The Kiss of Death

by Auryn Hadley

  The Demons' Muse

  Book One

  Auryn Hadley

  Spotted Horse Productions

  Kiss of Death is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Auryn Hadley

  All Rights Reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher and the copyright owner constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author's rights.

  Published by Spotted Horse Productions

  First Edition: March 2018

  Cover Art by Spotted Horse Productions

  Edited by Sarah Williams

  When reality is a little too boring, think outside the box. Look at everything from a different perspective. Try on someone else's shoes – then walk a mile. There are always two sides to a story.

  The 5 Planes of Existence

  Then

  The 5 Planes of Existence

  Now

  Chapter 1

  Ihad just sold my first painting. For years, I'd dreamed of making it as an artist, but starving had never been on my list of things to do when I grew up. So needless to say, I was thrilled. Thrilled, and running late for work.

  I put ten bucks of gas in my car – enough to make it across town – and jogged toward the store with my long copper braid slapping against my back. The plan was to grab an iced coffee and something sweet to keep me awake all night. My big check should clear first thing in the morning, and I'd be set.

  Under my shoes, the bodies of crickets crunched disgustingly. I tried to ignore it, but they were always drawn to the lights at the front of the store. It didn't matter what store. Summer nights meant crickets, tons of them, rubbing their legs just loud enough to turn the night into a cacophony of primitive pickup lines.

  "Evening, Sienna," the man behind the counter said.

  When the gas station attendant knew your name, it probably wasn't a good sign, but I adored Jamal. He told me once that he'd worked for ten years to save enough to buy the store. Ten years of hoarding every penny just to have a chance at a better life, and now he drove a BMW. It gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, I could do the same. Not that I wanted to own a gas station on the corner of the interstate, but I did want to show the world I could make it on my own. That's why I was working nights, to save enough to pay my own way through college before I turned thirty and hopefully come out debt free on the other side.

  "You off soon, Jamal?" I asked as I pulled a bottle of iced mocha from the refrigeration unit at the back of the store.

  "Two hours. That isn't all you're having for dinner, is it?"

  "Yep, but I sold a painting. Soon as the check clears, I'll be able to eat like a real person."

  He shook his head at me and pointed to the side. "Grab a sandwich, at least? It's on me."

  I grinned. Who was I to say no to free dinner? He did things like that all the time. I tried my best not to take advantage of him, leaving a few bucks in his "give a penny, take a penny" tray when I could.

  I picked up a bag of fruit-flavored candy and looked at the selection of sandwiches. When the chime rang signaling someone else had entered, I didn't think much of it. After grabbing a turkey and bacon sandwich, plus a couple packages of mustard, I turned to the counter – and stopped in my tracks. Standing with his back to the door was a tall man in all black, but it was the ski mask in the heat of August that made my heart stop. Glaring between the two of us, he pumped the shotgun, making that distinctive sound.

  "Both of y'all, give me your money."

  My mind froze, stuck wondering what I was supposed to do. Walking up to him with the sixteen dollars in my pocket seemed like nothing short of insanity, but not doing it seemed worse. Over and over, the options spun in my head, keeping my feet glued to the ground.

  "Did you turn stupid, bitch?" he snarled, tipping his head to the counter. "Money. Now!"

  I gulped and nodded, shuffling to him quickly. Out of habit, I set my things on the counter and reached into my pocket, passing him the ten, five, and a bit of loose change. Jamal was pulling stacks of bills out of the till, but even I could see it wasn't exactly a fortune. The sign on the door did say there was only sixty dollars in the register after dark.

  "That's it," Jamal said.

  The robber snatched the cash from the counter and shoved it into his pocket. "Drop more, you piece of shit. I know how this works."

  Jamal nodded nervously and fumbled out of my line of sight. There was a machine back there to help him make change for large bills. I heard something fall, sounding a bit like a coke machine, then he passed over a tube with a twenty in it.

  "Ten minutes until I can pull another."

  The robber grunted in disgust and pointed the gun at my head. A large barrel made of cold, smooth, beautifully shiny metal stared me straight in the face. Behind it, everything else faded. Chills ran down my spine, and I wondered if it would hurt. Maybe he'd be a good enough shot to kill me quickly. I didn't want to end up as one of those people with half a brain, unable to talk, barely able to move without assistance. Mainly because there was no one I could trust to be there. I was on my own. The man behind the counter was the closest thing I had to a family, and that was only because he bought me a coffee every week.

  "Find more money real fast or the bitch takes one in the face."

  "I have credit cards," Jamal pleaded, pulling his wallet out to slap it on the counter. "That's it. I can't make the safe drop faster. It's made like this for a reason!"

  "Then unmake it."

  "I can't!"

  It happened in slow motion, like most horrifying experiences. The thief's jaw clenched, his eyes hardened, and his muscles flexed before he turned, swinging the tip of the shotgun toward the sweet man behind the counter. His fingers simultaneously contracted on the trigger. The sound of the gun was deafening, but seeing Jamal's eyes was worse. Just as the shot went off, they went wide and focused on the end of the barrel, filled with complete and utter fear like I'd never seen before.

  "No!" I screamed, reaching forward as the shotgun recoiled, not even thinking about what I was doing.

  Crimson stains, the color not nearly as red as in the movies, splattered Jamal's white polo, growing larger as his body went limp. With a thud, he dropped out of sight behind the counter, most likely dead.

  I hadn't planned to grab for the gun. It all just happened, but the shooter didn't care. With the chamber empty, he struck out, yanking the barrel out of my reach to slam the stock into the side of my head. Hard. Sparks of light erupted in my eyes and the world tilted, awash in colors too vivid to be true. The cheap rubber floor reached up to slap the other side of my face as I toppled into it.

  Useless.

  He pumped the shotgun again, and I realized he was probably loading it or something, but I couldn't make my arms and legs work - or my brain. I couldn't even manage to scramble away. My head was spinning, the aisles were too far, and there was nothing between the criminal and me except the cold, hard, shiny steel of the gun. I raised my hand weakly, hoping to shield myself from the damage I knew would simply rip right through my flesh, and I wished for a miracle.

  I got two.

  First, dark swirls of putrid brown began to ooze from his skin like steam on a cold morning. The gunman paused, almost confused as the substance wafted out. A bewildered expression filled his eyes while the fog coalesced and moved toward me, drawn to my bared palm like a well-trained hound returning to its
master.

  Before I could react, a pale hand grabbed my wrist, owned by a third man who hadn't been in the store a moment ago. I had no idea where he'd come from or if my spinning head had concocted him, but he was here now, just when I needed him… like a miracle. The stranger moved so his body shielded mine from the gun.

  "You made a mistake, Stephen," he said, his voice rich and lyrical like the songs of angels.

  "I–" Stephen, if that was his name, paused as if entranced, the malice suddenly gone.

  "You don't need the gun."

  Struggling against the throbbing in my head, I forced my eyes to focus on my savior, the man with a voice so sweet even the robber couldn't resist obeying, but nothing about this made sense. The guy looked like a myth, in a dark hood that covered most of his face and a robe that concealed his entire body. His skin was so pale it was blue under the hard fluorescent lights, like the color of moonlight. He didn't carry a scythe, but I recognized him from countless poems and paintings. He was Death, and more enticing than I'd expected. Exactly the kind of hero I'd been hoping for: the vengeful kind.

  "You're here for Jamal," I whimpered. That's the only reason I could come up with for Death to be here, but I wanted him to deny it.

  He did. "I'm here for Stephen."

  The gunman shook his head, stepping backward in his shock, but the dark fog still oozed from his skin. The difference was that now it wafted to Death instead of me. Lush, pastel lips smiled and Death raised his free hand, slowly crooking a finger. Stephen immediately obeyed, stepping forward like a robot, as if his will had vanished with Death's subtle gesture.

  "No one will hurt her," Death whispered, releasing my wrist to grab the man's face.

  His hands weren't skeletal; they were strong and elegant with only a hint of calluses between his thumb and index finger. Normal hands, except for the color, but beautiful. Even his nails were perfectly manicured. Not quite the way I'd imagined Death, but better, terrifying and seductive all at once. No wonder Classical artists had been obsessed with him.

  When he touched the man's ski mask, more of the fog rushed out, streaming from Stephen's eyes, mouth, and skin like the faucet had been turned up. It took only a second, almost as if the robber had turned to liquid, but he hadn't. His body was still intact even as his essence rushed to do Death's bidding.

  Then his eyes went blank, his fingers relaxed, and the gun fell to the ground, making me flinch in anticipation of it going off. It didn't, but his body followed shortly after. Dead. The man was dead! His eyes were open but empty, his mouth slack, his body so close I could almost touch it, but the man was totally lifeless. That's when my addled mind realized what came next.

  "Oh fuck," I breathed, looking up. "Don't take Jamal? Take me instead, but don't take Jamal! He has a wife and three kids, and he's a good man."

  Death shook his head, looking amused. Moving before me, he knelt on the filthy rubber floor and offered his hand, palm up. Even this close, I couldn't see his face. His hood tickled the top of his upper lip, hiding everything but that sensual mouth.

  "I'm not taking you. I also won't let them hurt you."

  "Taking Jamal would hurt me." I lifted my chin, daring him to deny it, and felt my head swim.

  "Then I guess I'll have to make sure he lives, huh?"

  "You can do that?"

  A smile flashed across Death's lips, the perfectly white teeth proving the color of his skin wasn't my imagination. "Yeah, I can do that. What will you give me for it?"

  "What do you want? I already offered you my life."

  The strangest part was that I wasn't scared of him. I probably should've been – of the insanity of all of this, if nothing else – but I honestly believed this creature from classical literature had arrived to be my hero. There was no other reason for him to be here. Stupid, I know, but I just couldn't shake the feeling.

  Looking down at me, he inspected me from under that deep, thick hood. I couldn't see much, not with cloth that dense, but from this angle I could just make out his eyes hidden in the shadows. They were filled with constellations, nebulas, and even galaxies. The entire universe was there, begging me to fall in, and I wanted to do nothing else. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever experienced. Even more lovely than Death himself.

  "I want you to have a very long life," he whispered, leaning closer. "A long, happy, luxurious life filled with grand ideas, but I'll give you Jamal in exchange for one thing."

  "What?"

  The corner of his lip quirked up. It was so human I had to look away from the depths of his eyes.

  "One kiss."

  I should have been scared. I should have been terrified! Poets had written about Death's final kiss, and artists had done their best to capture the pain and finality of it. That last touch was the comfort at the end of life. Oddly, I wasn't worried. Instead, feeling like I was in some kind of waking dream, my heart beat faster and my pulse dropped to the pit of my belly at the thought of those perfect lips on mine.

  It made me feel a little brave. "Can I see your face?"

  He shook his head, leaning even closer. "No, my precious little dove. I can see yours, and that is all I need."

  His voice was breathy and rough, encouraging me to do this. His lips were so close to mine. I closed my eyes and pressed into him, my hand sliding under the hood to cup the side of his face as I brushed my mouth against his. His skin was like silk, those lips like warm velvet. A moan came from deep in his throat as he grabbed the back of my neck, pinning me to him. I sucked in a surprised breath. The scent of his skin was sharp and spicy, like nothing I'd experienced before, and so very addictive.

  Then his tongue found mine, tangling with it in the most tantalizing way. I couldn't help myself. I wanted more, like he was some kind of drug I couldn't resist. I needed him to kiss me deeper, harder, and longer than any man before, but Death pulled away all too soon. I tried to follow, hoping to encourage one more kiss, yet it only made him sigh longingly.

  "You are amazing," he whispered, easing me back. "Nothing like I expected, but you have to sleep now."

  The perfection of sound and the throbbing in my temple commanded my mind to obey, calling for my body to relax. I fought it. There, with the pair of us on the floor beside the body of a dead man, I wanted to savor everything. If this was the end, I was determined to make it last as long as I could. While his hand still cradled the back of my neck, his thumb swept across the line of my cheek.

  "Don't fight me now. I'm just trying to take care of you. I won't let anyone hurt you." The corner of his lip lifted again. "I swear it, Sienna. I will always be there when you need it, but it's time for you to sleep."

  My body obeyed. The stars in his eyes were the last thing I saw before my lids closed to visions of endless worlds and soft blue lips on mine. His hands eased me to the floor, one finger tracing the gash of pain at my temple. The sensation was oddly comforting, like the mother I couldn't remember, promising his care even as I faded away.

  Almost immediately, I woke to a blur of red and blue, sirens screeching in my ears and a legion of voices chattering. Some were metallic and distorted, others closer. Blinking, I tried to remember where I was and why I'd been sleeping at a party this intense. I blinked again when a bright light blurred my vision, first in one side, then the other.

  "What's your name?" a woman asked.

  "Sienna Parker," I replied automatically.

  "Age?"

  "Twenty."

  She nodded to show she'd heard but kept going. "What day is it?"

  "I don't know, what time is it? Thursday or Friday."

  My sight cleared, my eyes finally adjusting to all the flashing lights, and I saw a paramedic leaning over me. It looked like she was moving. Tilting my head, I found chrome bars beside my elbow, holding me above the asphalt parking lot. Evidently, reality had returned, and I wasn't sure I liked it.

  "It's not midnight yet," the paramedic assured me. "How do you feel?"

  "My head hurts." I lifte
d my hand, trying to touch the throbbing spot on my temple, but she stopped me by easing it back to the side.

  "You were hit and that might need a stitch. Do you remember what happened?"

  I blinked again, trying to get my mind in gear. Blue lips and stars. No, a shooter. "Jamal!"

  "Who is Jamal?"

  "Jamal Hussein. That's his store! Is he ok? Is he alive?"

  She rested her hand on my shoulder, glancing up to look at someone before turning to me again. "The clerk? His name is Jamal?"

  "Yeah. The robber shot him."

  She nodded. "He's already headed to the hospital. His condition is critical, but he's still alive."

  I closed my eyes and breathed a thank you. Not to God, but to Death. I'd never been religious, but I'd seen the shot and all the blood. I didn't know how else Jamal could still be alive except that Death had kept his promise. A kiss for a man's life. I tried hard not to smile, knowing the paramedic would never understand.

  "What happened to the robber?" I asked, trying to lift my head enough to see the store.

  She pressed me back again. "What do you remember?"

  Everything. "He shot Jamal because he couldn't make the safe give him more money for ten minutes. I tried to grab the gun, but he hit me. I didn't mean to – I just didn't want Jamal to die. He's always been so nice."

  "Nothing after that?"

  I shook my head and the throbbing increased, making me groan. "No," I managed to get out.

  "Ok. The police will want to talk to you." Someone on the other side made a gesture and my stretcher slid toward the ground then the paramedics lifted it, loading me into the back of an ambulance. The woman climbed in behind me, continuing as if we hadn't been interrupted. "We're taking you to County General. You might have a concussion or a fractured skull. There's a pretty good gash up there."

  "It hurts like a bitch."