Chapter 17
So, how many people knew that Daxton Mortis could take on a fully human form?
No one? Great, me neither. I’m not talking about the halfway point between life and death where only the dead or dying can see him—no, this is flesh and blood and six-pack abs that every girl on campus is currently gawking at.
It has me itching to start an all-out brawl.
My nails dig crescents into my palms as he carries me across the quad, his arms cradling me against his chest.
“Easy, goddess.” His laugh vibrates through me, low and dark. “There is not a woman alive that could garner my attention.” His lips brush my forehead, and three girls by the fountain actually clutch each other’s arms.
My eyes narrow. “And dead?”
“What?”
“If they were dead, would they catch your attention then?”
He blinks. “I don't—You know what? That’s actually a fair question.” A sigh escapes him. “But the answer is still no.”
“Great, put me down.” My jaw clenches as I calculate the distance to the nearest swooning admirer.
“Jealous, are we?”
“I’m not jealous. Your scythe and I just want to have an amicable chat with them.”
“My scythe doesn’t do amicable, so I know that’s a lie.” His arms tighten around me, and honestly, I couldn’t fight him if I wanted to. Not after what happened an hour ago—it was cosmic unraveling that human language doesn’t have words for. My bed has my name written all over it.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Daxton murmurs into my hair, and I swear I hear him inhale me—his exhale comes on a groan that makes my heart patter violently. I start to pray to God that he doesn’t mean what I’m thinking. I don’t know if I can take much more.
“We’ve got work to do.”
My brows furrow, and I have to stifle a groan. I don’t think I can manage the kind of work I think he’s talking about. “Work?” I whimper.
“No, Kenz, not that kind of work. You realize that there are more things besides sex, right?”
“That’s not what you have been preaching for the last two days.”
He scoffs. “I’m deeply hurt that you think I’m only good for sex.” His tone pitches in a playful offense.
“I think you’re good for plenty of things, my little plot twist. Carrying me across campus, giving me massages, picking up after me…” I trail off, my lips twitching with suppressed laughter.
“Oh, I see. You’ve already mentally demoted me to your butler.” He adjusts his grip, hitching me higher against his chest. “How the mighty have fallen.”
I pat his cheek. “If it helps, you’ll be the sexiest butler I’ve ever had.”
A group of sorority girls pass by, their collective gazes tracking Daxton like he’s the last lifeboat on a sinking ship. One of them actually stumbles, her friend catching her elbow before she faceplants onto the concrete.
“Don’t look now,” I whisper, “but I think that one just had an out-of-body experience.”
He shakes his head at me when I narrow my eyes at the girl. Finally noticing me, she scurries off. “This is why I don’t let most mortals see my human form.”
“You didn’t have to, you could have let me walk,” I huff.
We reach my dorm building, and Daxton somehow manages to open the door without jostling me. The lobby is mercifully empty—probably because everyone is outside enjoying the show we just put on.
“All right then, let’s see it.”
He suddenly pauses, his hands shifting me slightly so I can stand. My legs wobble as my feet touch the ground, and I have to grip his forearm to steady myself.
“See what?” I ask, trying not to sound as exhausted as I feel.
His eyes dance with mischief as he takes a step back. “You said I didn’t have to carry you. So show me. Walk.”
I roll my eyes and take a defiant step forward. My feet immediately slip from under me, and Daxton’s hands shoot out to catch me before I faceplant into the lobby’s ugly tile floor.
“That’s what I thought.” His smirk is insufferable. “Your soul is still adjusting to being back in your body after… Well, after what we did.”
Heat floods my cheeks as fragments of memory flash through my mind. “Don’t say it like that. Someone might hear you and think…”
“What are they going to think, Kenz?” His smile only grows as he lifts me into his arms again. “That you got fucked so good you can’t even walk a straight line? Good. That’s what I want.”
I gasp, slapping his chest. “Daxton! We’re in public.” My eyes catch the security guard, and my whole face goes red. Daxton, however, isn’t the least bit fazed. I don’t even think he regards the stout man as we walk by.
“Barely,” he counters, glancing around the empty lobby. “Besides, it’s true.”
I bury my face against his shoulder, mortified yet unable to deny the flutter in my stomach. The memory of us together is still hazy—dreamlike fragments that slip through my fingers when I try to grasp them.
“Just take me to my room before someone else sees us,” I mutter against his shirt.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest against my side. “As you wish.”
The elevator ride is mercifully short. I try to ignore how natural it feels to be cradled against him, how his heartbeat has become a familiar rhythm. When we reach my floor, Daxton navigates the hallway with ease.
“Key?” he asks when we get outside my door, shifting me slightly in his arms so I can reach my clutch.
I fumble with the small purse, trying to extract the keycard while maintaining what little dignity I have left. “I can stand now, you know.”
“You want to test it out again?” he asks, making no move to put me down. Finally fishing out the keycard, I reach over to tap it against the reader. The lock clicks, and Daxton pushes the door open with his foot, carrying me inside before kicking it closed behind us.
He turns on the lights—the room is not at all how I left it.
There’s a new comforter set on the bed, a black number that looks way too expensive, tufted pillows, and a duvet.
Red silk flat and fitted sheets contrast against it.
And in the center, a heart made of red rose petals, a little stuffed reaper sitting against a pillow with a note that reads, “I’m sorry” in perfect calligraphy.
I stare at the stuffed reaper, my mouth falling open. “Did you do this?”
Daxton carries me to the bed, setting me down gently against the pillows. His fingers linger on my arm, a momentary caress before he straightens. The mattress dips beneath my weight, and I immediately grab the stuffed toy, turning it over in my hands.
“Yes,” is all he manages, before shifting his gaze.
“Why?”
“When you were away, I might have got a little carried away, and um…wrecked your room.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So, you got me a stuffed version of yourself as an apology?”
“I thought it was fitting.” He shrugs, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes I’m not used to seeing. “You can cuddle with it when I’m not around.”
“Bold of you to assume I want to cuddle with you,” I say, but I clutch the plushie closer anyway. It smells like him, midnight seas and smoke—there’s something inherently comforting about it.
“You’re holding it pretty tight for someone who doesn’t want to cuddle,” Daxton points out, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
I roll my eyes, but don’t loosen my grip. “It’s called being polite. I’m acknowledging your apology.”
“Ah, of course. Very formal of you.” He sits on the edge of the bed, careful to maintain some distance between us. “So… Do you like it?”
I study the plushie’s face, the careful stitching of the hood, the tiny scythe sewn into its hand. Someone put thought into this. Daxton put thought into this.
“It’s…” I swallow, surprised by the lump in my throat. “It’s actually really sweet. Thank you.”
His eyes light up like a kid. Honestly, he may be an ancient god, but he looks no more than twenty-one.
“You know, your thoughts are actually sweet. You might want to try being nicer to me out loud.”
I scoff, trying to hide the smile that’s threatening to break free. “Careful, plot twist. I don’t want you getting used to kindness from me. Might ruin your reputation.”
“My reputation?” His eyebrow arches perfectly. “And what exactly is my reputation with you, goddess?”
The way he says “goddess” makes my insides melt a little, but I’d rather die than admit it. “Annoying. Persistent. Occasionally useful when you’re not being an ass.”
“You’ve forgotten devastatingly handsome and phenomenal in bed,” he adds with a wink.
I throw a pillow at his head, which he catches effortlessly. “And modest. So very modest.”
His laughter fills the room, rich and warm like honey poured over thunder.
The sound vibrates through me, settling somewhere beneath my ribs—a sensation I’m starting to crave, which is terrifying in ways I can’t fully process.
I fidget with the edge of my sleeve, avoiding his gaze.
“Um, so you mentioned we have something to do?”
His expression shifts instantly, the playfulness vanishing like mist under harsh sunlight. “Yes, get some rest, and I’ll be back in an hour,” he says, his voice dropping to a grim baritone that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
“Daxton, what’s going on?” I lean forward, searching his face—those ancient eyes that sometimes flash with something inhuman when he thinks I’m not looking.
“Remember the deal we made?” His jaw tightens, a muscle flickering beneath the smooth skin of his cheek.
“Yes.” The word is nothing more than a whisper.
His shoulders tense under his black shirt, a slight resolve creeping onto his handsome face like a shadow. His eyes—midnight blue in this light. “Tonight is the night.”
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of whatever’s coming settle in my stomach like cold stone. I nod. “Okay, fine.”