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

Chapter 14: The Gift

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I woke up with a gasp in the Ferrari of all beds. I was on a king sized mattress on a raised platform with thick blankets and a heap of soft pillows. It was nearly pitch black, except for the one corner of the room, where a floor light stood, dimmed, outlining a high ceiling and a spacious room with luxury bedroom furniture.

I brought the comforter rumpled around me to my nose and breathed in a familiar scent. I was in Death's bedroom.

Just then, an icy sensation pricked the side of my face like dry ice pressed to my cheek. I turned my head to my right, towards a weighted pair of eyes in the darkness.

"AAAHH–!" I jerked back and bonked my head on a headboard.

Death was right next to the bed, lounged back in a leather chair. He rested his arms over the length of the armrests and his legs were stretched out in front of him. He'd exchanged his leather pants for black sweatpants and wore a t-shirt that exposed his thick biceps and the tribal markings etched into his arms. He wore a baseball cap that shadowed his eyes from the light.

My heart fluttered with nerves. Hell, my heart had definitely smashed through my chest and hit the wall across from me.

"Why am I here?" I finally asked.

He didn't say anything at first and drilled me with his hidden gaze. "You're here because I want you to be here," he said. "I didn't trust any of my demon slave twits to take care of you."

"Take care of me?"

He tilted his head to the side, as if reconsidering the wording. "Watch over you. You went through some sort of power surge that left you disorientated and weakened." I watched the long gloved fingers of his right hand curl tightly around the armrest of his chair. "Do you not remember?"

I stared at him until felt my stomach roll as the memories crashed into me in one harsh wave. I inhaled with a gasp, as if a continuous surge of shock had suddenly abandoned my body, and I gripped the comforter with white knuckles. And I'd do anything to forget it. I had drained my own body, killing myself slowly with my own power, until my insides felt like they were swelling against my skin. I'd felt helpless, terrified, suffocating in my own body. And then there was the demon, the images....

I remembered, alright.

I looked around the room and could have sworn the room was getting colder by the second. Sure enough, my breath caught in the air like a fog. I turned back to Death, whose body was tense and stiff. He was causing the change in the temperature.

"I thought you took me to my room," I said rather calmly, although the anxiety building in my chest was becoming crushing the more alert I became.

"I intended to leave you there for the night." He pointed at the end of the bed, where a thin sheet lay crumpled with an ice pack on top. "But then you started to violently shake. You had an in and out fever of one hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit. For three hours."

My heart began to pound. "That's impossible.... A fever that high would...it would–"

"Kill you?" Death offered, pushing up gracefully for his size from the chair. He closed the distance between him and the bed with two smooth strides. "Or at least leave you with severe brain damage, wouldn't you think?"

"Yes," I whispered.

We stared at each other.

"Headache?" he asked.