Death is a Bitch

by Masters, Cate

  Great minds. Her father had long served the Prince of Darkness in good stead. And thank the gods Erebos didn’t chide her again. She hadn’t yet recovered her cool, steely nature, and another barb might shatter her. If she broke down in front of him, he’d never let her live it down. Anyone who thought darkness the epitome of serenity didn’t have to endure her father’s teasing.

  “First I must shed these chains.” She’d never been one to shy away from a battle. Especially when the outcome might heal her broken heart.

  ***

  Death endured her father’s lecture on the trip.

  After pocketing the bracelet, Erebos had swept her into his arms with a sigh of disappointment. “You should be more like your sister. Not once has she shamed us.”

  Right, because everyone loved Hypnos. The only time they complained about her was when she didn’t visit them soon enough.

  As they entered the palace’s foyer, large enough to be a ballroom, a woman with black hair and plum lipstick appeared. One of the Prince’s many assistants. Not just any assistant. A demon. It took a legion of them to maintain the chaos he demanded.

  She clicked something on the electronic tablet she held. “Come with me.” Her short skirt swished as the heels of her boots clipped along the glazed tile.

  Death was about to ask how long it would be before the Prince could see them, but the demon spoke first. “Acragas should be here any time.” She gestured toward the entrance to an antechamber. “Please wait here.”

  “Will the Prince arrive soon?” Erebos asked too eagerly.

  “No. The Prince will see you afterward.”

  That explained nothing. But that was Hell for you. Everything about it was designed to drive even the most stable of minds to blithering insanity.

  Erebos set her on the sofa. “I trust you can handle it from here.”

  No amount of wishing could help her sit any straighter. The chain bit into her with each movement, so she had to remain still. A regal appearance would have to wait until after the chain came off. “Of course.” If Daddy couldn’t see the Prince, he likely wouldn’t hang around much longer. “Thank you for coming to my aid.”

  “Be well, daughter. Oh, almost forgot.” He reached into his pocket and dangled the bracelet before placing it on the marble table in front of the sofa.

  Erebos strode into the hallway, his steps silent as he melded into the swirl of darkness that thickened, enveloping him.

  When she no longer sensed his presence, she blew out a breath. How humiliating.

  ***

  Sitting beside her on the sofa, Acragas bent nearly double to examine the bracelet through his bifocals. At six feet, Death was considered tall, but he stood a head taller, and all lank. His wiry red hair belied his true age; a son of Zeus and Asterope the Oceanid, he was younger than Death, but throughout the ages no one could match his silversmith skills. In Arabia of old, Acragas was revered as a magician of alchemy. In Arthur’s day, Acragas was called Merlin.

  In his usual gracious manner, he’d kissed her cheek and said hello as if she didn’t resemble a silver pipe left carelessly on the sofa. For that, he had her eternal gratitude.

  “Interesting,” he muttered to himself, then sat straight, revealing the Rolling Stones t-shirt beneath his black suit jacket. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but someone has tainted the silver.”

  Surprising. As legend told, silver represented divine intervention. Mages understood its innate ability to house magical power. Anyone who managed to undo Acragas’ binding of its charms must be powerful indeed. “Tainted it how?”

  “If I read the signs correctly, your imprisonment within the cage stripped the charms of their power. Completely useless. Normally, this wouldn’t mean much other than you had no tools to help you perform your duties.”

  “But this is worse?”

  “Much worse. Whoever bound the charms also bound you to their uselessness. You would be hard pressed to harvest one soul, let alone untold numbers.”

  “Are you certain it’s a total loss?” Death resisted the bracelet’s pull, cursing Damien. The demon had outdone himself. He must’ve hired someone with powerful magic to cast a black spell tying her to it, and for the demon to pay for any service said a lot. She’d never have guessed he held such a deep grudge against her.

  “Depends on what you mean by total. The only way to truly free you is to cast the thing into the Eternal Flame. On the upside, I can reuse the silver. Once the Eternal Flame purifies it, I’ll use it for something else.”

  Death’s stomach twisted. “I can never have my bracelet back?” If she’d considered her job hell before, it would be tenfold without her tools.

  With a scowl, Acragas poked at the silver. “Not this one. I’d rather re-craft this metal for an ornamental use, to be on the safe side.”

  Right. It wouldn’t do for the tools she most relied upon to malfunction. Or worse, have the opposite effect. She had a reputation to uphold.

  “Can we go now?” Hopefully he didn’t notice the slight quiver in her voice. Once cast into The Eternal Flame, her bracelet would disappear forever. More than a piece of decorative jewelry, Death had long depended on it. Could she adequately perform her duties without it? Throughout time, her job had defined her. If she couldn’t do her job, she wouldn’t know who she was. The thought seared her heart, and for the first instance since the birth of time, Death knew self-doubt.

  ***

  The flicker of firelight danced across the stone alcove. Despite the flame, a shiver slid across Death’s skin as Acragas carried her across the glazed tile of the temple. Each torch they passed served as a reminder of what awaited.

  After setting her on her feet as if she were fragile as glass, Acragas secured the bracelet in a transparent container designed to conduct the heat of the fire without succumbing to it. His glance held a question.

  Death steeled herself. “I am ready.”

  As the charms melted and pooled into silver puddles, the connection between Death and the bracelet slowly severed, almost like a life thread. Neither she nor Acragas spoke. The chains binding her dissipated until no trace was left. She was free.

  The bracelet had functioned like a part of her, and its destruction left a void, like a missing limb. Sadness weighed on her.

  She heaved a sigh. So be it.

  When the liquid silver showed no trace of its former design, but shone smooth as a mirror, Acragas put on long, thick gloves and retrieved the container. Facing her, he bowed his head.

  Yes, she was ready to leave this place. It would be a long time before she’d want to return.

  The temple behind them, Death glided beside Acragas back to the palace, less gracefully than usual — the souls clamoring for harvesting made for a heavy burden. Possibly thousands, judging by her tattoo.

  To her surprise, the Prince arrived soon after they stepped inside the antechamber.

  His powerful presence overwhelmed her, sending her into a deep extended bow. Only when his voice licked across her like flames did she stand straight. That same voice drove humans to thievery, insanity, murder and worse, but as an immortal, Death could withstand its call.

  With long strides, the Prince paced, sweeping his gaze across her, then Acragas. “Excellent. You’ve succeeded. Now what?”

  The Prince lived up to his reputation of using few words. Looking upon him for any length of time required fortitude, even for her, so she blanked her vision like a soldier standing at attention. “I will find Sisyphus and return him to Tartarus. I will seek out Damien as well. I intend to press charges.”

  Clasping his hands, the Prince’s eyes lit with mischief. “A trial. Excellent. We haven’t had one in too long. Should be very entertaining.”

  Entertaining? What about justice? Arguments rushed to Death’s tongue, but she stilled them. Guess she shouldn’t have expected the Prince to take the offenses seriously.

  The percussion intro to “Sympathy for the Devil” sounded. He halted near Acra
gas. “Love the tee.”

  Acragas glanced down at his Rolling Stones shirt and paled, as if the coincidence put him in league with the Prince. “Thank you.”

  The Prince drew his cell from the pocket of his black silk jacket. “Yes? All right.” He slid the phone back inside his jacket. “Duty calls. Excuse me.”

  He exited as quickly as he’d arrived.

  Death allowed her stance to relax. “I’m in your debt, Acragas.” Without his help, she’d have remained hobbled, stripped of her tools, for all eternity.

  “No debt, lass. I am honored to serve you.”

  Lass — nice that someone thought of her that way. Her hand absently clutched at her wrist. “Your craft provided me with invaluable tools.” She sighed. “Ones I already miss. With the masses of souls awaiting harvesting, I could have used the extra help.”

  The silversmith’s grey eyes sparkled with mischief. “I have been experimenting with a new version. After I heard of your disappearance, I tripled my efforts.”

  She stepped closer, sensing he had it with him. “Really? May I see it?”

  “Better than that. You may try it. But be forewarned: this one’s much more powerful than the old one.” He reached inside his jacket pocket and drew out a thin silver chain, gorgeous in its delicateness, adorned with gleaming silver charms rendered in exquisite detail.

  Never had she been one to lust after jewelry, but this took away her breath. She had to have it.

  She gasped in delight as he fastened it around her wrist. Weightless, it clung as if a part of her. Twisting her arm, she examined it. “It’s beautiful.”

  Pride showed in Acragas’s smile. “I did slave over its design. And functionality. It’s constructed to obey only you. And it’s lightning fast. Whereas the old bracelet required a definite touch, this one reacts at the first hint of pressure, attuned to your thoughts.”

  He stayed his hand atop hers. “Be sure you are clear in your intent before using them. It’s imperative.”

  Good to know. “May I try it?”

  He bowed his head. “I would be honored.”

  Caution made her glance around. “Perhaps not here. Do you mind if we go to my place?”

  “Not at all.”

  It had been too long since she’d been home. Not that she spent much time there, but right now she longed for its comfort.

  ***

  The Ferrari practically begged Damien to steal it. In the parking lot of the posh Manhattan restaurant, the attendant had slipped the key into his pocket. Rather, he’d tried to.

  Tsk tsk. No one could resist such temptation. Damien eased inside the car and reveled in the feel of the leather seat, low slung and primed for speed. He wrapped his long fingers around the stick shift. Oh yeah. He couldn’t wait to slam into high gear with this baby.

  A vision of Death in the passenger seat tainted the moment. Despite himself, his cock twitched to life. If he didn’t bury it in some girl soon, he wouldn’t be able to appear in public, its stiff length apparent in his silken slacks. Or maybe he should crash someone’s private party. He’d have all the willing women he could handle, which was saying a lot.

  The attendant jogged over, waving him down. He returned the wave, revved the engine and popped the clutch, bracing as the car bounced over the curb and onto the street. That kid shouldn’t drive such fine works of art anyway.

  Like women at their sexual peak, the car required a certain finesse. Damien could teach the attendant a thing or two. But not tonight.

  He had another mission: find some of those women, ripe for the plucking.

  At the thought, the tires spun faster and he eased off the gas. He let his senses act as GPS, seeking out the horniest woman in the city. In New York, a difficult task, with so many crowding the list. He tweaked the specifications: horniest, most beautiful, with the sexual stamina of a roomful of adults.

  The Ferrari veered down Broadway. The theater district? Women teemed near the stage doors. He pulled over and checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. It morphed to the image of a contemporary bad boy actor.

  Excellent. A babe magnet, if ever one existed.

  He stepped from the driver’s seat and flashed a high wattage smile. Within seconds, females swarmed to his side.

  “Whoa, slow down.” He winked. “I’ll take care of you all, don’t worry.”

  Three sighed aloud. The brunette, leggy as his lovely Death, would do nicely. But why deprive the others of his expertise?

  Opening his arms to scoop the three into his embrace, he cursed himself for stealing the Ferrari, which allowed only one passenger. “How about we go somewhere quiet? I’d love your feedback on the play.” Whichever one they’d attended. Later, he’d ask for feedback on his own plays.

  The brunette dangled a key. “My hotel’s two blocks from here.”

  “Perfect.” Hopefully it had a king-sized bed. If not, the floor would suffice.

  Their rapture during the three-minute taxi ride only heightened his need, though he feigned surprise when each whispered what she’d love for him to do to her, desires he planted in their minds. He hurried them inside to the elevator, and nodded to the exiting well-dressed couple, mid-sixties, if he guessed correctly. The wife oozed repressed desire.

  At his wink, she hooked the husband’s tie. “We’re going back to our room.”

  Before the elevator doors drew together, all three women groped Damien. Their pleas grew more desperate by the second.

  “I need you.”

  “I had no idea you were so well endowed.”

  “Make love to me first.”

  “No, me.”

  Damien fondled the curve of an ass, a gelatinous breast. “There’s plenty of me to go around, ladies.”

  When the door opened, the four moved en masse to room 369.

  Ah three, the number of completion. But would three be enough to complete him? I’ll make the best of it. And 69 — another favorite number he’d indulge in.

  They bickered about who should open the door. He thrust it wide and guided them all inside.

  They whirled in unison to face him, heat beckoning in each heavy-lidded gaze.

  “So kind of you ladies to invite me to your room.”

  They writhed toward him like snakes. Yeah, they’d need all their skills to tame his erection, all its heads squirming in his pants leg, catching their attention.

  Surrounded, he walked backward, aided by their roving hands. He cocked a brow. “No thoughts on the play?”

  “Exciting.” The honey blonde unzipped his pants and dropped to all fours atop the bed, mouth enveloping one head, then the other.

  The mousier brunette shoved the blonde over. “The most exciting I’ve ever seen.” Soon each worked at a head.

  “I never wanted it to end.”

  The dark-haired beauty’s throaty voice elicited a low growl as she straddled his face.

  “Wait ‘til the second act.” He flicked his forked tongue, half of it searching for her G spot and half teasing along the outside.

  More pleasure than one male should be allowed. And yet, with all the loveliness engulfing him, he only saw Death above him, head thrown back in ecstasy, moaning for completion. One of the women below mounted him. The other’s tongue flicked and thrust along his length. In his mind, both of them Death, riding him to the crest, teasing him.

  “Bitch!” He roared, rolling away from the sea of legs and tongues. Breasts, booby-trapping him as never before.

  The three fell away in a wave of frustrated desires.

  He waved them off as they writhed closer. “I want none of you. Complete each other.”

  Their shock at the suggestion humored him. These women had never acted so boldly, so promiscuously. Had never so much as thought of what they were doing now, tongues and fingers working feverishly to bring one another to climax. He rested on his elbows, hoping for some satisfaction, but none came.

  With a sigh of disgust, he dressed and strolled out, not even bothering to cl
ose the door. The same sixtyish couple stood by the elevator, much more relaxed than before. At the moans echoing down the corridor, the woman glanced at the room, arched a brow, and gave Damien a lascivious smile.

  “Evening.” He nodded, turned, and disappeared into the wall. The muffled scream and following thud, at least, gave him a momentary grin, until he thought of her again. Death. She was the ruin of most men, but not in the same way. How many women would he have to ravage before exorcising Death from his system?

  ***

  The lush gardens in the courtyard surrounding Death’s lair gave her an immediate sense of relief. Home. At her approach, the wrought iron gate swung open.

  Acragas paused to examine its intricate designs. “Lovely.”

  “Isn’t it? The work of one of your contemporaries.” A perk of her position, receiving such gifts. Even after leaving the earthly plane, artistic humans still indulged the craving to create, and many chose to bestow her with their work.

  “Balthazar?” Acragas peered closer. “Ah yes, I should have noticed his signature metalwork. Excellent.”

  She led him along the stone walkway lined with hibiscus, feathery ferns, birds of paradise.

  “My compliments to your gardener.”

  “He’ll appreciate it.”

  A low growl sounded. Acragas’s eyes widened.

  Rounding a curve in the path, an immense jaguar set its amber eyes on them as it slunk toward them, all power and grace.

  Death bent to scratch its chin. “Hello, Zarthan.”

  Acragas stepped behind her. “I forgot about your unusual tenant.”

  The black body rose on its hind legs, the sleek pelt now dark chocolate skin on a hulk of a man, who bowed. “Welcome, Acragas.”

  “Good to meet you, Zarthan. I’m glad I never met you in your time as a gladiator. I understand you ranked in the top five.”

  Fire glittered in Zarthan’s black eyes. “The top two. But I continue to pay the price for my vicious kills.”

  Death tilted her head. “Now, Zarthan, is it so terrible to act as protector of my home?”