by taking it out on your ass.”
She blinked slowly, her mouth working without words. Was he threatening her with a spanking or a fucking? Erring on the side of caution, she stood with ease now that her ankle-breaking boots were no more.
As she padded over to where the heat and light were strongest, Lara couldn’t help but think of her mother, grandmother, father, and all the others she’d found along the way who’d been gifted with this entity as their guide to whatever came next.
She wondered if her grandmother and her mother had known her obsession with Death, that she was destined to be in his life one way or the other. Perhaps her grandmother had—Trudy Townsend had been an intimidating yet compassionate woman from what Lara remembered, but her track record as a witch was legendary.
Lara’s mother, Isabelle, hadn’t taken that path despite the blood in her veins, and Lara hadn’t either. Her gifts were sporadic, little teasers of what she could be if she let herself explore her lineage, but that degree of witchcraft and the power it commanded was so far beyond her comfort level, they were like stars in the night sky.
She believed that showing even a moment of disrespect to the men and women of her ancestry, to the Wiccans around the world, to their faith, would bring only pain.
