Making Love To Death (One Night With Death) (3 page)

Emma's frown deepened. She stared into his eyes, and
saw a spark of clear blue in the center of his pupils. The blue
rapidly spread, chasing away all the black from his eyes, like the
dawn melting away the darkness of the night. With a gasp, she
staggered back.

“
Yes, Emma. I shouldn't have. I have never done
so. It was...a lapse,” he swallowed and said thickly. “You
have my seed in you.”

With a gasp, Emma's hand landed on her flat belly. What
did that mean? What had she done? What in the world had they done?

But through her fears and tears, the survival instinct
remained intact. Although her thoughts were going off on various
strange tangents, one immediate concern pushed through the fog in her
mind and articulated itself.

“
D-does that mean that...that I...I can...live?”
she stammered.

“
Yes, Emma. It means that you can live. You must
live.” Death took a step towards her and enfolded her in his
embrace. She leaned against his shoulder and breathed in his scent,
and her scent on him, for the last time. She was relieved, worried,
scared, ecstatic, sad...all of the above and none of the above.
Death was leaving her. That was a good thing, right?

“
Goodbye, Emma,” he whispered as he kissed
her forehead and released her.

His gaze was soft and sad as he backed towards the
window. As he wrapped his cloak around him and his shape started to
shimmer and blur around the edges, Emma called out before she could
stop herself, “Wait! Will I...will I see you again?”

Death looked over his shoulder and held her gaze for a
fleeting eternity. “My dearest Emma, you have branded yourself
into my skin, my lips, my fingertips, seared your image and your
memory into my eyes and my mind forever. Is that bliss, or is it
torture? It is torture,” he whispered. “...the most
excruciating, exquisite torture.” He turned away and said
softly, “I will definitely see you again. But why would you
want to see me again?”

“
Oh, I...well, I'm not immortal. So.” Emma
tilted her chin up and managed a smile. “I'll be glad to see
you when I'm old and gray and tired. I will gladly step into your
arms then, and embrace you like a dear, old friend.”

Death quirked a lopsided smile. “I don't know if
I can wait that long.”

With that, a raven took off from her window sill into
what remained of the night. The first fingers of dawn were
stretching out from the horizon and hints of orange and indigo were
pulsing under the wispy darkness.

Emma looked at the rumpled sheets on her bed and the
indentation on her mattress where she had lain with Death. She
patted her matted hair and felt the dried blood. The gash on her
head had been deep, but miraculously the bleeding had stopped and the
wound had knitted shut. Precious, living blood was no longer flowing
out of her. Her life would no longer be seeping away from her.
Striding over to the bed, she stripped the sheets off the bed and
tossed the stained pillow onto the pile of soiled linen. Time to
wash everything and start on a fresh sheet.

Stepping into the shower, she showered and scrubbed with
vigor and dressed quickly. She ran a comb through her glossy brown
hair and let it hang in loose waves down her shoulders. Slicking on
some lip gloss and eye shadow, she smiled at her reflection in the
mirror. Gone was the pale, quiet girl who never wore any make-up and
always pulled her hair back into a severe ponytail. In her place was
a pretty, confident, determined, vibrant and vital young woman with
her whole life ahead of her. After wolfing down a hearty breakfast,
she made her way briskly to work with a spring in her step and new
life in her body. A new day, a new girl, a new life.

She had not just flirted with Death. She had fucked
Death, and if she could do that, she could do anything.

Nine years later...

Emma picked up the phone and dialed home. Her
babysitter picked up on the second ring.

“
Hello Tammy, how is everything going? Has Luc
been a good boy today?” She cradled the phone against her
shoulder as she signed the stack of documents that her secretary had
just brought in.

“
Hi Miss Davis,” Tammy replied cheerfully.
“Oh yes, Luc has been an absolute angel today.”

Emma grinned. “You've managed to make him eat his
vegetables without unleashing World War Three? You are a godsend,
Tammy my love.”

“
It's my pleasure, Miss Davis. You know I adore
Luc,” Tammy gushed. Emma shook her head and smiled at Tammy's
youthful enthusiasm. Tammy was her neighbor's teenage daughter, and
she would pick Luc up from the childcare center on her way home after
school and babysit him until Emma got off work. She was a good kid,
bubbly, sweet and very patient. And most importantly, Luc seemed to
like her. He had terrorized the last few sitters and drove them out
the door in tears. He was a little devil through and through, just
like his father.

“
Look, Tammy, I have to rush out an affidavit for
court tomorrow, so I might be a little late, Can you stay for
another hour?”

“
Sure, Miss Davis. I'll just let my mum know I'll
be here for another hour or so.”

Emma thanked Tammy and put down the phone. She knew
that Luc was in good hands. Tammy's mum, Isabella, was a single mum
too, and she was often mistaken as Tammy's elder sister. It was a
compliment that Isabella readily accepted with a laugh and a wink.
They were lucky to have each other. Tammy was a wonderful girl. She
did well in school, had lots of friends and was great with kids. And
she was only sixteen.

Emma leaned back in her leather swivel chair and sighed.
What was it like to be so young? She could hardly remember. That
had been such a long time ago. She shook her head wearily and turned
her attention back to the documents on her desk. There was a lot of
work to do. And she had been working very hard indeed. In just a
couple of years, she had built up a reputation as a very competent
lawyer and tough negotiator. She had risen to become one of the most
highly recommended and sought after divorce lawyers in her firm. But
the first few years had been hard. She'd had to juggle her studies,
multiple jobs and the responsibility of raising a hyperactive,
precocious tot at the same time. It was challenging to say the
least, but it had been worth it. It would not have been possible to
get to where she was now without all those sleepless nights and
stress-filled days. There was always a price for everything.

But who had paid the higher price?

Is that bliss, or is it torture? It is torture...the
most excruciating, exquisite torture.

Those anguished words that she had heard so long ago
echoed in her mind as she glanced at the framed photograph of her
six-year-old son on her desk. Luc looked so much like his father.
Blond hair, blue eyes, heart-melting smile and a natural tan which
seemed to glow from within. She had dated and slept with many men,
blond, dark-haired, fair, tanned, all manner of men really, but none
of the men had eyes which reflected the intensity and depth of their
emotions so transparently. She had seen her son's clear blue eyes
darken to inky black when he was uncontrollably excited, or ecstatic,
or enraged. When he jumped up and down in unadulterated joy, or when
he stamped his little foot in a screaming tantrum, his eyes would
swirl into pools of the darkest black. The black would fade and the
brilliant blue would slowly seep back into his eyes once he had
calmed down and gained control of his surging, raging emotions. The
first time she saw the unmistakable change in her son's eyes, she
knew without a doubt who his father was.

Her belly had only begun to swell about a year after
that fateful night. She had been seeing someone at that time, but he
had bolted when he thought the baby was his. She had thought so too,
until she looked down at the newborn in her arms and saw his eyes.
Those light blue eyes had flashed to black the instant the baby's
half-opened eyes locked on her and the infant drank in the first
sight of his mother.

“
If only...” Emma sighed and looked out at
the darkening sky. In the distance, she could barely make out the
shape of flapping wings as a black shadow receded into the
encroaching night. Was that a raven? Could it be...?

His parting words had been both comforting and ominous.

“
No,” she told herself firmly. “No.”
She had a job to do, a son to raise, a life to live.

“
But I have never forgotten you. You must know
that. How could I?” she whispered. “I can never forget
you, for as long as I live. I want you...” She closed her
eyes and exhaled a shuddering breath. “But I cannot. I must
not.”

She sometimes thought that she could feel his soft
caresses and ardent kisses as she slept, but when she opened her
eyes, she only saw her white curtains fluttering in the breeze, like
ghosts. Like the ghost of someone she had once seen, and held and
made love to.

She could feel him still, with every breath she took,
and with every aching beat of her heart.

Death was never far away from her.

Part
2: Death and the Lady

*****

Death has been
watching Emma.

He wants her,
completely and forever.

But at what cost?

As his rage and
his passion blaze out of control, will he become the man she desires,
or the demon she fears?

*****

Death watched her, like he always did.

Her face, her beautiful face, glowing and blushing, her
eyes closed and her lips parted as she panted beneath the man. Nine
years ago, Death had come to her through her open bedroom window and
stood before her, ready to claim her life. But he hadn't been able
to resist that sweet, pure, absolutely gorgeous virgin before him.
He had gone to take her soul, but what he had taken that night was
her virginity. Twenty-one year old Emma Davis had been the last name
on his to-do list that night. He should just have extracted her
soul, as he had done to all the others, as she lay in her bed, but—he
had seen her face, that unforgettable, beautiful face and looked into
her warm, brown eyes, and held her naked, virgin body against his.
And it had burned him. It had burned him deep. He had taken her,
there and then, in her bed that was soaked with her sweat and blood,
and had shot his seed deep into her hot, tight body.

He never forgot that night.

He never forgot her.

Emma was no longer twenty-one. She was now older, and
even more beautiful than ever. Death had been forced to let her go
that night. And after her encounter with Death, she had turned
around and plunged right back into life with a vengeance.

She had lived, and loved, and worked hard. She was now
a successful lawyer in a boutique law firm in the city, and a
responsible, loving single mum to a precocious, blue-eyed little boy.
She led a full life, and enjoyed a very full sex life. He should
know. He had been watching her, and her moans and sighs of pleasure
were like shards of glass slicing through every fiber of his being.

This was a Friday night, and her son was having a
sleepover at his best friend's house. Emma was to pick him up in the
morning, and she would snap into mummy mode once she downed her
morning coffee and got in the car. But for tonight, she was not a
mum, but a woman. A very sexy, desirable, thirty-year-old woman.

Death watched her now through the bedroom window of the
penthouse apartment. Emma's long, slender legs were wrapped around
the man's back as he pounded into her. He knew who this man was.
Brett Larson, one of the senior partners in her law firm. For a man
in his forties, he was in good shape, and the toned muscles on his
arms and back flexed as he lifted Emma's hips and slung her legs onto
his broad shoulders.

“
You look so beautiful, baby,” Brett
murmured, as he drove his cock into her.

Death flicked his eyes to Emma's face. She was
beautiful, lying there with her wavy, brown hair fanned out around
her face. She was so fucking beautiful. Death closed his eyes,
feeling his world constrict painfully as he heard her sigh, “And
you feel so good, Brett. So damn good.”

It hurt him, almost killed him to hear her say that. He
had made her come so good that night. It had been her first time—and
it sure hadn't been her last. She'd had many men since, and it had
driven him almost out of his mind. To see other men take her
luscious body, and claim her and make her come. The sight of other
men's hands, lips and tongues on her quivering body gutted him,
inflamed him so much he wanted to rip their eyes, tongues and hearts
right out of their lascivious, devious bodies. How dare they touch
and taste her that way, and make her want them so. How dare they
take what was his!

But he had reigned in his insane jealousy and maddening
rage. He could tolerate them, as long as they didn't stay. And they
never did. Emma went through men like clothes. What was in fashion
this season would be out by the next. More funky, edgy, daring
styles were always making their debut, and Emma's taste and style
never stayed stagnant.