*Exits a foggy enchanted forest with a menacing cloak on. Drops hood and raises hands with a wrist brace for carpel tunnel on her right* THOU CREATOR IS BACK... WITH A SCRUMPTIOUS TREAT!

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            After the horror show of rinsing the blood off my skin under the hot spray of the shower, I used the last set of mini hotel bottles of vanilla scented shampoo and conditioner to clean my hair and washed the rest of my body. My nerves were getting worse and worse the closer I came to exiting that bathroom.

Wrapping myself up in a fluffy towel, I exited the shower and cocked one foot up on the lip of the toilet to go to town on my hairy legs. Probably should have kept shaving instead of just wearing pants all the time. I must have emptied the clogged razor like fifteen times.

Dropping the towel, I finally looked down there and held the sides of my head. The ultimate question was upon us: To cue ball, or to trim? Weren't old farts like Death into a little hair down there? I mean, how the hell would I get into those crevasses anyhow? I really hoped I'd cleaned up enough down there...

"Ugh." This was ridiculous. Like we were going to even do anything that night! I couldn't even picture...ok, maybe I could picture it, but in reality? I'd never even been naked in front of someone else. How quickly I forgot Death's confusing intentions with me too. He'd wanted to "get me out of his system" like a prehistoric fuckboy with major fixation issues.

Feeling frustrated and overthinking every possible aspect regarding Death, I pumped a few puffs of shaving cream with a light tropical scent into my palm. Maybe I'd just do a little bit on the sides and see what it looked like...

There was a single hard pound on the door.

"What's taking so long?" The deep, velvety voice paralyzed me and I dropped the razor. "It's been an hour. Did you drown?"

"I'm just––um––"

"I smell shaving cream."

My eyes bulged as I glanced at myself in the mirror. "You can smell that?"

What, his freaking nose under the door like a dog?

I checked, just in case. Coast was clear.

"Listen, don't go crazy with the hair removing shit girls do," he muffled from the other side of the door. "I honestly don't care what it looks like."

How dare he assume he was going to see my vagina?! Even though I was prepping for and worrying about the potential moment nonstop!

"Could you give me some privacy?" I slapped my palm against the door. "I'm shaving my armpits!"

Death didn't say any more annoying commentary from the other side of the door, so I figured he'd left. I sighed, feeling a little bit of stress lift off my shoulders as I put the razor away and found a pair of small scissors from the medicine cabinet.

After skeptically checking if the coast was clear in my bedroom, I quickly yanked open drawers and slipped on a pair of underwear and pajama shorts. Smiling, I discovered an oversized shirt I'd gotten at the zoo with my mom and dad with a toucan on it. I pulled it over my head.

When I entered the living room, Death was nowhere to be seen. Narrowing my eyes, I spun around with a "HA!" but alas, he wasn't plotting popping out of nowhere this time.

In the distance, I could hear background noises and followed it to a glass staircase beneath his library. Which, of course, gave me flashbacks to finding his man-cave in the warehouse. I discovered there was another floor he used beneath his apartment and curiously explored it further. Two pinball machines, a pool table, skee ball, and a duel-shot basketball arcade game sat a spacious cubby room to my left. And to the right, past various old-time photos of celebrities and popcorn machine. I snagged a big plastic container with red and white stripes filled with popcorn and picked at a few kernels, admiring the remarkable pieces of art along the walls of the den.

After viewing at all of the art, I moved elsewhere, toward the masculine "Yes!" that growled from another room, and found a decked out, state-of-the-art surround-sound entertainment center.

I passed a flashing neon pink silhouette of the Grim Reaper cutting off someone's head on the wall and rolled my eyes with a laugh. Past two more side-by-side doors was an explosion of gunfire at the videogame being played. Death sat back on an enormous black leather U-shaped couch with his back to me, situated in front of the largest televisions I'd ever seen.

Is everything about him XXL?

I can't believe I just thought that.

I padded across the room and peered at Death from the side. As he worked his long fingers fast over a controller resting on his lap, I couldn't help but appreciate his sinfully handsome features. The way his eyes set like a hawk's and his mouth parted when he was locked in deep concentration. Since his hair was still damp from his shower, the color was a deeper obsidian black, and the thick waves to his fohawk were curlier and slightly longer. The fact that I was admiring him like the art out in the hallway made me aware of a big swollen blob of emotion neglected inside of me.

As I came around the U-shaped couch to sit, Death's eyes shifted away from the shooting game and snagged on my bare legs. He stuttered twice between the game and my legs, and then paused the game. His eyebrows rose unanimously.

"What?" I asked, feeling self-conscious. Damnit, did I forget to shave a strip of hair on my leg?

"You're not wearing pants."

My face burned. I pulled down the hem of my shirt, cursing inwardly that I hadn't thought to wear pajama pants. "I'm wearing shorts, obviously."

"Oh, obviously. My apologies." I glared at his mocking tone and his grin was sly. He stood, giving me a slow once over with an intense stare that could only be described as approval, before slinking to the entertainment center to put the controller. I hoped he didn't notice how ridiculously nervous I was.

While his back was to me, my gaze clung to Death's black short sleeve t-shirt and black joggers. How they were both loose enough to be comfortable but tight enough to highlight his powerful physique. His t-shirt drew attention to the tattoos on his bronze arms.

My mind harked back to him shirtless in the warehouse, how he was built like a god, a statue carved with precision.

"Did you pick a genre?" Death grabbed two remotes off a shelf to change the television screen and luckily didn't see me wipe away the imaginary drool on my mouth. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?

"How about a rom com?"

He looked over at me as if I had eight heads and green oozing skin. "A rom com?"

"A romantic comedy."

"Do I look like the type of guy who watches romantic comedies?"

I analyzed the many piercings over his sinful, deadly features and his build-to-kill hulking frame. He looked like the type to spoil milk just by glaring at it and lure in a hoard of woman with one calculated wink. So, no.

"Doesn't look like you have much of a choice," I said, "I'm the woman." I pulled at a fuzzy blanket draped over the side of the couch and spread it over my whole body with a big smile.

Death glared with a sour expression, as if he were about to pull a "And I'm the Prince of Darkness, Lord of Death and Master of Inflicting Pain" evil spiel.

He bit down on his lip piercing and pivoted back around. "Leave it to a you to pick a flowery movie without graphic violence or action," he grumbled and then raced through different movies with the remote at the speed of light.

"I like that one!" I shouted, recognizing a title in the blur.

He stopped, gaped at the title in a 'you-have-to-be-joking' way, before purchasing it.

"Kill me." He threw the remote to the side and skulked back to the couch.

"It's not that bad. You might actually like it."

"If I'm severely diseased in the brain, yeah. So, if I do like it, do me a favor, bash my skull in with a meat tenderizer. Take me out of my misery."

"Drama-queen."

Death groaned and dove onto the opposite arm of the U-shaped couch, kicking up his legs. He was so tall that his feet stuck out over the end of the sofa. Wedging a pillow behind him, he brought his one hand behind his head in a lazed and stretched back in a position.

He was quiet for a total of twenty seconds.

"It's not even rated R," he complained, scratching his stomach from underneath his shirt. "Or X."

"Not everything is about sex, you know."

Death laughed in a derisive way. "Except it is. And once you have sex, it's all you can think about. Everything relates back to your filthy thoughts. Now imagine being a creature of Hell, drenched in sin, driven by animalistic urges. My libido torments me."

"You poor, tortured soul. Sounds like you need a hobby."

"Nah, I just need to blow my load."

I choked on my own spit. "Jesus, Death."

"No thanks. I'm curious. If you were to choose between a neatly trimmed lawn, a mini mohawk, an airplane landing strip, the canopy of the tropical rainforest, or a squeaky smooth beach ball, which one would you select?"

I wished I could laser beam him just by glaring at him. "I was shaving my armpits."

"Should have put on that Four Weddings and a Funeral movie," he said, back on the movie. "Now that one had some promise. This is just a cliché-ridden, elaborate fantasy about the perfect man, written by a woman with an overactive imagination."

"Do you always talk this much during a movie?"

He zipped his lips, and eventually I got warped back into the film. My favorite scene came up and I cackled with laughter. When I looked over at Death, he had changed positions on the couch, sitting up with his one draped along the top of the sofa and his other hand propping up his head. And he was staring at me. He didn't look away, either.

My face suddenly felt so hot. "Not watching the movie?"

He cocked his head, glancing briefly at the television with disinterest. "Boring."

"Then what have you been doing this whole time?"

"Watching you," he said.

I looked down at my lap. "Creepy, much?"

"Your laugh...it's unrestrained. A genuine happiness that lights up your whole face."

My stomach fluttered. Damn, he's good. "I know what you're doing."

His eyebrows crunched together.

I snorted. "You're trying to make your big move."

"My big move?"

"Complimenting my laugh? Who is this person? You're supposed to be mean, it's what you do."

"Fuck you."

I burst out laughing. "There we go. At least watch the movie before you start talking me up. Plus, you're sitting all the way over there, on the other side of the couch, which is practically across the other side of the universe because everything you own, including this sofa, is titanic-sized."

"Including my cock."

I palmed my face.

"Yeah, you fell right into that one."

"If you're not going to watch the movie, why don't we have an adult conversation for once?"

"Damn, your pulse rocketed," he noted, as if I were his fascinating science experiment or something. I probably was.

"Staring at someone like a serial killer, when you're supposed to be watching a movie with them, would make anybody uncomfortable."

"But that wasn't my serial killer stare." His expression switched in a heartbeat, all emotion leaving his expression until all I saw was emptiness. "This is."

I shivered. "Hard to tell the difference. All your stares look the same. A freaky half-angel, half-sewer monster with sociopathic eyes."

He snickered. "By now, you really should know that insults from your direction only inflate my ego, Cupcake."

"Because you're mentally unstable."

"Yes, yes I am." He sighed with satisfaction, stretched back against the couch. His t-shirt riding up to show a glimpse of the black tattoos snaking out of his sweatpants and over his stomach. "You basically just called me the most handsome, mouthwatering fucker on this godforsaken planet. And I absolutely agree. Although, I would expand a tad further, since there are other dimensions and realms that deserve inclusivity when considering my outrageous level of hotness. I want everyone to know who's number one."

"I remember when you hardly talked."

Death's smirk was small, and a little cynical, like he knew something I didn't. He stood up without any hesitation, stalking past my corner of the couch and stealing my popcorn right out of my hands. Then he plopped down at the end of my feet. "Ah, much better. This is a much better viewing position for your crappy rom com."

"Excuse me. That's my popcorn, and this is my space."

"Not anymore. Now it's our space. Your flirting invited me over." When I lunged for the popcorn, he pulled the container out of my way, popping three kernels up into the air and catching them into his mouth like an acrobat.

"I hope you choke."

"A bit moody, are we?" His eyed filled with mischief. "I can help with that."

My mouth opened. Closed. I so unbelievably flustered by his close proximity that I couldn't think up a witty response. I imagined this was what prey felt like when it gave up in front of its seductive predator.

He traced the outline my toes underneath the blanket with his fingertip until it tickled, and I pulled my foot back.

"You know," he began, a wicked smile arching the one side of his mouth. "You have incredible legs. But I'm not going to force myself onto you like a wild animal the moment I see a patch of your bare skin."

My mouth went dry. The fact that he even had to clarify that he would never force himself onto me made me feel guilty. My nervous defense mechanisms to ward off anything naked was driving him away. "I know you would never force yourself onto me," I muttered.

"Then take off the blanket. You're getting overheated and flushed because you've wrapped yourself up like a burrito in the heaviest blanket I own."

Feeling like he knew me way too well, I peeled off the blanket, balling it up to place it in the spot beside me. His eyes skimmed the length of my legs as I curled them somewhat into my chest, before his head turned to face to watch the movie on the TV.

With his head turned away, my eyes traced the intricate tattoo snaking up his neck to his jaw, arching over his dark eyebrow––the one with the jagged scar slashed through it.

"How many tattoos do you have?"

Death leaned back into the soft cushion of the couch, angling his head in my direction. "They're not tattoos." He laid his forearm on my legs and turned his palm over, displaying the tribal-like design. "They started showing up after I was cursed by Ahrimad. I used to only see them when I was in my full-form, but now they've become permanent, shifting around every-so-often. I've been told they're relics, remnants of old magic that created death itself."

I leaned forward, outlining the curve of one of the markings with my finger. His skin was hot to the touch. "Do you know what they mean?"

He shook his head, his jaw tight. "No. And I don't want to."
"Why?"

"I've existed long enough to know whatever these are, they aren't God sent. Tattoos are the least damaging thing about me. So, fuck it, I don't care."

I had a feeling he did care, at least a little, but maybe he was doing the right thing by leaving it alone. Ignorance was bliss and I was quickly learning that not everything was in your control, even for him. "I mean, I think I can't really picture you without them anyway."

He gazed up at me with those catlike eyes. I shivered at the sensation of his fingertip drawing a slow shape on my thigh, and that was when I realized he'd never removed his arm from my leg. "Does this mean I can ask you a question now?"

Laughter that I didn't quite recognize tumbled out of my mouth. "One."

"You said you wanted to be loved when you lost your virginity. Why?"

I blinked, totally not expecting that one. The seriousness in his expression was off-putting. Like he genuinely didn't understand. It took me a second to think about what I wanted to say.

"There's a coldness in not feeling anything. I don't want to remember feeling cold. Not for my first. I associate love with feeling secure, warm."

"Coldness." Death's looked into nothing as he continued sketching small shapes on my thigh. "I think I can understand that."

I tried to articulate my opinion carefully. "People who don't want to have attachments to others, they learned how to flip a switch. They know how to feel nothing. And I...can't do that. I feel things fully. Most of the time, I feel too much. And when I don't want to feel anything at all, it builds up inside of me. Until it surfaces, until it explodes."

"Because you're young," he said. "You're inexperienced and gentle. The world hasn't had its way with you yet. Nobody is born with thick skin. You're tried and beaten with life's weapon of choice until you decide how much more you can take. True power is controlling how you react. To everything."

"But love isn't just a reaction," I argued, feeling myself get heated by his inflexible opinion.

"Except that it is. It's a mental, physical, and hormonal reaction based on the subconscious and innate behaviors. Put it on a pedestal all you want." His grin was cocky, and I wanted to rip all his stupid somehow-attractive fangs out one by one. "Your poetic meaning is based on the deranged fantasies of mortals."

"You're wrong."

He turned his body further toward me, wicked catlike eyes shimmering with entertainment. "How am I wrong, Cupcake? Enlighten me."

"Because you stay in love based on compatibility. I could fall in love with a man based on my innate cavewoman reaction to their manly muscles to defend my future children, but I'm sure as hell not going to stay in love with them if they purposely pee on the kitchen counter every morning because they don't believe in toilets. You have to be able to coexist with your partner without conflict."

"You almost had it, I think, but then your argument got holey, and not the Catholic kind. Without conflict? I can count on one hand how many times I've agreed with you. Mostly because of my higher I.Q., but I digress. Conflict with someone else does not equate repugnance, or else I would have had a lot less erections around you. Which again, is a physical reaction to my attraction toward you. Love boils down to commitment and marriage."

"What is going on?" I burst out laughing. "Marriage? I've never even had a boyfriend!"

"Commitment insinuates a broader promise to women. A promise to never disappoint them. To never let them down and care for them and them only. Marriage. Mortal women put their mortal men in these little boxes to control them before they even get a ring. You'll want to stick me in that box. But I'm not human. I'm Fallen, a product of defiance and sin. I tend to act on primal urges, rather than feelings. I can't help it that I want control over myself, it's not in my blood to be caged. Humans also have a way out when they're mated. The vows are 'to death do us part.' I would be nagged for all fucking eternity."

"Well, eternity guarantees you'll survive past tomorrow." It'd slipped out before I could stop it and I kept going. "Whatever species you are now, however your DNA has changed; you can't deny your origin. The things that shape us never leave us, and you're deliberately neglecting the reflection of humanity inside of you. You are a product of two humans who were in love."

"Funny, I can't remember a single moment my parents were in love. My mother was hardly human, too. She stood aside and allowed my father to rob me of my childhood, mold me into an executioner. All for power, money, materialistic things to fill the voids inside them both. If I am a reflection of my parents, then I am heartless, and I really am just a name."

Feeling like I couldn't breathe, I got up from the couch and stood over him. "The good in this life can also bring us pain. But living a lie you've trained yourself to believe, living without accepting your connection to others because you're afraid of being hurt again, that's not living." My breath caught a little as I realized not only had words rang true to myself, but I'd understood a part of him I'd wanted so desperately to ignore. "That's just existing."

He slowly leaned back against the couch, his gaze falling downward. His lips parted for a challenge, but he swallowed it back down.

"In the warehouse," I said, prying the difficult words from my mouth, "you said you envied mortals because their lives had significance. I think I saw something in you then that frightened me." I halted as my vision blurred and my throat tightened. "You really don't care whether you live, or you die, do you? You haven't for a long time."

He stared blankly ahead, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He leaned forward onto his knees and shut his eyes, raking his fingers through his hair, from the back of his skull to the top.

"That's why you're afraid to get close to anyone. You don't want to leave what you care about behind. And let me tell you something. That makes you just as human as I am. Your life is not insignificant, Alex."

His head snapped up. His expression brought a chill down my spine, as his eyes ruptured with a two varying glowing kaleidoscope of green. It felt as if I'd wrenched something merciless and haunting out of his soul.

"You matter," I said, finding the bravery to continue. "If you were gone, I would grieve you. I would miss you. I want you to live. You've become...everything to me. If that means anything to you, anything at all, even if it's selfish..." My shoulders slumped as a sob overcame my voice. "Promise you'll do everything in your power to stay."

Death remained unmoving, gazing up me with slightly wide eyes as I wept.

"Come here." He reached out to me and I let him pull me into his lap. Cradled into his chest, my fingers gripped the soft fabric of his t-shirt. His left arm kept me close to him, while his right hand grabbed that black fuzzy blanket and tugged it over my bare legs. The pad of his thumb wiped at my wet cheek, before he laid a soft kiss on my forehead. "Until you feel that coldness, I promise."

My eyes drifted closed as I pressed myself deeper into Death's warm embrace. He rested his chin on my head and I knew. I knew he loved me then.

Death stiffened. The smell of smoke and burning flesh made me lift my head.

"Isn't this sweet," announced a British voice. "The bitch and the zombie canoodling like it's the end of the world."

My heart plummeted. Dunkin, the Master Vampire, leaned against the archway of the entertainment room with one hand clasped behind his back. The fabric of his shirt was actively burning away, leaving behind a few strands of silky material hanging from his pale, lean chest. His porcelain skin slowly healed over a vicious burn that was so deep, it exposed sections of his skeleton.

Death moved in a blur, shunting me behind him. "How did you get past the ward?"

"Oh, you have much more significant things to worry about than your wobbly ward," Dunkin said, flashing his fangs in a delight. "My friends, I come bearing a lovely gift. From Ahrimad." His amiable veneer vanished. "Meet us at the Grey-wood mausoleum in one hour, or the warlock dies."

Dunkin slipped his hand out from behind his back and dropped Ace's bloody cane to the floor.

   * * *

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*Cue fangirl screams of raw agony and betrayal.*

Fangirl questions, 'Why u do dis Kat?' as she points back at the chapter, but secretly thirsts for more of the fiery slow burn*

 *Kat throws another log into the fiery plot twist bonfire and performs ritual dance*

Wait until you see what happens nExT!!! The FIREY sexy flames of #FADE only grow STRONGER! 

AND um, if you haven't joined the Facebook group for Death is My BFF to fan girl and spread the word of Death's glory, F*CKING WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE??? JOIN!!!! Link on my Wattpad profile or below!!

https://www.facebook.com/groups/308207282529485/