Page 5 of Bound to Death

Or maybe it was better to play dead.

Fuck, I don’t know.

I blinked, my entire body quaking despite the vow I made to never show an ounce of fear.

At first, I didn’t know what I was looking at. The stranger from the club was standing in the middle of nothing but carnage. Discarded limbs, disfigured bodies, and pools of blood were scattered all around him. Somewhere in my head, I made the connection that these were the men who attacked me, but it was like I couldn’t rectify the sight with my knowledge of the world.

Someone couldn’t just…tear a person apart with their bare hands, could they? I didn’t see a weapon. It was just him and his blood-coated hands. So, how did he do it? What human had that sort of strength? What human could dismember several bodies in seconds flat?

I found it hard to breathe as I held myself up on shaky arms, my head working hard to rationalize what I was seeing.

The guy who’d terrified me with his mere gaze was out here doing something impossible. I’d called him like the others, but I wished I hadn’t. I wished I’d fucking stayed home. Because getting attacked by a predator frat crew wasn’t anything whenyou compared it to a killer with inhuman strength. All I could hope was he wasn’t here to do the same thing to me.

Only the side of his face was visible from where I was on the ground, but something about it was off. Different from what I remembered. Menacing and full of homicidal intentions. Darker. Like he could see into their very souls and read every sin they’d committed. And he’d make them pay.

Tonight, he’d send them straight to Hell.

Mr. Killer lifted Bad Lay by the throat. The guy was easily two-hundred-plus pounds, but the terrifying man from the club hauled him into the air with one hand like he weighed nothing at all. It was surreal to watch Bad Lay struggling inside the deadly hold before going completely limp. His eyes stayed with his attacker, no longer fighting. The bastard hadn’t passed out, but it was like he’d lost every urge to live. Like he’d been put under a spell.

It’d be smarter to close my eyes—the next bit was going to give me nightmares for the rest of my life—but I couldn’t stop watching. Deep down, I wanted the asshole to die for what he’d tried to do to me, and for what he’d likely already done to others. In the dark, hateful part of my heart, I was glad someone made sure these assholes never hurt another person.

Mr. Killer whispered something I couldn’t hear before blood started to stream out of Bad Lay’s eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. A symbol I didn’t recognize appeared like it’d been branded onto my attacker’s forehead, burning the skin a vibrant red. The area around his eyes hollowed and turned pitch-black. The darkness replaced what had been Bad Lay’s eyes, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d be convinced I was hallucinating.

Maybe Bad Lay slipped something into my drink when I wasn’t looking. Because no matter how I spun it, what I just witnessed defied every logical truth I’d been taught about this world. It was, to put it simply, fucking supernatural.

Mr. Killer tossed the hollow-eyed man to the ground. Again, I was frozen to the spot as he stepped over the massacre he was single-handedly responsible for. Like none of it bothered him—probably because it didn’t—the giant killer stalked over to me, his face splattered with my attackers’ blood.

I stared at him, confused at first when the terrifying man crouched down to the floor, his head tilting to one side in greeting. “Come on, little raven. It’s time to go.”

Without waiting, he led my arm around his shoulders and gently lifted me under the back of my knees and waist into his arms. It was ironic how careful he was with me after literally tearing five men apart just seconds beforehand.

If I wasn’t in a state of shock—for a lot of fucking reasons—I would’ve demanded he tell me who he was and what he was doing. But for some reason, the minute I was in his arms, everything inside of me quieted. My heart slowed. My erratic breathing calmed. I stopped shaking. And when a cloak of impenetrable blackness wrapped around us, I tucked my head under his chin and closed my eyes, finally safe when I’d been so close to death.

Chapter Three

Thanatos

Fuck.

I’d acted without thinking. I’d intervened in a way I couldn’t take back. But those disgusting pigs put their filthyfucking hands on her. They’d try to hurt my little raven, and every single one of them deserved worse than they got. Have it my way and I would’ve burned their insides to liquid and kept their souls locked in their bodies long enough to feel every excruciating second of it.

But…she was watching. I couldn’t just leave her there. Not after she’d seen what I could do. Not when, in order to collect her soul, I needed her to stay safe.

The woman was an evil-human magnet.

Without realizing it, I’d thoughtlessly intervened on several attempts made by demon-infested men to hurt the oblivious little human. I’d even jimmied my way into a window as a raven to scratch and peck at that bastard boss of hers who thought he could put his hands on what was mine. He was lucky I needed to rely on my bird form in daylight because I would’ve done more damage as a shadow had I been given the option. Of course, I made sure to pay him a visit later to satisfy my rage.

Humans who committed evil on a normal basis were especially attractive to demons. A perfect vessel to manipulate. But the number of demon-possessed humans that seemed to hover around my little raven was unnatural. As if something about her was a lure to them. But I couldn’t fathom a reason. From what I’d observed, she was the farthest thing from morally corrupt.

I didn’t make it a habit of intervening on human-demon affairs. They ripened souls by feeding a human’s urge to sin. Only angels cared about the corruption of a human’s soul. Only angels were meant to protect worthy souls from demons. As Death, I was meant only to take a soul in whatever state it came to me. But I couldn’t let my little raven become anyone’s target, not until I’d ripened her soul to personally collect.

So, I’d kept an eye on her in a form she didn’t see as a threat—a raven or shadow. Granted, I’d grown fond of fucking around with her every chance I got. Being Death rarely afforded me theentertainment that Asha became at a moment’s notice. The little human was rather eccentric and reactive when she thought no one was watching. I found myself looking for ways to drag it out of her, and the nights quickly became my favorite time to play.

It wasn’t intentional at first. It was easier to come at night as the shadows. Her presence seemed to have a lure I couldn’t refuse. And in order to strike, I needed to be calculated. I needed to have a plan that couldn’t fail.

Initially, my observations of her were meant only to aid in ripening her soul, but my presence caused a disturbance with her dreams. So, she’d wake in a state of panic. A few times, she even rolled right off the bed in her fright. I’d barely caught myself before snickering, because I could mask my presence but not my voice.

Every night with her hair a mess atop her head and loose clothes hanging off her body like she never bothered to shop for the right size, she’d rant and sing weird tunes I didn’t always recognize, proclaiming herself the master of her emotions and dreams.

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