Touch If You Dare (6 page)

Sharp pain suddenly hit her palm like a thousand razor blades. She yelped and jerked her hand out. Dozens of razor-fine quills were lodged in her skin. Oh, come on! After nine years of bonding, it treated her like a pariah just because some arrogant bastard had wrongfully fired her? “You could have just said ‘No,’” she hissed.

She gritted her teeth, fisted the spines, and then yanked them all out in one motion. She screamed with pain and wedged her hand between her thighs. “Minor setback,” she gasped. “Nothing I can’t manage—”

“Reina.” The doors were flung open to reveal Death in all his tuxedoed glory, sporting a gold-laced cummerbund and bow tie. “I thought I recognized your shriek of pain.” He was wearing his platinum scythe cuff links and a shirt artfully decorated with diamond bling, but his ashen face and trembling hands kind of blew his Me Dominant Male image. “Make me some espresso. Now.”

The clickety clack of stilettos got closer, and the tip of an alligator pump came into sight around the corner. “Sure.” She stumbled to her feet and squeezed past Death into his office, her damaged hand hanging limply by her side.
Don’t think about the pain. Don’t think about the pain.
Shoot. She was thinking about the pain.

“I’ve got her,” Linneah shouted as she rounded the corner, her gown sweat stained and torn.

“Reina is green-lighted.” Death flipped the door shut in Linneah’s startled face, then leaned against the interior of the door, as if he were too exhausted to hold himself upright. “Where have you been?”

“Where I have been?” Blood was oozing onto the floor, and Reina’s hand felt like a dozen poisonous spikes had been shoved through it. Oh, wait. It had. “You fired me, remember?”

“Of course I remember. Don’t insult me with such inane questions.” Death strode across his plush carpet to the wall that sported a ten-foot mural of Cupid.

According to Castle gossip, it was the first painting Death had commissioned when he’d bought out the Grim
Reaper three hundred years ago. He dusted it by hand
every day and wouldn’t trust anyone else with its care.
Reina had often found him in an admiring thrall, staring
rapturously at the three-foot cherub with rosy cheeks
who was casting arrows on assorted lovers, all of whom were engaged in various intimate and acrobatic positions.

Maybe it was all the naked couplings depicted.

Maybe it was the implications of how great sex would be if Cupid helped.

Maybe it was professional admiration for another being that wielded complete power over something basic to the human experience.

No one knew why he loved it so much, and the big man wasn’t talking.

The austere and ruthless magistrate tapped Cupid’s harp. The instrument vanished, revealing a harp-shaped cabinet. Inside were shelves of glittery bottles and jars, a medicine cabinet for the rich, famous, and magical. He shot an impatient scowl at Reina. “I said, where have you been?”

“Sorry, I must have missed the memo that said I was still in charge of your coffee even after getting wrongfully terminated.” Yeah, probably not the best choice to be flippant with him, but she was in too much pain to be polite. “You need me. I want a second chance.” Her legs began to tremble, and she eased down to the Oriental carpet. She tried to bend her lavender-tinted fingers, and they didn’t move. That couldn’t be good.

“Have you learned nothing in the nine years under my ruthless and brilliant tutelage? My reputation as a domineering businessman does not allow for second chances.” Death selected a star-shaped bottle shimmering with golden dust. “Make the coffee, Fleming.”

“The coffee.” She willed herself off her knees and made her way across the room, still fighting not to start screaming in pain and dropping to the carpet in convulsions of misery. Cradling her injured hand to her chest, she tugged open the cabinet and grabbed the five-pound bag of beans.

Then she walked over to a full size bronze sculpture of the original Grim Reaper, complete with black cloak and weapon. She kicked the handle of the creature’s scythe, then stepped back as a bronze urinal exploded out of the wall.

Death narrowed his eyes. “How did you know about that?”

“I pay attention.” She opened the bag of beans and tipped it precariously over the glittering man-toilet. “It’ll take you years to find out who my supplier is for these beans. You’ll never survive the withdrawal. Give me another chance, or the caffeine takes a hit.” She couldn’t keep her gaze from wandering over to the collection of scythes above the massive fireplace. Death had acquired them when he’d bought out the Grim Reaper, and they were the real deal. Which one would he use on her?

Death glowered at her. “Why you arrogant little female—” Then he suddenly burst out laughing, showcasing his high octane pearly white smile. “I can’t keep up the facade anymore. You’re threatening my prized beans with urine! That’s beautiful! You’ve got game, girl! You have surpassed my expectations, which really weren’t that high to begin with, of course.”

She stared at him in stunned surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“Nice work, Fleming.” He smacked her on the shoulder so hard she lost her balance. Her injured palm collided with the statue, and pain ripped through her. The room began to spin, spots began to dance in her vision, and she slithered down to her knees. Dammit. She didn’t have time to get hurt!

“I need a second chance,” she croaked. “Now.”

Ignoring her request, Death crouched in front of her, took her wrist, and flipped her hand over. “This should help.” He thumbed open the bottle he’d taken from the harp cabinet and poured a pulsating gelatinous substance onto her injury.

Her skin began to burn, a tingling sensation like a thousand gnats tangoing on her skin. Which was entirely possible, given that she was in the office of the grandson of one of the most powerful black witches in existence. And then the pain dissolved. Just like that. Gone. “That’s incredible.”

He beamed at her. “Excellent. I’ve never tested it before.” He clapped the lid shut. “And I was referring to my expectations with the werewolf situation. It was a test.”

Reina sat up and flexed her hand. No pain. Hurrah. “You mean, Max was a test for something
other
than to see if I could harvest his soul?”

“Of course. I would never give you such a linear, simplistic assignment. I am so much more complex than that.” He set the bottle back into the wall, then tossed the coffee at her, still grinning. “Put the beans down and we’ll talk.”

She caught the package. He was acting way too
friendly and conspiratorial for a guy who was still firing her. She was kind of thinking that now was the time to
deliver the goods and see what was up. She cautiously hoisted the coffee and walked over to the machine. “So if I’m not getting another chance, then what? A new assignment?”

Death’s gaze was fixated on the beans. “Yes. Of course. That’s the whole point.”

Her boss never, ever went back on his word. He believed that a man’s success was only as good as people’s ability to trust him to deliver on his promises. Ironically, Death was one man you could always, always have faith in. So she punched the button, dropped the coffee in, adjusted the seventeen different dials to get it exactly as he liked it, then hit start. “Okay, so explain.”

“Of course.” He picked a six-inch, pale pink mug off his desk and stroked his finger fondly over the diamonds encrusted along the rim before handing it to her. “If you’d harvested the werewolf, you would have failed.”

She slid the cup into the machine. “You didn’t want me to take his soul?” After all her emotional trauma, she wasn’t even supposed to have harvested Max? Hello? Anyone want to sue for intentional infliction of emotional distress? Completely brutal… and… fantastic! Who knew that total failure could result in complete victory? “So, then, what—”

“I made sure you selected a target that would remind you of someone you loved.” He picked a blueberry scone off a silver tray on his desk. As always, it had been delivered to coincide with the eleven o’clock caffeine hit.

“Why?” Her stomach rumbled with hunger. She’d been so stressed about her first harvest that she hadn’t been able to eat for the last twenty-four hours.

“If you’d killed him, it would have shown me that you valued killing more than those you love. That’s not the kind of ethics I want in my staff. The power to kill is seductive, and I need someone who isn’t going to get sucked into the high of killing and start running around killing willy-nilly. I need someone who understands the importance of each and every harvesting, and who has the self-control not to kill for the sheer pleasure of it.”

“So, I don’t need to harvest anyone?”
Please, please, please, let that be the case.

“Of course you do.”

Of course she did. She grabbed a chocolate torte. Sugar reinforcements needed. She shoved the whole thing in her mouth… Damn. It was
good.

“Just not the dog.” He took a bite of his pastry and sighed with delight. “Mother of pearl, that’s the best scone Vladimir has ever made.” He hit the speakerphone on his desk.

Linneah answered on the first ring. “Yes, sir?” She sounded out of breath and a little disgruntled.

“Give Vladimir a raise. This scone is brilliant.”

There was a pause. “But—”

“You’re fired. No one contradicts me in this office.” Death released the button and took another bite as he gave his attention back to Reina. “And then you passed the second test by coming back here and getting in my face to give you another chance. Sometimes it takes that kind of tenacity to get a hit.”

“I’m extremely tough.” Total lie, but that was okay. If Death’s delusion helped her case, she wasn’t going to enlighten him that she was desperate, out of hope, and horrifically traumatized by the thought of her sister dying. She grabbed a lemon torte. Not that desserts would solve the situation, but sometimes a good hit of sugar made things seem better.

Death shoved another pastry into his mouth and made a grunt of rapture. “Do you know who Augustus is?”

She bit into the decadent delicacy. Mmm… so good. “Augustus? The assassin who killed more than three thousand immortal beings in the last year alone? The one who wiped out that whole camp of ancient vampires in less than ten minutes?
That
Augustus?”

“Yep.” Death sat down in his luxurious desk chair and stretched his long legs out as he helped himself to a croissant. “I have investors willing to pay over five million dollars to see him taken out of action, as long as it’s done by this Friday. So, get on it.”

She froze mid-chew. “You want
me
to harvest
his
soul?” The odds of her going after Augustus and coming out alive were… um… zero. He was unkillable, and he could dispatch immortal beings with less effort than it took a cow to mow some grass. If Reina tried to snatch his spirit, he’d kill her first. Ten times. Before she had a chance to sneeze.

Death raised his brows, a challenge in his tone that told her that this was her only chance. “You can’t do it?”

No way on earth could I possibly do it. You’re insane to even think so!
She managed an arrogant shrug of her shoulders. “Of course I can. I was just clarifying. You know, given the confusion last time about what my actual goal was supposed to be.”

“Now your other task…” He grinned, his eyes sparkling. “This is the really fun one.”

“More fun than harvesting Augustus? Impossible.” Was the universe not in support of her overcoming her abysmal track record at saving those she loved? Because it sure seemed like the entire cosmos was against her, and if so, it would be good to know. Or maybe not. Maybe she was just better off not knowing some things. You know, things like that could be a little overwhelming to cope with.

The lemon torte that had been so delicious moments ago? Nothing but dry, bland sandstone in her mouth. The brewing coffee stung her nose. The blueberry scones looked like moldy piles of mud. Okay, so losing control of the positive attitude here.

“I’m so excited about this other project.” Death grinned, and his eyes began to glow with excitement that, weirdly enough, she wasn’t really sharing. “I have this special project I’m working on. It—” The machine beeped that the espresso was ready.

Death ripped the mug free of the machine and chugged its contents. He slammed the empty cup down and took a deep breath. When he looked at her this time, his eyes were sharp and alert. “I’m launching a new Reaper this weekend.”

“You are?” She was supposed to be the next Reaper. He hadn’t had a new one in almost a hundred years. “You promoted someone?” How was that possible? None of the other Guides were even a fraction as good as she was.

“Nope. External hire.”

“External?” Well, wasn’t that typical? Bypass the employee that had been doing great work for years in favor of some glitzy external hire? It couldn’t be Augustus, since Death just told her to kill him. Napoleon? Or the vampire triplets who’d taken out three of Satan’s minions while they’d been eating donuts the other day? Jarvis? He might not be an official assassin, but he was certainly deadly enough. She frowned as she thought of the warrior. No, no, he might be on the edge of something dark and deadly, but he wouldn’t become an assassin. She was sure of it. His soul was too… pure wasn’t the right word. But she knew he had a solid core that would withstand any malevolent temptation, even Death’s most lucrative offer. Jarvis was good. Scary, deadly, most likely insane, but good in his soul.