Part 3: Death and the Bride
*****
Love hurts and passion burns.
Death will have to pay the ultimate price for his lapse and his undying love and desire for Emma.
Is their love strong enough to overcome every obstacle in their path—even Death?
*****
Chapter Eight
The flames leaped and danced around Death, taunting and tasting his naked flesh. He gritted his teeth against the scorching heat and the sharp flicks of pain as the flames lapped at him. He stood in the circle of advancing, raging fires, his back ramrod straight against the stake, his hands tied behind his back. He had to burn, for all that he had done. These fires, these torments were his to bear, for everything that he shouldn't have done, and for something that he must now do. It was the only way, the only way to be reborn and redeemed.
His tanned skin was reddening and blistering as the heat intensified. The fires became whips, lashing at his torso to draw blood. Boils bubbled on his skin and burst open, spilling blood and pus down the length of his muscular body.
Death bowed his blond head and closed his eyes. Only her memory kept him sane. He would endure this for her. For Emma.
He could see her, smiling, laughing, hugging her son. Their son. He had held her in his arms again, and even through the acrid smell of his own burning flesh, he could still smell her lingering scent. She had melted against his hard body, yielding, surrendering to his touch, his kiss, his desire. He would never forget her voice, her soft whispers and murmurs, her moans and cries of ecstasy. Behind his closed eyelids, against the pulsing red, her soft curves shimmered into view. He saw the gentle curve of her neck, her waist, the swell of her beautiful breasts, her nipples erect and glistening, her thighs quivering as he parted them to taste her. He could still see the sheen of sweat on her skin as she rode him, her hips grinding down on him as he thrust deep into her. She had come so hard for him, his Emma...
The flames flicked at his belly with their barbed tips, slicing his gut open. Death clenched his jaw, refusing to cry out. These fires were meant to torment him, test him, cleanse him—and hopefully, kill him.
No human would be able to withstand these infernal flames. They burnt higher, hotter and hungrier. The intense heat would have melted a mere mortal's flesh to a puddle of blood and piss, liquified his heart and liver and disintegrated his bones even before he could open his mouth to scream. But Death was no mortal. He took mortal lives and took human form when he chose to show himself to the humans whose lives he was about to take and whose souls he was about to reap. And it was in human form that he took Emma Davis that night. Emma had been seduced by a tall, blond, handsome strange with brilliant, blue eyes that mesmerized her and a lean, tanned body that she was powerless to deny. That sweet, young virgin had made love to Death that night, and everything changed. Her innocence, her ardor, her heat—Death had lost himself in her that night. And the moment that he lost control of his heart and his mind, he knew. He knew that this singular lapse would destroy him.
Just as he had committed his mistake in human form, he would bear his harsh punishment and relentless suffering now in the same form, with the same body that he had taken his beautiful Emma.
The fires fashioned themselves into tendrils that waved and whizzed above his head. These long flames transformed into barbed whips that lashed at his back. The stake behind him splintered at the force of the impact, and Death fell to his knees. The ropes around his wrists fell away and he was able to raise his arms to block the blows raining down on him. The flaming whips flew towards him relentlessly, their barbs digging into his arms and shoulders and ripping out chunks of his flesh. Death landed face down on a growing puddle of his own blood, leaving his back raw and exposed. The whips attacked him pitilessly, splitting his skin wide open. The wounds deepened and widened with each blow, but still the barbs continued gouging out his muscles and tendons. His back was a quivering bloody mess, and a mortal man would have long lost his mind and consciousness. But Death was not yet mortal. He would have to experience extreme agony, know the full extent of human pain and suffering, feel how unbearable and torturous human existence could be and pay the price for his mistake, before he could relinquish his infernal office and name and be human.
He had taken Brett Larson's life without authority, without reason, without restraint. He would have to pay the price with his body and blood.
Death pushed himself up on all fours, his arms shivering. His head was bowed, as he watched his blood course down his arms to join the crimson pool beneath him. He would bear this torture and take his just punishment. It was necessary. He was Death. And it was only through these fires that he could die. But not yet. Not for a long while.
Death raised his head, and with a sharp crack, a flaming whip caught his cheek and ripped it open. He reeled back but straightened up resolutely. He would not bend and bow, and be killed on his hands and knees. He would stand up, and face his punishment without fear, without regret, without resentment. Let these fires beat and burn him. He deserved it. He wanted it. He would die for it.
Death staggered up on his feet and stood tall and proud, his fists clenched at his side. Immediately, the flames reached out and tore at his chest and belly. They burned right through his solar plexus and flicked at his ribs and his strong, pounding heart. The barbs had sliced into his gut and were devouring his innards. His whole body was on fire, but still Death stood upright. He refused to close his eyes, choosing to withstand the hellish sight and smell of his own destruction stoically.
The ravenous flames ravaged his human body, consuming him from the inside out. His heart beat powerfully against the scorching flames, his flesh smoldering into ashes and his thoughts a million light years away. He thought of all the lives that he had taken during his long, long term as Death, all the souls he had ushered into the dark and the light. He had been Death for so long, he had almost forgotten how it felt to be human. Until the night he met Emma.
When he touched her that night, his long buried emotions and yearnings surged forth with agonizing clarity. He remembered how fragile, how vulnerable, how painful and how beautiful it was to be human, to feel human, and to love another human being again. All his frozen memories of a life he had lived a long, long time ago thawed and came roaring through his heart and his mind in a powerful wave. He had been alive once, but he had been Death forever.
It was time.
It was time to finally die. And live again.
The writhing flames around him assumed the shapes and shadows of all the souls that he had taken in his long career. As the fire devouring his body grew more intense and closed in on his heart, he saw a figure detach itself from the smoldering haze of red and orange around him. The figure walked steadily towards him until he could make out a face.
Death gasped as the raging, blood red fire finally held his strong heart in its clutches. He could feel his heart hammering faster as the pain soared into the remnants of his consciousness and exploded into an unbearable, never ending light and darkness.
At that instant that Death finally let out a wrenching cry, he saw the face before him.
It was Brett Larson, and he was smiling.
Chapter Nine
Emma pulled into the hospital car park and cut the engine of her car. Turning to the backseat, she grabbed the file beside the child booster seat. Glancing at the booster seat for her six-year-old son, she couldn't help but smile at the conversation she'd just had with Luc as she drove to the hospital for this last minute client meeting. He was telling her about a new best friend that he had made in school, and he had ended the call by telling her not to come home so early. He said he wanted to watch a cartoon movie with Tammy, his sitter. Emma had spoken to Tammy after that, and the responsible sixteen-year-old had assured Emma that she would make sure that Luc went to bed on time.
Emma stood in the lift lobby and checked her reflection in the mirrored surface of the lift doors. She'd had a long day, rus
hing from client meetings to court attendances. She had completely forgotten about this last minute appointment by the time she returned exhausted from a long-drawn negotiation session to her office. She had just deposited her stack of documents on her desk when Suzie, her trusty secretary, knocked on her door. “Mr Damien Blake called to confirm your meeting this evening. Seven o'clock, Sacred Heart Hospital.”
Emma had slapped her forehead. “Oh! And that's...one hour from now. Can you get me a cup of extra strong coffee, Suzie? I'll just gulp it down and I'll be on my way.”
“Sure, Miss Davis.”
Suzie had returned with a big mug of coffee and a plate of biscuits. While Emma scoffed down the coffee and biscuits, Suzie had stood by with a notebook and jotted down Emma's rapid fire instructions on what affidavits and agreements to type up and amend.
“Thanks, Suzie.” Once she'd drained her coffee, Emma brushed the crumbs off her blouse and snatched up her jacket from the back of her chair. “I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow's Saturday,” Suzie reminded her.
“Oh, right. See you on Monday.”
Emma blew out a long breath in the lift. There was so much work to do, but that was a good thing. It took her mind off him. She had to force herself not to think of Death. But—
She frowned. Damien Blake, this new client that she was about to meet, had made the headlines yesterday, but she had been too busy to notice. It was Suzie who brought it to her attention.
“Damien Blake, tech billionaire, cheats death after third suicide attempt.”
Why would a young, successful man in the prime of his life try to kill himself? The report had mentioned the billionaire's drug and alcohol addiction, and a history of depression. But why would he ask to meet her? And just after his failed suicide attempt? When he called her office yesterday, he had apparently just woken up in the hospital, and the first call he made was to her office. Emma wrinkled her nose. Did her reputation precede her so? But why would he need the services of a tough as nails divorce lawyer? According to the tabloids, he was not married, and had never been married, though he had been linked to many prominent socialites and starlets. She had trawled through the internet for articles and photographs of this enigmatic, charismatic and, it would seem, problematic, billionaire. He was very good-looking, tall and suave, with jet black hair, and dark, brooding eyes. He was always sporting a five o'clock shadow and a contemptuous smirk. At thirty-six years old, the world was his oyster. Yet according to reports, he had attempted suicide more than once, perhaps even more than the three times that were reported.
Emma shook her head. But why did he insist on seeing her so urgently? Did he want to make a will? Just to make sure that all his affairs were in order before he made another attempt at his own life? Or maybe his problems had to do with a woman. Maybe he had straightened out his thoughts and decided to settle down. And he wanted a pre-nup drawn up before he got serious with one woman. Made sense. Wouldn't want to be paying millions in alimony and having a large portion of his wealth shaved off in a few years' time. Head over heart.
But his suicide attempts...
This man was more heart than head. The downward spiral and self-destructive behavior showed a man with a haunted, burdened heart, a heart that was too heavy for him to bear.
The lift doors opened and Emma stepped out and followed the signs to Ward 6. She turned into a quiet corridor and walked briskly to the room at the end. There were two bodyguards stationed outside the door.
“I'm Emma Davis, divorce attorney. Mr Blake made an appointment to see me,” she said briskly.
The men in black suits nodded and stepped aside for her.
Emma knocked twice on the door and pushed it open tentatively. “Mr Blake?”
“Yes. Yes, come in, Emma...Miss Davis.” His voice was deep, and sounded strong and cheerful, which surprised Emma.
She stepped into the spacious, cozy hospital room and saw that Damien Blake was sitting up in his bed, staring straight at her. His black hair which was normally slicked back in all his photographs fell messily across his forehead. His eyes locked on Emma, and shone with a certain familiar brightness and intensity that made Emma's breath catch. Her legs suddenly felt unsteady and she had to force herself to walk to his bedside and extend her hand. He clasped it firmly in both his hands and gazed into her eyes. The deep brown of his eyes was ringed with blue, something that Emma hadn't noticed in all his photographs.
“Emma.”
Her hand trembled in his, as she felt the heat from his touch travel from her fingertips to her core. As she stared into his eyes, she saw a myriad of emotions swirling behind his eyes. Why was he so happy to see her? There was a deep pure joy in his eyes when he looked at her, but when he blinked, a slight look of confusion and surprise rippled across his handsome features. He released her hand and offered a shaky smile.
“Hi, thanks for coming. It was...very short notice,” he said sounding apologetic.
“It's no problem, Mr Blake...”
“Damien,” he insisted.
Emma nodded and glanced away. He had whispered her name the moment he took her hand. And when he touched her, a sudden heat and electric charge had swept over her body. Liquid heat traveled up her arm and gripped her heart. She almost couldn't make herself release his hand. She wanted to touch him, and hold him and never let go. The pulsating want and desire surged through her like an electric current. She was sure he had felt it as well. She saw his eyes widen and she heard him suck in a breath. She had been instantly attracted to good-looking men before and had had quite a few one night stands. But this pull towards Damien Blake was magnetic and hypnotic. It wasn't just pure lust. There was something else. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
“Damien,” she swallowed. “It is a...”
“Emma,” he leaned forward and said softly. “How are you?”
“I...”
Damien held her gaze unwaveringly. He seemed to be staring into her soul, searching for something in her, something that he seemed to know. And want.
“I'm fine. How are you?” she managed at last.
He leaned back on his pillows and sighed. “Honestly...I don't know.” He frowned and closed his eyes briefly. “I seem to have forgotten a lot. I can't remember...doing all those things they said I did.” He gestured at the stack of newspapers, tabloids and magazines at the foot of his bed. “It's like I'm reading about another person. The doctors are saying that this amnesia is a defense mechanism. My brain is helping me cope and heal by dropping certain memories which are too painful for me to remember.” Damien shrugged his broad shoulders. “That's what they say. But I don't think so. From what I read, it seems like this Damien guy—I mean, me, that's me right?” He coughed and laughed uncomfortably. “It seems that I was leading quite a jet-setting, high flying life, with fast cars, fancy women and fantastic properties. Why would I end up here? In hospital, with bottles of pills and booze in my stomach?”
Emma pulled up a chair and sat down. “So...what do you remember, Damien?” she asked gently.
He stared at her for a long while before dropping his gaze. “What I remember...” He shook his head. “This is going to sound crazy. You'll rush out to tell my doctors I need more medication and therapy.”
“I'll do no such thing,” Emma said firmly. “I will not repeat a word you tell me. Everything you say will be held in the strictest confidence. Attorney-client privilege.”
“I love lawyers,” Damien gave her a smile that was devastating. No wonder he had so many beautiful women lining up to wrap themselves around his little finger and every other part of his body. Emma found her eyes trailing down the open collar of his lime-green hospital pajamas, down his broad shoulders and chest, and lower...
Damien shifted his body beneath the sheets and Emma jerked her eyes up, hoping that he hadn't followed the route her eyes had taken. She swallowed thickly.
“Oh? You must have quite a few favorite female lawyers that you can cal
l upon at short notice. So why did you call my office?” Emma folded her arms, cutting to the chase. She frowned and bit her lip, hating the catty, jealous tone of her voice. What was wrong with her? She had no reason, no goddamn reason at all to feel even the slightest twinge of jealousy. She hardly knew the man.
Damien cocked his head, seemingly giving serious thought to her words. Either that or he was mocking her.
Emma decided on the latter and crossed her legs with a huff, tightening herself up into a knot. She should have gone straight home to be with her son, instead of battling peak hour traffic to drive all the way out here just to meet this obnoxious jerk.
“I had to,” Damien replied at last. “Your name...” he frowned deeply. “When I opened my eyes, your name was the only name I could recall. I kept calling your name, and I kept insisting that I speak to you, and see you. The doctors asked my assistant and staff if I knew an Emma Davis, but they said I didn't. But I wouldn't rest. My staff made countless calls until they found you.”
“Why were you looking for me?”
“I just...I had to see you.”
Emma tried to reply but no words came. She saw a sudden, fierce longing in Damien's eyes and she completely forgot to breathe.
“There must be...some mistake,” she stammered. “You don't know me.”
“Don't I?”
“We haven't met...” she faltered.
“Haven't we?”
“I don't think...I don't know...”
“But I do, Emma,” Damien said fervently. “It's the only thing I do know since I woke up. Everything else...happened to a different person. You—you're the only thing that is real, to me.”
“What do you mean?” she asked hoarsely. But she knew what he meant. She just didn't want to admit it. It was as if she knew him from somewhere, some time. Yet she was sure that she had never crossed paths with Damien Blake.
Making Love To Death (One Night With Death) Page 5