Death is My BFF Rewritten (Book 1 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Chapter 39: Haunted

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                        A look of pure, cynical pleasure pooled within the warlock’s eyes, revealing the beast within. And he was not a happy beast. To say I was terrified of Death like this was an understatement.

                        “I wasn’t planning on this,” Ace said. “Believe me, possessing-“, Death swapped Ace’s French accent with his typical one. The Angel of Death loved his accents all right, but there was always that certain lilt to his voice, what I perceived as his normal voice, which favored above all. I wondered if it was his accent from birth…

                        “There’s something very satisfying about having your fragile little virgin neck clutched in my—Ace’s—my hand… for conversational purposes, let’s just call it my hand.” His fingers tightened, holding me in place like a vise. “I must say, watching you squirm, pleading for oxygen with your eyes…it would normally make my mouth water. Not now. Now, I’d much rather just snap your neck, feel the crunch beneath these fingertips…”

                        A shadow crept over the whiteness of Ace’s eyes. And for that fraction of a second, it was unclear whether or not he was about to kill me.

                        “But I have so much more planned for you, Faith Williams.” He snickered lowly, loosening his grip when I almost blacked out. “If I snapped your neck right now, you would die. And once you died, you’d no longer be my pet. You’d go up to that world in the fluffy clouds, live happily ever after, and have that sunshine blonde hair of yours back. That’s no fun. I can’t screw with you, and play with your panties, if you’re in Nirvana with Big G, Lil’ J, and Close-My-Legs-Forever Momma Mary.”

                        Ace released my throat, and I crumbled to the ground.

                        His voice held a terrifying coldness. “Here’s how this is going to go, my little rebellious strawberry frosted dessert. I’m angry with you--no, angry is an understatement. I’m livid. But I’m not showing it, because at the end of the day, I’ll have the last fucking laugh. I’ve let you backtalk me, keep secrets from me—like your little magic sex session with Ace a while back, and your love affair with that blue-eyed boy, Thomas—or whatever the hell his name is--who sucked faces with you. The one you saved from a collection. He should be dead, but I let it go. I don’t let things go like that, Faith Williams, but I did.

            “You’ve lied to my face, hit me, talked back, insulted me and made me, on numerous occasions, want to take out a switchblade and carve into your body like a pumpkin. When people make me this angry, the fangs come out. I start have fantasies about finger-painting with their blood, then licking my fingers dry. But you, baby. You don’t know how unlucky you are. I don’t have my fangs right now. But even if I did have my teeth to tear at your flesh, I don’t act on my violent fantasies involving your body. I’m not as cruel to you as I am to the rest of the world. And that’s because you fascinate me. I want to keep little things like you: things that shouldn’t exist in this world. There’s something wrong about you, rare, and I will unravel it and claim it as mine before anyone else does.”