Making Love To Death (One Night With Death) (7 page)

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.

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,
rushing 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.”