Date With Death (Welcome To Hell)
Read Date With Death (Welcome To Hell) Online
Authors: Eve Langlais
By
Eve Langlais
SECOND EDITION
Copyright © June 2013, Eve Langlais
Cover Art by Amanda Kelsey © June 2013
Originally Edited (2011) by Victoria Miller
Second Edition Edited (2013) by Brienna Roberston
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais
1606 Main Street, PO Box 151, Stittsville, Ontario, Canada, K2S1A3
ISBN: 978 – 1 – 927459 – 39 – 3
Date With Death
is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
Please note,
Date With Death was originally published by Liquid Silver Books from March of 2011, until May of 2013. Published anew in June 2013 by Eve Langlais, this book has been slightly expanded from its original version and blended into the Welcome To Hell series.
She never expected to fall in love with Death.
Marigold has a date with Death, but when she foils his plan to take her soul back to Hell, she invites him to dinner instead.
Mictain, a
former Aztec god who collects souls for Satan, is baffled at his interest in the plump witch who can see him. Intrigued, and in lust, he can’t help pursuing her.
But things are never simple when gods are involved.
Lucifer, Lord of Hell, tries to warn him away, and even Marigold’s long-lost father decides to butt in. Yet, despite the opposition, things heat up between them, and Marigold learns that when Death comes calling, it’s best to get naked and invite him into bed—and her heart.
“Fuck him!” Crumpling up the offending parchment, Lucifer tossed it in the air, and with the twitch of a finger, ignited the missive that put him in a foul mood.
L
owering her e-reader to peek at Lucifer, Gaia, his currently on-again girlfriend, said, “I didn’t know you swung that way.”
“I don’t. I meant it figuratively, not literally.”
“Ooh, big words. Has someone been brushing up on his vocabulary?”
Mouthy wench.
Lucifer shot Gaia a dirty look. “Aren’t you the funny one this morning.”
“Funny? Me?” She batted her lashe
s in an attempt at innocence that failed. “I was just impressed with your oral skills.”
“I prefer it when you scream about them
, not mock.”
“Noted. So
, who do you want to fuck?”
A shudder went through him as the vulgar word slipped past her lips. Hearing Mother Earth cuss always turned him on. “I always want to fuck you.”
“Are we talking figuratively or literally this time?” She tossed him a sassy grin.
He growled, a sound
that always sent his minions scurrying.
Not Gaia. She laughed. “It never hurts to ask. Last time I told you to kiss my ass
, you—”
“Dropped to my knees and did it with pleasure.” His girlfriend did have the most delightfully plump posterior. Lucifer leered at her, but she
missed the suggestive glance having gone back to her book. Such impertinence. Only she dared treat him like a man instead of an almighty deity. “I swear he does these things to throw my game off.”
“Who, dear?” Gaia absently asked as he paced the foot of
an ornate, four poster bed—also known as the nest of original sin, at least according to the monthly publication,
Hell and Garden
. “And what did he dare do to rouse the renowned temper of the great and mighty lord of Hell?”
Out puffed Lucifer’s chest. He never
could resist a compliment. “Who else but that has-been god whose name I refuse to utter.” Because the more someone believed and spoke about a deity, the stronger they became. Power came to those with worshippers. This energy boost was the main reason Lucifer enjoyed stirring up trouble on the mortal side. Nothing like keeping his name in the news, and bandied about in churches, for a magical rush. “The bastard has been taunting me with our upcoming golf match.”
“Taunted you? How in the pit did he manage that because last I heard you bellow, you weren’t on speaking terms with him
.”
“I’m not. But my spies say he’s been running his mouth.”
“As have you.”
“That’s different.”
“Of course it is.” She rolled her forest green eyes. “We all know the universe revolves around you.”
He chose to ignore the sarcasm in her tone to focus on the truth. Usually a dirty word, but in this case, apt. “I know it does. Which is why I’ve got a plan to get him back.”
“Does it involve killing him, maiming him, or starting an interdimensional war?”
“No. No violence, at least on my part.” Lucifer paused his pacing to ask her with a most serious mien, “Do you think this means I’m losing my touch?” Did the fact he
didn’t plan murder and mayhem say something about him as Lord of Sin?
Gaia put aside her electronic device and gazed at him. “Oh, I’d say your touch has never been better.” She winked as she licked her lips. Instant boner. “You know I find a finely
-tuned, eloquent revenge so much more satisfying than a plain old war. Sexier too. You know how I love it when you get devious.” She purred the last bit.
And she was right. He did know how much Gaia enjoyed subtle revenge. The whole world did. When Lucifer rocked Gaia’s world, she rocked the mortal one. Blame his incredible prowess for the plight of mankind—when the bed started knocking, the earth got a shaking. Sucked for the humans, but here in Hell, it just served to enhance his reputation.
Booyah!
Back to his nemesis, though. Time to set the plan in motion. He had an opponent to frazzle and a golf game to win.
Only one ingredient to go. Marigold
dangled the last bit over the boiling cauldron and began reciting the words to the spell that would grant her something she’d longed for all her life. A prize without compare that modern cosmetics promised but never cure
d—
getting rid of her bloody freckles.
Giddy with anticipation, she took a deep breath and continued her chant. “Hair of the divine beast, grant me the wish I seek.”
Corny, but then again, she’d not created the spell. She held the glimmering unicorn hair over the bubbling brew, a frothy concoction she didn’t really want to drink because it smelled and looked icky, but drink it she would if it would help. Down drifted the glimmering strand and it sank in the potion with an ominous sizzle.
Hmm,
I hope it doesn’t do that when I swallow it.
Using her wooden spoon, she stirred the concoction as it bubbled and steamed. When the prescribed sixty seconds passed,
Marigold opened her mouth to say the words to invoke the spell when she heard a rustle of fabric.
Whirling
from her stove, and the vile brew, she noticed a cloaked figure standing at the edge of the candlelight, a scythe in one hand.
Seeing as how she’d locked her door and lived on the eighth floor, his presence didn’t bode well.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked. As an added precaution, she snatched her ritual dagger and brandished it in front of her.
“You can see me?”
Judging by his tone, the hooded stranger seemed taken aback.
“Well, duh,” she
replied, rolling her eyes. “You’re, like, standing right in front of me. I’m not bloody blind, you know.”
“But you’re not supposed to see me.”
Again with the incredulity. Welcome to the club. He thought she shouldn’t see him, and she thought he shouldn’t be there. That made them even of a sort.
“Not only can I see you, but I’d like to know just how the
heck you got in here?” The doors to Marigold’s apartment were not just locked, she’d spelled them as well. So how had he gotten in without setting off any of her alarms? Maybe he was a demon. Or a ghost, or...
“Death cannot be hindered by a mere mortal lock,” he announced pompously
with a wave of the scythe. The stranger had an accent, which despite the strange circumstance, Marigold found hot.
“Death?” Marigold giggled. “Oh, come now. You’re not big or scary enough to be him.”
At just over six feet, or so she gauged, while wide of shoulder, her visitor lacked the ominous presence and stature she’d always imagined a true god would have.
A
growl emerged from the cowl shadowing his face. “I might not be the actual Lord of Death, but I am one of his lieutenants. Now, do you mind stopping the idle chit-chatter and getting on with what you were doing? I’ve got other appointments to keep.”
But Marigold
’s mother, despite her ditzy nature, hadn’t raised an idiot. “Wait a second. If you’re here to collect me for the underworld, then that must mean I’m about to do something deadly.” She eyed her steaming cauldron and sighed. “I should have known better than to try a spell I found on the Internet.”
Blowing out the candles
—four black,tallowed ones, one for each point of the compas
s—
she carefully stored the remaining unicorn hair, a precious commodity that had cost her dearl
y—
and turned to face her uninvited guest with a smile. “Sorry. I’ve decided today is not a good day to die. See you in, like, oh, one hundred years.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Death’s agent didn’t sound too happy. Lifting an arm, the loose sleeve of his robe fell back and a large hand
—covered in skin and not just some bony protrusio
n—
pushed back the hood. Blazing eyes regarded her, but that wasn’t what made Marigold speechless. Talk about a handsome hunk of man.
For some reason, when she’d pictured Death and his minions, she’d expected skeletal figures with
spooky, coal red eyes. Reality vastly differed, in a good way. Towering over her smaller frame, the Grim Reaper’s minion glared at her with intense dark eyes, chiseled features that included high cheekbones, a straight aristocratic nose, square jaw—covered in a sexy stubble—and full, sensual lips. His hair was short and a deep ebony color that glinted red in the dim lights of her apartment and set off his pale tan beautifully.
I wonder if he’d get naked so I can see if he’s tanned all over?
His robe unfortunately hid the rest of him, but if his body matched the big hands and thick, muscled forearm he’d revealed, then she thought it a pity he’d taken up soul collecting instead of pole dancing as a profession.
He pointed his scythe at her. “You can’t avoid an appointment with Death, so please cooperate and finish what you were doing.”
Stubborn, and not one to follow orders, Marigold crossed her arms under her boobs and shook her head. “No. And you can’t make me.”
I think,
she added silently.
“Says who?” He took a menacing step forward.
With a bravery she didn’t quite believe, but faked quite well, she dared him. “Says me. So go ahead, kill me in cold blood, you big…big meanie.” As name calling went, it was quite lame, but somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to call him something really nasty. Although, she wouldn’t mind him doing nasty things to her body, naked, of course.
“I’m a meanie? I’ll have you know women say I’m the nicest guy they’ve ever met.”
“And is this before or after you drag their souls back to your boss?” she replied sarcastically.
“I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“What a shame,” said Marigold. “I guess this means you won’t be able to accept when I ask you to come back for dinner tomorrow night.” The invitation popped out of her mouth before her brain could prevent it. Once extended, though, she felt no urge to take it back. The man, minion, whatever he was, redefined the term delicious. And given her current love life was at a standstill, a date of any kind was welcome, even a date with death.
“
You want me to come back for dinner?” There was that incredulous tone again. “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to try and take your soul?”
“Could you wait until after dessert? I make a kick ass cheesecake.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, still shaking his head and mumbling under his breath something which sounded suspiciously like “completely insane,” he faded away. Cool trick.
Only once her kitchen gaped empty, the imposing man no longer taking up so much space, did it hit her. She’d just escaped death. Holy
moly! And like an idiot, she’d invited him back. She smacked herself in the forehead.
Do I have a death wish?
Although, I wouldn’t mind having, what the French say, la petit mort. Also known as a big O.
As a minion of death
, did that make him stiffer than a normal man? She snickered at her own corny joke. She’d probably never know. Unless she did something stupid, or if that movie
Final Destination
was based on truth, she wouldn’t see him again unless she died. Bummer. She couldn’t help a touch of disappointment. Who could blame her? The man had a serious sexy vibe going on, and it had been awhile since she’d gotten hot and sweaty with someone.
Maybe he’d come back. After all, he’d not technically replied to her invitation. Problem was, when he returned
, would he do so in the role of beau or because he’d rescheduled her?
Just in case, she’d better shave.