Page 12 of Riding the Reaper

“I’m not going back in there.” I turn to face him. “I want to stay with you.”

The muscles in his jaw tighten. “It’s dangerous for you to be near me right now.”

“I’m already in danger, aren’t I? A walking glitch in the system. A loose end.” I take a step closer. “Besides, if these are our last few moments together before they erase you or something, I’m not spending them at a shitty Halloween party.” Another step. Close enough to feel the size of him. Close enough to smell that musky, earthy scent again. “I want to finish what we started.”

A long, drawn-out silence. The thumping bass from the barn feels like a distant heartbeat.

“Will you fuck me, Gray? Even if it’s the last thing we ever do?”

9

GRAVENTHOR

What I should do is use my scythe, cut through the Veil, abandon this human form, and plead my case before the Council. Explain that Sam Calloway’s soul was unusually bright. That I made a judgment call. A poor one. I’ll accept whatever punishment they see fit. A century cataloging lost spirits in the lower realms. Permanent reassignment to Limbo. A memory wipe. Whatever it is, it will be severe.

That’s what I should do.

What I do is follow Sam across a dark field toward a hay barn a little ways from the party. The music fades behind us, replaced by the last few crickets of the season and the rustle of grass beneath our feet.

I’ve already broken the rules. What’s a few more? Why not take pleasure in it? This human form is clearly more susceptible to desire than I was led to believe. Or maybe it’s not the form at all. Maybe it’s just him. Because I’ve stood beside thousands of mortals in their final moments, and none of them have ever made me feel like this.

There’s a rusty padlock on the hay barn door. Sam gives it a good yank. The hasp tears clean out of the weathered wood. He pulls the heavy door open with a grunt. Didn’t lose any of his strength, this one, even though his clock technically stopped.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he says, glancing back at me. There’s a wild look in his eyes.

“Do what? Break things?”

“More like… not care about the consequences.” He steps inside, gesturing for me to follow. “You’re a bad influence, Gray.”

“Well, I am Death,” I say, stepping into the darkness of the barn. The air smells like old hay and dry earth. Moonlight streams through the gaps in the slatted walls, striping the floor with silver. “People tend to make reckless decisions in my presence, I suppose.”

Sam laughs. “Glad we can still have a sense of humor about all this.”

The barn is mostly empty, save for a few rusted pieces of farm equipment draped in cobwebs. And hay. Piles of it, soft-looking in the filtered light.

Before I can say anything, he’s pulling off that costume again. For good this time. He lets it fall into a heap with his white boxer briefs, kicks it aside, and stands naked in front of me, lean and strong, his cock jutting out from a thatch of dark curls.

“You’re still hard,” I say.

“Yeah.” He looks me up and down. “Can’t seem to help it around you.” He takes a step closer. “Are you?”

A deep, undeniable throb answers for me. “Yes.”

His eyes go to the scythe in my hand. “You’re not going to need that in here, are you?”

No. I won’t. I lean it against the wall. The only thing I want in my hands right now is him.

I shrug the robe off my shoulders and let it fall. Now we’re both naked, bathed in silver light, dust motes dancing between us.

Sam’s eyes travel over my chest, my stomach, my cock. He licks his lips. “Wow,” he whispers. “Just… wow.”

His admiration reaches a part of me I thought was dead. For as long as I can remember, I have been an instrument. A function. A figure mortals dread, never desire. But Sam Calloway, with his bright, defiant soul, looks at me like I deserve to be worshipped.

He’s the one who closes the last bit of distance. Of course he is. He’s been the brave one from the start. His hands on my chest send a jolt of electricity through me. Every place he touches comes alive with a strange, tingling warmth. He traces the lines of my abs, skims the ridges of my hipbones, grabs my ass, and pulls me against him. Our cocks press together, and the friction makes both of us groan.

I’ve been cold for so long. But he’s setting me on fire. The Council would call it corruption. All I know is how good it feels to be warm again.

“You’re so perfect,” he says. “I can’t believe you’re real.”