Skin and Bones (boyxboy) ✓

Chapter Eleven

Death then turned back to me, cold eyes surveying me with a level of irritation that made me feel a lot like some kind of ant crawling on top of his picnic basket.

"What do you think you're doing?" He hissed.

I frowned. "You're mad at me for being strangled by a ghost that took me by surprise in the mens room? What's a soul doing roaming about like that anyway?" I asked him angrily, rubbing my neck as though trying to ease a pain that should have been left behind from her strangling me.

He moved closer. "You gave her a physical form, whatever you imagine the feeling of starts to render on you. Like a memory. Do not repeat that mistake."

I glared at him. "How am I supposed to know that?"

He said nothing but took another step closer so that now his legs brushed against mine. "You would know about that if you wanted to work for me."

I looked up at him, it was really damn hard not to get dazed by how attractive he was and the look he gave me, almost especially when he was mad, was one of the sexiest looks I'd ever seen on a man.

"I said I have a job."

He nodded. "You do have a job."

I looked around. "Shouldn't you be dealing with that?" I gestured in the direction of the dead woman.

He nodded again. "Of course."

"How did she escape you?" I frowned. "I thought you were all-powerful somehow... in theory at least."

He glared at me, turning up his nose and looking down at me. "I am superb at me job, I do not let anyone escape me."

I hummed. "Doesn't look like it here."

He slid his hand around the back of my neck and I shivered at the feeling of his fingers as they gently brushed my skin, and then he pulled me closer so sharply that my head was pulled up without warning and I gasped out loud, his grip becoming more painful, the fingers threading through my hair and tugging at the short strands and the little burn it left behind made me feel funny.

"Don't be coy." He said in a low threatening voice, dark eyes glittering as he spoke. "I can punish you whenever I like, safer not to forget that."

I rolled my eyes, the action miles away from the severe beating of my heart that followed the words that sent a wave of lust rolling throughout my body. It was hard to hide something like that through any other means than being obnoxious.

I laughed awkwardly, placing my hands on his chest and brushing his cloak as though I was evening out the creases. I was trying to buy myself time to respond but instead I realised how much of the muscular form I could make out just by brushing his chest. The cloak was made of something strangely thin, yet it's matt finish gave it a rougher, thicker appearance.

I pulled my hands away, flushing darkly, trying not to imagine exactly what he looked like under the layers of no doubt pitch black material.

"No need for that..." I ended up saying, so quietly it was almost more to myself than to him.

He seemed placated by that, however, and moved on with his explanation. " I do not preside over every case of death, my minions do my work for me, I deal with the problematic ones."

"Problematic ones?"

I watched his gaze drift towards the woman who was still crying in between the urinals and my gaze followed too.

"That is a problematic one. Usually happens when they die high or during an emotional extreme, their soul slips out of their body and they get lost. Sometimes they cry and scream and try to get as far away as possible. Sometimes they escape and return to their body days later, trying to stay alive in the festering ruined remains of what was once their human identity, like with Prewett. Occasionally the more harmless problematic souls are completely unaware they escaped at all, they can end up anywhere, their presence is much quieter when they're not trying to hide."