Flirting With Death (Havenwood Falls Sin & Silk Book 12)
Page 1
About This Book
What do you do when Death is in love with you?
Monte Tayute, laid-back biker and skilled computer hacker, has been haunted by visions of a gorgeous woman in black. It’s an endless dream with the two meeting on a dark road at Samhain. Nothing the nagual shifter tries seems to rid him of the constant image now playing havoc with his life.
In a different realm, Pandora is having her own recurring vision. Hers is of a man who rides a motorcycle on a lonely road. The shinigami—a death spirit of the Japanese underworld—doesn’t want hers to stop. On the contrary, Pandora wants to know if the man is real.
When life meets death, the sparks fly. Monte allows Pandora to experience pleasure and love for the first time. Unfortunately, there’s an entity who’s been waiting on Pandora for over a century, and he’s not playing around.
Pandora is supposed to become Death’s bride, but Monte isn’t ready to give her up.
It all comes down to a game between the shifter and Death. If Monte plays the cards right, he might cheat Death and keep Pandora. Fail, and Death will be the only one happy.
Flirting With Death
Nadirah Foxx
Contents
Havenwood Falls Sin & Silk Books
Books by Nadirah Foxx
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author
Acknowledgments
An Excerpt
Taming the Beast
Havenwood Falls Sin & Silk Books
Taming the Beast by Nadirah Foxx
Plans Laid Bare by J.D. Nelson
Shift of Fate by Victoria Escobar
Stolen Wishes by Victoria Flynn
Damned Allure by Justine Winter
Savage Salvation by Kristie Cook
Dark Seduction by Michele G. Miller & R.K. Ryals
Soul Laid Bare by J.D. Nelson
Stray With Me by E.J. Fechenda
Chase the Flames by Desiree Lafawn
Prison of Asria by Randi Cooley Wilson
Flirting With Death by Nadirah Foxx
Also try the signature line, Havenwood Falls, and the historical paranormal line, Legends of Havenwood Falls
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Books by Nadirah Foxx
Havenwood Falls
Taming the Beast
Flirting With Death
The Collector: Awakening
Not For A Moment
Shadow Love
Delivering Sin
Copyright © 2019 Nadirah Foxx, Ang’dora Productions, LLC
All rights reserved.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Be careful what you hope for.
Chapter 1
Pandora
The soft din of humans chattering was a pleasant change from the usual nothingness. I glanced around the dimly lit sushi restaurant, admiring the different colors and expression-filled faces. It was all so different from Yomi-no-kuni—the Japanese shadow realm. The murky netherworld only contained shades of gray.
“What can I get you?” asked a bartender.
I smiled. “Moscato.”
My mark was late, but I was good with that. It gave me more time to appreciate earthly things. The server brought my white wine, and I reached for my purse.
“Allow me.” The deep voice was unfamiliar.
Hoping it might be my target, I looked up and gasped. The man beside me was larger than life, with hair darker than a raven’s feathers and eyes like obsidian. He wore a tailored onyx-colored suit and a matching shirt and tie. If it hadn’t been for his wide, too-bright grin, it would have been like staring into darkness. Despite the gloomy exterior, the man was handsome.
He leaned in. “Forgive my interruption. I noticed you were alone.”
I batted my eyelashes like an idiot. “Not for long.” Before he got the wrong idea, I added, “I’m meeting someone.”
His eyebrows arched. “Then I should leave. I wouldn’t want your date to jump to any conclusions.”
“Not a date. It’s a . . .”
I nearly slipped up and told the gorgeous stranger that I was an escort. It was something my kind didn’t reveal because of the issues humans had with the concept. They believed that all companions were in the business of sex for hire. Well . . . I did get paid and sex sometimes happened, but it wasn’t my purpose. I was a shinigami escort—a death spirit who guided souls to the afterlife.
“A what?” the man asked politely.
“It’s a business meeting,” I replied.
The stranger nodded. “Understood. Perhaps when you’re done, we could get to know each other?”
If I were allowed the luxury of a private life, I would entertain the thought. Instead, I opened my bag and removed my business card. I fingered the red embossed torii—a Japanese gate—with my name beneath it. If the man phoned, he’d receive a recorded message saying the number was out of service. I hated the deception, but it wasn’t as if I’d see him again. He wasn’t the type to be on my list.
“Give me a call.” I handed him the white card.
“I’ll do that.” He pocketed the item, smiled, and said, “You have a great evening, Pandora.”
I watched him walk to the exit and then noticed my date. Sadly, it wouldn’t be a wonderful night. A bright ethereal glow surrounded the overweight salesman. He was only hours away from death claiming him. This job should be an easy one.
The previous night’s target was exhausting. Instead of the traveling salesman giving over to death, he lingered as his soul tried desperately to stay on earth.
His dark eye sockets widen as his diaphanous body shimmers. “Why? I have a wife . . . children . . . They need me.”
“Not anymore. It is your time.” I wrap my hand around his wrist.
“No!”
I hate stubborn souls. My goal is to entice someone to the afterlife, not drag them. Sometimes, however, I have to resort to darker measures. The flesh suit I regularly wear disintegrates, leaving behind my true skeletal form. My face elongates and sharp, pointed teeth appear as my bluish lips part. I wail like a banshee.
The ear-piercing screech nearly unravels the businessman’s spirit
as he scurries toward the bright light. When the portal closes, my job is done, and I slink away, reconstructing my corporeal form as I go.
I was made for pleasure, but when needed to, I could scare the shit out of anyone.
Gazing out my apartment window, I tried to put the episode out of my mind, but the colorless realm didn’t help. There was nothing in Yomi-no-kuni to please the eye. No division between sky and land. No green grass or flowers to gaze upon. Only shadows and endless phantasms—other death spirits and souls punished for all eternity.
I was frustrated, and the reluctant salesman didn’t help. It was supposed to be a two-night engagement—one to get to know him, and the second to escort him into the great beyond. It didn’t happen that way. Instead, I only had the one night with him, but Madame Izanami—a.k.a. Madame Death—didn’t care as long as the job was done.
In all honesty, shinigami had a better existence than what normal reapers endured. Death’s creations didn’t hang around anywhere for long or maintain corporeal forms. shinigami did both.
Some called us monsters or creatures of darkness. Not entirely false, but without shinigami, souls would flounder and exist as ghosts. With us, they got a choice—a ghostly existence or a glorious afterlife. Most chose the latter.
Thankfully, the disparaging names didn’t bother me. As I drew out a man’s last breath, I heard more scintillating ones. Honestly, was it wrong for humans to die with a smile on their faces? I wasn’t ashamed of what I did, but lately I’d wanted something else.
Something more than taking all the time. Death spirits were hard-wired for harvesting. Most of us had no issue with it, but I wasn’t like everyone else. I wanted to see what it was like to receive—passion, love, even friendship.
Don’t get it twisted. I wasn’t some flighty female dying to hop into bed with each and every mark on my list. The night didn’t always end up between the sheets. Some men liked talking and having their ego stroked. It was an admirable way of counting down to the end of a life. But then there were the ones who preferred having their dicks stroked instead. Hey, whatever floated their boats—I didn’t judge. It got the job done, but it wasn’t enough for me anymore.
In two hundred years, I had yet to experience my own gratification. Talk about major dissatisfaction. Not one man aroused me, taking me to the edge of passion and back again.
When I complained, I received reminders that delight was not something afforded to our kind. In a nutshell, we didn’t get to love. The emotion supposedly clouded our judgment and kept us from doing our job. I didn’t care. I wanted my chance. Just one night of undying (pun intended) passion in a man’s arms.
My bellyaching got so bad that the other death spirits filed grievances, and Madame Death had called me to her cold, dark corner office.
Madame’s assistant, a handsome shinigami named Toshi, rakes his black eyes over me and offers a toothy smile. “When you’re done with her, how about you and me go out tonight?”
“Not in a million years,” I say, and push open the door.
A blast of frigid air hits me, and my form flickers, losing its cohesiveness. The mist, full of despair, parts, and the figure of a woman emerges. Madame is more of a shade than the embodiment of an entity. The gossips claim that the goddess is only a corpse with rotting flesh and maggots crawling in and out of her orifices. Not something I want to view, whether it’s true or not.
“Takara, do you know why you’re here?”
Madame only uses my given name when I’m in trouble. Realizing the seriousness of the summons, I keep quiet.
“Sit down,” she orders.
After I’m seated, she continues, “I’m giving you a chance to explain yourself. I’ve listened to numerous allegations, and I’m not pleased. Why the constant complaints? This sort of thing isn’t like you.”
Averting my eyes, I say, “Ma’am, I’m sorry. It’s nothing. I just had a bad night.”
Although I can’t see her stare, I feel its frostiness. She exhales. “Takara, you are one of my best creations. It pains me to see you so disillusioned. Our lot in this world is to guide souls to their final resting place. Love isn’t in the equation.”
“I know,” I say meekly.
“Do you?” Her fingers tap an unseen surface—the only noise in the void—as if my employer is considering her words. “It sets a bad precedent when those at the top of the heap start whining. Continue to do so, and I’ll be forced to take you off active duty.”
My gaze whips up. “A desk job would kill me.”
“A bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think? I’d rather confine you than have you bring down morale.”
A suspension is much better than the alternative—the worst fate for shinigami. With one snap of Madame’s fingers, I could become one of the shadows attached to Yomi-no-kuni.
“Then stop the griping, Takara. We have one job, and one job only. Personal satisfaction comes with successfully completing a task.”
“Understood,” I say with more conviction than I feel.
“I hope so. I’d rather give out rewards than punishments any day.”
That was a week ago. Since then I’d been on my best behavior. I kept my thoughts focused, and when I got bored, I took on extra assignments. It worked for seven agonizingly long days and then it stopped.
My Rattler social media feed pinged on my phone. I turned my attention to the flat-screen television on the wall. DNN—the Death News Network—displayed yet another fatal car crash. The channel was how death spirits got the news of human expirations. Unfortunately, DNN and Rattler were permanent fixtures. You couldn’t turn them off, but I could mute the TV. My black stilettos clicked across the floor as I headed to the coffee table in search of the remote.
Before I reached it, the doorbell rang. Odd. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and my roommate was out for the evening.
I glanced at my appearance in the full-length mirror. Fortunately, head-to-toe black leather was enjoyed by a lot of the humans I was set up with. I fluffed my ebony-colored hair, applied another coat of Deadly Decay lipstick in Drop Dead Red, and drew in a breath before opening the door.
The handsome stranger from the restaurant was on the other side. How was that possible?
“May I come in, Takara?”
I was too stunned to refuse. How did he know my given name?
He was so tall that he had to duck to clear the doorway. Once inside, he went to the sofa and made himself comfortable as if it were a normal thing for him to visit me.
Standing with my hand on the knob, I asked, “How are you here? What are you?”
“Death, of course.” He spread his long arms over the back of my sofa and crossed his ankle over a knee. “I thought it time we officially met.”
Normally, death spirits could sense other supernaturals. But forces, like Death, had a way of screwing with our radar so that we didn’t discern them. But why was he there?
Still confused, I joined him in the living room but kept my distance. “And why is that?”
He sighed. “It’s customary for a bride-to-be to meet her groom.”
My mouth fell open.
Ignoring my silence, Death continued, “It’s amazing how your mood has changed since our first meeting. Not important, though. I thought we’d start with dinner on Samhain. We can dine here, or I can take you someplace special.”
Dinner with Death?
Was he fucking kidding me?
It was true that I wanted something more, but not with a chaotic entity.
“Takara, is there something wrong?” His dark, lust-filled gaze raked over me, and suddenly I felt naked. “Come sit down. I’d like to get to know you better.”
He needed to stop saying that. It wasn’t happening.
Thankfully, the door opened behind me. Turning around, I saw Hope—my roommate and created twin. Madame gave us the same waist-length black wavy hair, too-pale skin, and curvy figure. Shinigami are supposed to work in pairs, and she was my designated partner. Someti
mes, like the night with the salesman, we got to work alone.
The only obvious difference between Hope and me were our almond-shaped eyes. Mine were deep green while hers were cerulean blue, earning us our listing in the home office’s database as Emerald and Sapphire. In the human world, we had supernatural contacts who trolled the various dating services searching for possible marks. If someone said they were into twins or loved green or blue eyes, we were messaged.
“Who’s this?” she asked.
“Hope, meet Death.”
Her jaw dropped, mimicking my earlier expression.
He pushed to his large feet and walked toward us. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hope.” He placed his enormous hand on my shoulder. “I’ll leave now, but will expect you for dinner on Samhain.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to decline.”
Death squeezed, and pain shot through my body, threatening to unravel my corporeal form. “Not an option. Nobody turns me down.”
I swallowed hard. Hope’s worried gaze landed on me.
He eased up his grip and dropped his hand. “Something you should know about me, Takara. When I want something—or someone—I get it. You were promised to me. You shall fulfill your obligation. Don’t cross me. I assure you that my punishment would be worse than anything Izanami could do to you.”
He stalked toward the door.
After it closed, Hope asked, “What the fuck was that about? What did he mean by you’re promised to him?”