Chapter 3
I’m sure this kid was still in that classroom when I left—sitting in the last row behind us, and flicking that goddamn knife that no one seemed to notice while my friends and I jumped every time it snapped shut—but here he is.
I could hear him chuckle every time I shifted uncomfortably. It’s as if he were taunting me, trying to tug on the threads of my already frayed nerves.
But something in me is drawn to him, as if I’m a glutton for his unsettling aura.
Darkness rolls off him in potent waves I want to drown in—it’s a feeling I can’t explain.
I know it’s weird, but feeling emotions is something I’ve been able to do since I was little.
Another perk of whatever kind of weird I classify as.
At a stone table, just outside the exit I chose at the last second to avoid him, I watch in astonishment as his long fingers dip into the pocket of his leather jacket, extracting sunflower seeds one by one to feed to a bird.
The glossy thing, perched on the table’s edge, watches his every move with obsidian eyes that reflect pinpricks of afternoon sun.
Its feathers ripple like oil on water as it cocks its head toward me, then hops closer to him, beak parting for another seed.
Something so normal, but my heart kicks into overdrive, pulsing against my throat like a warning, but I storm toward him anyway.
“You followed me,” I say, clutching my backpack strap tighter.
He doesn’t look up, just keeps feeding the bird like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I didn’t have to. I knew you’d come this way.”
A chill runs through me despite the afternoon warmth. “How?”
His eyes meet mine then, and there’s something in them that makes me take an involuntary step backward.
His lips curl into a smirk. “You always take the path less traveled, don't you? Three exits, and you choose the one furthest from the parking lot, through the garden.” He tosses another seed to the raven’s mouth. “Isn’t that right?”
“You couldn’t have possibly known that just by looking at me.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“Couldn’t I?”
“What’s your deal?” I scoff.
“Sorry?” His voice—I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t gamble for the prince of England—the hotter one, of course. And those eyes—a crystal blue so startling they almost look white in the sun—seem to analyze my every move in a look that seems half irritated but almost intrigued.
It’s the look that’s been on his face since he first appeared in my section of Psychology 106, which is certainly odd. College is not like high school; no self-respecting student transfers mid-semester…unless they have a very good reason. Or a very bad one.
“I mean, it’s obvious you’re following me.” I shrug, sliding into the seat across from him and the damn bird. The thing snaps its head in my direction, and I swear to God its eyes narrow, like it’s judging me, or memorizing my face for later. Great, even wildlife hates me today.
“But why?” I press for the truth, leaning forward. “I mean, if you’re gonna stalk me, I at least deserve to know. You want my number or something?” I raise a brow, daring him to deny it.
He goes back to tending to his pet. And now I’m sure the damn thing is just as weird as he is; it looks ready to peck my eyes out.
A dry chuckle rolls out of him. “Or something.”
The bird snaps its head toward him, beak parting in what honestly looks like shock. “Aw, come now. Don’t be jealous.” He drags his knuckles under its beak, and the oily-black creature melts into itself like it’s swooning. “You know you’re my best girl.”
“What’s with the bird?” As I watch them—him cooing sweet nothings to a goddamn pigeon in broad daylight, its neck falling in on itself as it practically bats its eyelashes—I realize I’ve never seen such an oddity in all my life.
“She’s not a pigeon. She’s a raven,” he says, catching me off guard. His eyes slowly shift to meet mine.
How the fuck did he just—
“And her name is Noir.”
I lower my head to get eye level with the bird, shaking away the strange feeling clawing at my instincts—a low, animal sense of danger I’m sure is only a coincidence. “Well, hello, Noir. Nice to meet you,” I coo as if I’m talking to a baby.
She hops closer, her head cracking to one side and then the other, as if to say “bitch, please” before flying off into the cool February breeze.
“She must be fun at parties,” I joke.
“She actually is,” he deadpans. “She just doesn’t like mortals.”
Hm. Not people…not humans. Mortals—what an odd thing to say.
But then he doesn’t seem like someone prone to conforming.
Platinum hair catches the sunlight, while a silver chain with a skull dangling at the end swings against his chest when he moves.
His knuckles curl on the table, rings biting into his fingers—one hand crowned with skulls reminds me of my piercing, the other spelling out DEATH across the back of his fingers.
And those eyes… Jesus H. Christ. I still can’t get over them.
They’re too blue. Too sharp. Like they can see every single thing you don’t want them to.
It takes effort not to stare; his full lips and the piercings beneath them almost short-circuit my brain. Ever since he walked into class, my thoughts have been an endless reel of “don’t stare, don’t think about his lips, don’t look at him.” Which of course makes me think about them all the more.
“So, Mackenzie,” he lets out in a stern voice. “Did you come over here to gawk at me, or do you actually have something to say?” The corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk.
He knows my name, but I don’t remember telling him. He must’ve heard it from the professor in class.
My brow arches. “Are you gonna answer my question?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. His voice is steady, almost bored.
“My deal…” He puts extra weight on the word, rolling his eyes as though I’m the dramatic one.
“…is that I am Death. I’m the one mortals fear most. The one that slithers in and steals their soul—I’m your worst nightmare made real.”
He leans in, voice dropping to something that feels like cold fingers on the back of my neck.
“And I’m here to collect a debt.”
I stare at him, my jaw clenched so tight I can feel a headache starting at my temples.
Part of me wants to laugh in his face, but another part of me is almost compelled to drop to my knees and sob, begging for my life.
I’m not sure where this wave of emotion comes from, but there’s this unsettling feeling in the pit of my chest.
He looks dead serious, waiting, as if he’s seen this scene play out a hundred times before with a hundred different people.
I swallow the lump that starts to form in my throat.
He can’t be serious, right? But, for a second, a feeling overtakes me, a cold trickle down my spine that screams, “What if he is?”
Shaking it away, I snort. “Right. And I’m the Tooth Fairy. Your major must be theater, huh?”
He tilts his head, expression annoyingly serene. “Yeah. Theater. With a minor in wasting time on mortals who ask stupid questions.”
I blink, caught between laughing and being offended. “Wow. Brutally honest, much?”
He shrugs, leaning his elbow on the table as the world bores him. “Honesty’s cheaper than lies. And I don’t believe in beating around the bush.”
I shift in my seat, trying to cut through the heavy stare he’s pinning me with.
Why the hell is it so hard to concentrate around him? You have a boyfriend, Mackenzie. Be nice, we came over here to be nice—stop acting like an idiot!
“I know that you’re new, and I know what it’s like to struggle making friends mid-semester. My dad was in the military, so we used to move around a lot.”
He rolls his eyes, but a hint of a smirk crosses his lips. “So?” he lilts, hand flicking, urging me to get to the point of why I disturbed his otherwise full schedule of pigeon petting.
“So,” I huff. “If you want, you can hang out with my friends and I until you get acclimated. No pressure.”
He leans forward, eyes narrowing, like he’s dissecting me on the spot. “You’re offering me a pity invite. Cute.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “It’s not pity. It’s called being nice.”
“Nice,” he repeats, rolling the word in his mouth like it tastes foreign. “Dangerous habit. People usually regret it.”
I feel myself leaning in too—like he’s gravity, and I’m just some helpless thing caught in his pull.
My pulse stutters, traitorous and stupid.
But then, after a long, charged pause, he drops his gaze to the table.
His fingers tap once, a soft, deliberate click that feels more like a warning than a twitch.
“That would be… awesome.” His words are a seductive rumble that caresses me.
My brow arches. “Awesome?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, one side of his perfect lips curling back into a sexy smirk that makes him look hellishly handsome every time.
“Okay, Mr. Awesome,” I say. As I stand to make my exit, I extend a hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Th—” He pauses, a wide grin seeping across his face that almost makes him look predatory. “Daxton. Daxton Mortis.” He takes my hand, his cool fingers curling around mine, sending an electric spark running through my arm. I pull my hand from his solid grip, quickly masking the shock on my face.
“Well, Daxton. I guess I’ll see you around.” I sling my satchel over my shoulder, the metal of the clasps clinking as I scramble away.
“See you soon, Kenz,” he calls after me.
There has only ever been one person who called me that, but they are long gone from this world.
My dad.
Something sharp jerks through my chest, knocking the air out of me, but I don’t look back—I can’t. My eyes blur, tears threatening, and I swipe them away before they can fall. Daxton couldn’t have known that stupid nickname would hit me like this. But it hurts anyway.