HEY HI HELLO YO ALOHA BONJOUR

 SUP?!??!?!??!?!?!??!

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 In an attempt to sever the quake of fear in my fingers, I gripped the hunting knife tightly in my hand.

This was a test. This had to be a test. But Death was nowhere in sight.

I tensed more and more with each advancing step the thing made in my direction.

Its body was bulging with muscle and covered with black quills similar to a porcupine, but much more frightening. It had pincer like teeth and some of the features and mannerisms of a dog, with its body shape, and the way its horned head lowered and its ears flat against its head as it let out a snarl in my direction.

This creature was much larger than any ordinary dog. As it corralled me into the center of the warehouse, it fell under a slant of light; its grey leathery features came into focus and my stomach churned. Terrifying features paired with gray leathery skin stretched tight against its bones. It's feet were a cousin to hooves. Its mussel was stained with blood and to my horror; when it snarled at me, there were chunks of flesh wedged between its teeth. And its teeth–God, those razor sharp teeth, dripped a blackish liquid that sizzled like acid once it hit the cold concrete.

It was a monster was straight out of a nightmare, yet it was carved with the most unusual beautifully features. A second ticked on into minutes. Sweat poured off of me. I looked down at my little hunter blade, up at the massive creature, back at the blade. It was starting look more and more like a toothpick than a weapon.

The creature's quills expand ever so slightly, before pressing tightly against its body like some sort of armor.

The hound took off towards me.

"Shit!"

Instinct switched on and I rolled out of the way before it rammed into me with its horns. I found out very quickly, that despite its size and horror appeal, this creature was stupid, considering it just kept running for twenty feet and smashed into a wall, before it realized it missed me. But once it turned back around, and noticed me, it was at me like rocket again.

This time, I only barely got away, and the black quills on the side of its came to life. They reached out and hooking onto my side like small fingers, dragging me with the creature as it sprinted. I cried out as my legs crumbled underneath me, my skin of my knees grating on the ground, as if I were attached to the side of a car going eighty miles per hour.

My arm swung out with my hunting blade, digging into the beast's side. A strange thrill washed over me, and in a vicious wave of violence, I ripped the knife from its muscular flesh and stabbed it again, and again, as it continued to run. The creature howled and the quills let go from my body. I gripped onto its quills, even as they pierced my hand, and before the creature continued to race out of my reach, I speared it again once, twice, three times, until its oily blood slickened my fingers and I lost my grip. I skidded across the ground, rolling a few times before I landed on my back.

The old lights on the ceiling of the warehouse were spinning, rotating. My vision was blurry, flickering in and out of blackness. Everything was pulsing in white-hot pain.

I rolled over onto my stomach, gripping the ground with bloody hands, breathing hard.

The creature wasn't dead, but it was dying. I could see its massive body hurdling towards me. I rolled right back into position as if it were now a routine. This time, as the beast hurdled towards me, I waited; waited, fell to my knees as it eagerly leapt into the air for my head, and boldly sliced its throat with the blade like a hook punch. Its body hurdled over me, and it hit the ground with a wet noise gurgling its throat.

Time stopped. I blinked hard, as if it would wake me up from some sick nightmare. At first, I couldn't look back at the dead animal. I imagined mouth worked silently in my mind as it choked on its own blood. I gripped my side and realized I was bleeding profusely from that monster. As my fingers came away with blood, something switched off inside of me–my expression went flat, and a dangerous wave of a rage for vengeance began to grow within me a consuming ailment.

I spun around and faced the dying animal, and what I did became a harsh reality. A reality that I cared little about. And the thing couldn't stand up. The tendons of his legs all screwed up and shredded, and his abdomen was wounded worse than mine.

This was a threshold I had never passed before, a point of no return. I moved towards it. My head lowered and my body was on fire. If my hands had begun to glow from the energy surging through my body, I had yet to notice.

As vicious as the creature still appeared as half a man, oddly enough, when it looked up at me, fear filled its eyes. I was no longer the vulnerable prey. I was in control. I had the power. I was the predator. I would put this thing out of its misery. 

But as I stared down at the beast, it began to become more and more recognizable as something else entirely. The legs, arms, back.... or a naked man. Like Death at times, this individual looked more of an animal than man, but he had harsher, more violent features than Death, which made him more ugly than handsome.

I raised the blade again, battling so hard with myself that my teeth chattered against each other, but this time, I turned my head and caught my reflection in a clean streak through the blood on the surface. Blood covered her face. Her eyes glowered with hatred, the ferocity of a spiteful person that I couldn't recognize.

Who are you?

I looked down the creature again and a sob lodged in my throat. I thought nothing of its sudden transformation from beast to man until that moment. A barrier had been lifted between my emotions and my actions. I couldn't cross the line to become a murderer. I wouldn't.

Now this, this was a test. It was too convenient that this beast had the ability to shift into a more familiar form to my own. It was now a human in some shape was twitching, wheezing, and dying, because of me. I couldn't bring myself to kill what was no longer a vicious beast.

The creature let out a raspy howl that sounded like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. And it wouldn't stop producing the terrifying noise, its head thrashing side to side, as if it were fighting an invisible force. Horror washed over me. Something was killing this creature. Watching it suffer was now a form of torture. A rising tide of cruel torture. The chords in its neck strained. Its skin drained to a light grey.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't finish the job. My eyes welled up with tears. The ghost of those screams still rang in my head. The fright and sadness of what I'd done spread through my body like a cold, icy metal. I forced myself to stand, keep moving away from the scene, and turn my back to it. I concentrated on how to walk. Left. Right. Left. Right. My brain caught up with me, and I started to hyperventilate, collapsing to my knees on the damp ground.

This wasn't just trauma. Something was terribly wrong. Everything felt slowed down. My mind was playing tricks on me. My wounds, they weren't healing. My tongue was swollen against my teeth, cotton in my throat. Heavy. My head lolled on my neck. I fell forward and surrendered myself to the silent warehouse.

Footsteps approached me, lurking closer. The hairs at the back of my neck stood, my fight or flight response kicked in. But I couldn't move.

I was rolled over by the toe of a heavy boot.

"Your hair. It's shorter."

I felt a sharp prick in my arm. A jolt soared through my veins. I shot up, inhaling sharply. It was as if a blast of adrenaline had been flushed into my heart. My hand shot out and gripped a hard bicep, and I stared up at the Angel of Death. He was crouched over me and wore a cloak that looked more modern than his previous one. A large hood curtained over his face, but I could see the short dark hairs of his facial hair, as well as the outline of his lips and the silver of his piercings. He wore black pants with various straps for weapons fastened around his muscular thighs and calves.

"Why did you cut your hair?" he asked, as I blinked up at him a few more moments.

"That's none of your damn business." I scrambled to get up and shoved at his chest. "Get off of me!"

"Now there's a sentence I seldom hear in my direction." He stood up to his looming height, whereas I stood up like a teeter tot with a screw loose, clumsily wrestling my legs to cooperate with my brain.

"What the heck did you inject me with?" I inquired bitterly. "And what...what was that thing?"

"I injected you with an antidote. That was a breed of hellhound. They're poisonous, if you didn't notice."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I noticed. I just didn't know it could turn into a person. Threw me off."

"The most dangerous monsters in this world can mimic humanity." Of course, when he said that, I thought of him. He resembled a human, kinda, but on the inside, he was a creature not to reckon with.

We were silent. I could feel him staring at me underneath his hood and envisioned our kiss the night before, but like the flash of a camera it vanished without a trace. In that moment, I knew he was going to blow off the kiss like it never happened

"That barracuda on your arm can only help you so far in a fight," Death continued, confirming my assumption. "You have some serious work ahead of you, considering that was all rather pathetic to watch."

I felt a pang of hurt from his words and tried desperately to ignore it. He was treating me like bird crap on the sidewalk, and I had no idea why. "I killed it, didn't I?"

"Barely, and with my help," he emphasized coldly, stepping up to me. Usually, when he did that, I had to fight the urge to step back. This time, I was fighting the urge to sway forward and inhale whatever mouthwatering scent he was wearing. Now that was possibly more terrifying than the usual response. "You were too busy finding a box of Kleenex to finish the beast off. What if you were against an opponent and it was another life or death situation? Would you politely ask it if you could kill it?"

I was flushed with embarrassment. "No, I wouldn't, but–"

"Heed my advice," he snarled, and I was a bit taken aback by his switch in temper. "You're not undead like I am. Next time, destroy it, before it drags you around like you're its bitch, and buries you ten feet in the ground like you're its bone."

Keeping my own temper in line was proving to be very difficult. "I'm sorry that killing doesn't come as second nature to me as it does to you."

"Shame. Maybe that debacle would have ended differently if it did." He had the nerve to smirk. "What's wrong, feeling a little hostile? Good. Maybe it'll trigger your power, which I didn't see a single spark of out there."

"I was under the impression that you wanted me to use the toothpick you supplied me with as a weapon. What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem is you keep defending yourself, leaving no room for improvement." I watched as Death pulled back his cloak, revealing a metal scabbard at his side. "Lucky you," he continued dryly, "I've meaning to give you this." He unfastened the scabbard and tossed it to me.

I caught it. It was much heavier than I expected. "What is this?"

"A sword. Clearly."

"It's for me." I looked down at the veiled weapon in disbelief. "You're giving me a sword?"

Death tilted his head up. There was emptiness to his expression that unnerved me. It was as if he was trying extra hard not to show any emotion. "Go on. Unsheathe it."

I grabbed the sword by the hilt and unsheathed it slowly, catching the glow of my eyes in its surface. My barracuda tattoo pulsed, as if the chi that marked my skin had a pledge to this weapon. "It's... beautiful. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. You'll need it so I don't crush you into the floor."

When I looked up, Death was gone.

I spun around and he was right front of me, twisted in mid-motion as his body cut through the air. I blocked his hard first strike with my sword out of reflex. He only carried a metal bar, but his strength behind it was the force of an army. 

He managed quite a few little blows on me, which were hard enough that I knew I'd be bruised the next day. Suddenly, I was struck hard enough to stumble back, and he halted, modeled, with the pole tucked under his arm. I followed the hard line muscle up his leg, to his bicep, and broad shoulders.

"Focus," he hissed.

"I am!"

Death punched forward with the pole and performed a series of strikes at the air, drawing me backwards as if he were herding sheep. He began to move faster, faster, until I felt myself burn out. I dropped the sword from shaking hands; the barracuda scorched my arm like it was being branded on again. Death didn't stop coming at me, spinning the weapon around his body like it was a secondhand nature to him. He contemplated his next move and tossed me the pole.

I stared at it, stunned.

"Get one finger on me, and I'll give you anything you want." He rolled his wide shoulders. "If I knock you down on your ass, the same condition applies. Yes, or no?"

I'll admit that thought of him owing me something for once intrigued me. But I knew better than to fall for this. He wanted something from me. And with his lack of playfulness at the moment, I didn't want to know what it was. "Not happening."

He inclined his head to the side. "Scared?"

My eyes narrowed. "I've made enough deals with you."

We started to circle.

"You have a weapon, I don't. The odds are in your favor."

"You have claws."

"I won't use them."

"You have fangs."

Death snickered. "Now you're just being a fraidy-cat."

"Am not! If I'm going to beat you, I'm going to beat you fair and square!"

"If only I had a blind hold and binds to hogtie my arms and legs together. Then it'd be pretty even."

Furious, I spun and slashed the air. He dodged it easily, laughing low in his throat. 

"I hit a nerve."

"And I'm going to hit your dick," I growled, before I could stop myself.

"Good. Try."

He moved towards me like a vicious storm.

I punched forward with my weapon, missing him by a hair this time. I swung out again. Death glided around me at teasing distance, evading the pole each and every time. He was like a cobra waiting for his attack. And I was getting damned near dog-tired already, but kept the bar up for an attack. He must have moved around me for twenty minutes, keeping me on edge.

"Tired?"

"No," I said firmly.

His sardonic laugh burned my cheeks. In the blink of an eye, he fell into a deep crouch and swiped hard at feet with his leg. My back slammed into the ground. Just like that, it was over.

That hooded face hovered over me again. "I will never sugar coat how an enemy would treat you. Picture the strongest fighter you know. They had to be kicked while they were down to rise up to their greatness."

I was so frustrated that tears clouded my vision. In his own ruthless way, I knew he was trying to help me, but I couldn't mask the pure hatred I had for him. "Whose masterpiece are you, then?"

His stare grew lethal under his hood. "What the hell you talking about?"

"You said picture the strongest fighter I know," I bit out, "because you know it's you. And you say it like that makes you unstoppable. But you fell from your greatness, and you lost your scythe to a freaking spirit. So whose masterpiece do you think you are?"

He bent down and fisted my shirt in his big-gloved hand, lifting me off the ground so that we were face to face. The air thickened with his presence, but I stared him boldly in his shadowed eyes. "Strip tease," he said, as if he were damning me.

I jerked out of my stupor. "What?"

"Strip. Tease." This time, he practically purred it out. "That's what I get for knocking you on your ass. Sure, I'm not a masterpiece, cupcake, nor did I ever claim to be one. But I am a legend."

The world spun. He released my shirt. I stumbled back and fell onto a bed. We were in his guest bedroom. His large, muscular frame shrunk the room to the size of a pea. I gawked up at him in confusion. He cannot be serious.

"I'll never agree to that–" I started to squeak out. 

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Dinner's at eight." He pivoted on his heel, yanked open the bedroom door, and slammed it behind him. 

This was going to be one harrowing week.

* * *

I have BIG NEWS!!! 

I received edits back from an editor I hired, and I'm currently rewriting Death Is My BFF AGAIN to get published!!!!!! We had to replot the entire book and there's been some drastic changes (all for the better), but the book is a huge improvement so far! 

WHO'S EXCITED FOR DEATH IS MY BFF TO BE PUBLISHED?????

Obviously rewriting this series to get published is my #1 priority right now, but I'm going to try and still update once a month. Please keep in mind that I'm doing a total rewrite/adding scenes/cutting things/making huge decisions for the novel, and it's a ton of work! 

My goal is to get it done by the end of the summer and then explore my options for publishing! ;)

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