Death is My BFFLAD Rewritten (Book 2 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Chapter 7: Gabriel

LOL at me posting this chapter on a Sunday. (Most of the time it somehow ends up working out like this. xD)

* * *

The moment we stepped up onto the curb and faced Ace's club was the moment that Death deserted me to talk to the bouncer at the door. I rolled my eyes. The line to get in was as long as I could see, roped off by red velvet and monitored by massive men in suits, who walked back and forth down the line, checking people's ID's and muttering things into walkie-talkies.

A wide chest cut off my view, as the Irritable Angel of Panther, stepped in front of me like the attention-seeking cat that he was. I looked up at his face and seemed to hold my breath. There was no possible way I'd ever get used to the Angel of Death's beauty. Even the autumn wind didn't dare embrace him, as it picked up, leaving his thick black fohawk untouched by the its icy tendrils. His angular, pale features were locked in an unreadable expression, but those haunting, mismatched green eyes, were more wicked and vibrant than ever before.

Someone had clearly stolen all the cookies from a cookie jar. Well, that actually wasn't too far off, since he'd stolen Twinkies and jolly ranchers from the Quick Check before we raced the hell out of there.

"Let me guess," I said dryly, once I cut off my swooning. "You threatened the bouncer and now we're cutting the line."

"Guilty." He flashed me a wolfish grin, fangs and all, before swiftly dropping it and reading off a list of commands. It was amazing how quickly he could shut down any trace of humanity in his features. "No socializing," he said, ticking off his gloved fingers in front of my face, "no dancing, no drinking, no eye contact, and especially no Faithing with anyone in that club. Until we're alone with Ace, your name is Hope. Just Hope. But you shouldn't have to introduce yourself as such because then you'd be chitty-chatting and breaking my first rule. This is not La La Land where you're untouchable because you get sparky once in a blue moon. Either you follow my instructions, or I leave you to the pool of sharks until you cry SOS and flail your chicken leg arms. Now, what's your name again?"

We looked at each other unflinchingly. The night was a gift that casted shadows over his face, alleviating the harsh reaction I had to his beauty. He was so irritated that he was a walking heater set on two hundred degrees Fahrenheit and I was turning the thermostat up a notch by challenging him.

As he continued to glare down at me, an electric glow sparked deep within his irises, lighting his eyes. His hunger and wrath nearly dripped off of him, saturating me like I was standing in the middle of the hurricane. Yet there I was, cool as a cucumber, imagining the beast would take shot at me with those knives for teeth. Maybe my reflexes kicking in this time and I would light him up like a Christmas tree. Oh, I'd have my moment to rip this guy a new one, but it wouldn't be now. Soon.

My smile was flashy and sarcastic. "My name is Hope." When I tried to look away from that intense stare, he suddenly captured my jaw in his strong-gloved fingers and held my gaze.

"How do you feel right now?" Death asked me, intensely taking in my features. I just stared up at his beautiful face as if he'd asked me the deepest question of my life. How did I feel? How did I feel? As if he even cared.

"I'm barely holding it together," I finally said and felt the weight of my words tighten my lungs. The resentment I still held towards him surfaced. "No thanks to you. How the hell are you?"

"Oh, you know"– he let go of my jaw and slid his gloved hand to the back of my head, leaning in to whisper at my ear– "mentally unstable, sadistic, masochistic, deflective, vindictive because Daddy doesn't love me, frustrated that I must coexist with thick-headed nincompoops, painfully horngry, and tired...tired for the past two-thousand years." When he pulled back, his serious vanished and he broke into a grin. "But besides that, killin' it! I mean did you hear about that flesh-eating virus I spread in Guadalajara? L-O-L! Bump it, cupcake." He extended a gloved fist towards me. When I made no move to 'bump it', he took my right hand, curled my fingers into a fist, and tapped his knuckles with mine. "Nice."