BOOK 2 of the Running With Devils Series
⚠️GOING THROUGH SOME SH*T TBH GONNA REWRITE THIS LMAO⚠️ expect to see edits within the next few weeks 😔🥹💕
It's been three weeks since Coralynn Bennet was dragged down to Hell and it was nothing like how sh...
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The Witch
His place was surprisingly cozy. The decor reminded me a lot of the warehouse back in the mortal plane. The cement flooring had several different rugs to soften the chill. A large modernized couch sat facing a huge floor to ceiling window that overlooked the Chain District, as the Reaper had called it.
Delilah had taken up residency on that couch, propping her feet up on the driftwood coffee table that sat in front of it. She had quickly fallen asleep.
The Reaper had taken Sam into the spare bedroom and removed the stray bullets lodged in his body.
I could hear Sam's frantic pleading from the living room. My heart hurt to know that he was in pain because of me. It took a while for Sam to calm down before the Reaper emerged, his plain white tee stained with black.
"Is he—"
"Asleep," he sighed, heading into the cupboard and grabbing a huge bottle of liquor. "Poor kid took it like a champ."
My eyes stung. "You're sure you got them all," I asked carefully.
The Reaper nodded, adjusting the edges of the ski mask he wore on his face before flicking open the bottle expertly and chugging.
Truthfully, I didn't want to be sober either.
"May I," I asked slowly.
He snorted tiredly. "After your last brush in with infernal liquor? No fucking way, little priestess."
I rolled my eyes. "You're gonna sit there and tell me you didn't enjoy that," I asked pointedly. "And it's Coralynn."
"Never said I didn't," he chuckled, leaning against the stunning black marble island. "Coralynn."
Goddamn. Even my name sounded hot coming from his lips.
I opened my mouth to say something witty, per usual, when my stomach did the talking for me. It grumbled obnoxiously for way too long.
The Reaper looked down at my stomach curiously.
"You hungry," he asked in amusement.
I sighed. "Yea. Starving, actually."
"What are you hungry for," he asked, heading toward the fridge.
I half expected body parts to be wrapped nice and neat on the shelves, but instead all there was were a few beers and a slightly open box of pizza.
He sighed shutting the door and heading into the cabinet beside the fridge. Inside were a bunch of random non-perishables. It all seemed too normal for a male of his caliber.
"I have some pasta," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. I would have stocked up if I had known—"
"Pasta is great," I said reassuringly, stepping beside him to get a better look inside the cabinet. "I love pasta."
