Cheaper to Reaper Read online

  He shakes himself then and looks down at me with a slight frown. “Come along, piccolina, we have places to be.”

  I turn to Toru then and smile up at him. His eyes are on me once again, every watchful. I crook my finger at him and he bends over so I can kiss his cheek.

  “See ya later, handsome,” I tell him as I pat his other cheek. His lips twitch again. Soon, very soon, I’m gonna get a smile out of the big guy.

  Gio is scowling again and looks like he wants to tear Toru apart, which is stupid, cuz he sure as spit doesn’t have a claim on me. Neither does Toru, for that matter. I ignore the dark god — little g — and brush past him, head in the air like I’m some freaking queen.

  A chuckle makes me glance over my shoulder. Gio is just standing there, an amused expression on his face. Toru hasn’t moved either, although he turned to face me.

  Gio nods his head in the other direction. “This way, bellissima donna.” I turn and brush in between the two guys, head still in the air, like I totally meant to go the wrong way. Gio chuckles again and I want to punch his pretty face, but I ignore him.

  He quickly overtakes me and starts leading me in the direction he wants me to go. After a few minutes, I decide to let go of the angry act, because I need some answers.

  “Where are we going?”

  He grins down at me. “I am taking you to eat. Our first date.” I roll my eyes at that, but the mention of food brings me to another question.

  “Last night I ordered food like you told me in my kitchen, but it said I had to go to the cafeteria to get it. Why?”

  He grimaces slightly as he turns me down a hall. Shocker. “I should have mentioned that the kitchen will only deliver groceries and not cooked food. You could have ordered the makings for your dinner and you would have received it, but not already prepared.”

  I nod. “Okay, makes sense. Toru took me to the Commissary last night when I asked him to.” I ignore the look that comes over Gio at the mention of my new bestie. “So, we can get whatever we want, whenever we want it?”

  Gio nods. “Sì, whatever is in the Commissary is available for the taking.”

  I notice a few girls looking our way as we pass and they’re shooting me that “how dare you, skeeza!” look. I seriously have to squeeze my hand into a fist to keep from giving them the bird. Walking with Gio is a real test of my temper.

  “What if I need something that isn’t in the Commissary?” I ask as we walk into the cafeteria. Unlike last night with Toru, the place is packed… and all eyes are on us. Probably mostly on the stud muffin walking with me, but I can tell quite a few are on me too.

  I feel like a bug getting fried on a sidewalk by a magnifying glass.

  He grins down at me. “The same as everything around here, piccolina. Just put your hand on the counter at the Commissary and place your order.” He shrugs.

  “Sometimes it might take a while to receive it, but the display in your apartment will tell you when it arrives for pickup. Or, if it is small enough, it will simply be delivered to the cabinet in your kitchen.”

  Wow. Super convenient place, I gotta say. Even better than Wal-Mart grocery pickup.

  Gio ignores all the stares and whispers and walks up to the counter. He places his hand on the top and orders a bunch of Italian-sounding stuff. I assume he orders for me too, and if not, no biggie. I’m not much of a breakfast eater anyway.

  The only table available is in the middle of all the others, of course. I don’t want to be the center of attention, yet here I am. It’s like Murphy’s Law has followed me into death. Which sucks. Totally.

  We get seated and my eyes dart nervously around the room, taking in all the stares that show interest from the guys, contempt from the girls. I can almost feel the judgment, the condemnation, as it oozes toward me like a confidence-sucking blob.

  I distinctly remember the same feeling in my former life, at my high school. It’s no less painful now than it was then. They don’t know me, don’t know anything about me, but they’re assuming all kinds of things that may or may not be true, and deciding if they like me or not just based on how I look, or who I’m with.

  As if he’s reading my mind yet again, Gio leans over to whisper in my ear as he slides his arm across my shoulders.

  “They are staring because you are the new girl and you are so very beautiful,” he murmurs. An involuntary shiver travels across my skin and I remind myself that I’m still mad at him, but my body doesn’t seem to care.

  It reacts to Gio in ways I don’t even understand.

  I close my eyes as my head tilts toward him and my shoulder hitches up. His breath against my neck sort of tickles, but it’s also causing flutters, like a million butterflies are having a rave down in my lady cave.

  The whispers and murmurs and quiet conversation suddenly stop and Gio pulls back with a curse. I open my eyes and see a girl dressed in ragged strips of cloth standing by the table, glaring at me. I can seriously feel the hatred pouring over me like thick hot syrup, scalding my skin and searing my flesh.

  She’s absolutely stunning, with straight jet-black hair that’s so dark it’s reflecting blue in the cafeteria’s lights, and skin so creamy and soft it looks like goose down. Her eyes are really unusual, the color of ice in cobalt glass — not quite blue, not quite white. And of course, she just has to have the perfect figure, too, with slim curves any model would envy.

  The only thing detracting from her looks is the hateful look on her face and the fact that she’s wearing basically rags. But I have to admit that she makes even that outfit look chic.

  “What do you want, Delia?” Gio growls and the ice queen’s eyes flicker over to him. I notice that her face changes completely then, morphing into an angelic vision. I suddenly have the urge to slam her face into the table.

  Repeatedly.

  Seriously, I’m not a violent person. At least, I never used to be. I think more than just my body has been changed.

  “Well, I was just wondering,” the gorgeous vision croons and I notice she has a slight Spanish accent, “why are you slumming with this puta?”

  She asks that hateful question so sweetly that I can practically see the syrup dripping from her bow-shaped red lips.

  Now, I can do one of two things — ignore the insult and just sit here like a dumbass, waiting for Gio to sort the situation out; or, I can stand up for myself. Make it known right away that the new girl ain’t gonna take crap off anyone.

  The Chihuahua in me bears its tiny teeth then.

  “Puta?” I screech as I stand, shoving my chair back. I may not be fluent, but every south Texan knows what that word means.

  I point my finger at her and glare. “Y’all might wanna rethink that phrase, cabróna,” I hiss. “I ain’t no slut.”

  Her spooky eyes widen at that. I wonder if it’s because I know what she called me, or because I just called her something worse. Her expression turns murderous and she launches herself over the table at me.

  I brace myself and throw my hands out, ready to grab her by the hair and give her that table-face meet and greet I had just fantasized about.

  Only she never reaches me. I see a beefy arm around her middle and my eyes look up to find Toru behind Delia. He definitely is embracing the scary guy persona now.

  He gives her a shake, not nearly as gently as he did me the night before. “You no hurt Chloe,” he growls at her. Of all the growls I’ve heard in the past two days, his sounds the most like an animal. Go figure.

  Toru turns then and puts Delia on the ground, blocking her from me. Or vice versa, I guess. He points his finger, indicating that she needs to leave our table. I almost laugh at how fast she scurries away.

  He turns back to me then and I grin at him as I step around the table. I put my hands on his chest. “Are you making it your mission to protect me, sweetie?” I ask. His eyes are on me again, practically burning my skin with the intensity of his stare.

  “No one hurt you,” he tells me, then he hesitantly reac
hes up toward my face. He pauses, like he’s asking for permission. I grin at him and he takes that as permission as he moves my hair off my face. Instead of just putting it behind me, though, he lets it run through his fingers.

  “Gold,” he murmurs as he stares at my hair. It seems like a really intimate act for some reason, and I suddenly remember that we’re in the middle of a very public place. One that has become deathly quiet.

  I wonder if I have my skirt tucked up in my thong or something, which honestly wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened to me in a school cafeteria. I glance around, expecting to see those stares again, but all eyes are on the door, so I turn.

  There’s a very large — not Toru-sized, but big regardless — man standing in the doorway. He’s wearing a black hoodie… no, he’s wearing a freaking cloak, I correct myself, like some cast-off HP character. I can’t see his face, because he has the hood of the thing pulled all the way up, but I know who it is… the Angel of Death.

  And he’s staring at me.

  Okay, so I can’t see his eyes, but I can tell he’s looking right at me. It’s super creepy, to be in the crosshairs of the death dude’s scope, but I remember that I’m already dead, so I don’t think he’s coming to get me.

  But then he walks toward me. Well, not really walks, but glides, like he’s got a skateboard under his cloak that we can’t see. Toru steps aside, like totally leaving me hanging, which I know is not like him. I glance at him and frown, shouting Coward! at him, even though that’s totally unfair. He doesn’t even look my way, though. His eyes — all eyes — are warily on Azrael.

  He must be one scary dude.

  Unfortunately for me, whenever I’m scared, I tend to get my back fur up. It’s sort of a defense thing that comes with being small, I think. Like, the little Chihuahua barking and snapping at the Doberman, putting on the tough guy show.

  I lift my chin. “Azrael, I presume?” I say in that “Dr. Livingston” voice. I even get a bit of Brit accent in there, just to be cheeky.

  That gets no reaction, so I just stand there and wait. A few seconds go by and I already start fidgeting. Remember when I said I hate silence? Well, it’s more than that — it’s like sheer torture for me to be quiet, especially when I’m being stared at. And everyone is staring my way at the moment. Probably waiting for the death dude to whip out his tool.

  Middle school me snorts at that.

  A whole thirty seconds go by in which time I’ve put my fists on my hips, then crossed my arms over my chest, put the fists back, crossed my arms again, and started tapping my foot.

  The unseen eyes move from the top of my head to my tapping foot. I can feel all the eyes in the cafeteria following Azrael’s examination and now I wish I’d worn the sexy red spike heels I’d gotten the night before.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Delia with her arms crossed over her chest, nudging a pretty girl beside her. They’re both smirking, and I can practically hear the “now you’re gonna get it,” from them.

  Toru moves closer to me, but it’s such a tiny movement that I’m not sure if anyone but me notices it. I sense him, for some reason. Like we’re connected somehow.

  Azrael steps closer to me then, and Toru moves another hairsbreadth towards me. I can sense that he wants to protect me, but that the giant man is somehow afraid of this specter in front of me.

  It makes me wonder why I can sense what Toru is feeling.

  It mostly makes me wonder what Azrael is capable of that makes my protector so fearful.

  True to a Hollywood horror movie, the Angel of Death raises a bony hand at me — no, really, his hand is like a skeleton’s — and he points. That hand really makes me want to know if he’s got that Grim Reaper skeleton face I’ve always seen.

  “You,” he says in a raspy voice, “do not belong here. You are an anarchist.”

  I frown then and tilt my head, feeling that back fur lifting again. “Anarchist? What makes you think that? I ain’t no self-centered bitch. I’m actually a really nice person!”

  “You are thinking of a narcissist,” Gio corrects me in a murmur from my left. I’d honestly forgotten all about him. I glance at him as I feel Toru’s fingers brush against mine and instantly put my hand in his, seeking his comfort.

  “Well, then what in the hay-ell is an ‘anarchist’?” I ask without looking at Gio, knowing my Texan is getting thicker and probably damn near too muddled to be understandable, but dammit, I’m a bit stressed out here. Toru’s thumb rubs my fingers, comforting me.

  Gio’s eyes flicker toward Azrael, as if seeking permission to explain things to me. I’m feeling just a little bit dumb.

  “An anarchist is one who creates chaos, as you have in just a short time,” a voice from behind the death angel dude answers. I recognize the voice and fight the urge to roll my eyes.

  Samuel steps up to the side of Azrael and takes in the scene — Gio on the left side of me, far too close; Toru on the right, holding my hand.

  I’m pretty sure the look on Samuel’s face could light wet mesquite on fire.

  He moves around Azrael and steps in front of me. His blue eyes stare down at me with a look I can’t quite interpret — there’s anger, first and foremost, then interest, which I really don’t know what to think about, and then…

  Fear.

  Okay, so that last one freaks me out a bit, I gotta admit. Azrael is obviously respected, and yeah, feared, if Toru’s reaction to the guy is any indication. But I’ve already stood up to the death dude, so I ain’t backing down now.

  Snapping Chihuahuas show no fear, right?

  I shrug. “I didn’t mean to create chaos,” I say, in a lame attempt to defend myself. “It, uh, just sort of happens around me.”

  I’m not sure, but I think Azrael grunts in agreement. For some reason, I get the idea that, while he’s upset by my presence, he’s also somewhat amused by me.

  I hope that’s the case anyway. Today is not a good day to die. Again.

  I look at the hooded figure before me and hope that sincerity is on my face. “I really don’t mean to cause problems,” I tell him. “I’m just sorta trying to figure out my role here in the afterlife. I’m sorta lost, to be honest. I mean, I haven’t even been here a full day and I already have bitches attacking me!” I huff and nod toward Delia and her minions, who all look like they’re about to crap themselves because I pointed them out.

  Stupid bitches.

  I turn back toward him. “And, honestly, I don’t want to cause any problems,” I continue. “It isn’t my fault I ended up being chosen for Reaper school. I mean, seriously, my only other choice was to work with the Mother Nature folks, and frankly, that sounded super boring.” I grin at the unseen face then.

  “Reaper sounded a lot more interesting.” I shrug. “I just hope I can make me proud of me.”

  Surprisingly, I realize that I mean that. How weird. Cuz, really, who would have thought that I would ever aspire to be an angel of death, or an assistant angel.

  Whatever.

  Samuel’s lips twitch at that, like he’s trying not to smile. I glance at him, but then force my attention to the shadowed face before me. The hood is so deep that I can’t make out any features at all, although I get the impression of a white face — sort of — deep within the darkness of the hood.

  I don’t know if Azrael can somehow read me to know that I’m sincere, but he nods once, then turns without a word and glides back to the door.

  You can hear the collective sigh of relief from the entire room as he leaves.

  Samuel scowls at me then glances back toward the door where Azrael just disappeared through, He then takes a step toward me. Toru seems to sense his anger and moves even closer to me. My giant protector. I squeeze his hand. Okay, so I basically just press my fingers into the palm of his hand, since my hand doesn’t even come close to encompassing his.

  Samuel glances up at Toru, then down to where our hands are connected. His eyes then travel to Gio standing next to me, too clo
se to be considered a casual acquaintance.

  His dark blond eyebrows slowly rise to the middle of his forehead, but he somehow manages to continue glaring at me at the same time. That’s quite a facial feat and I start to ask him how in Sam-hill he’s doing it, but he straightens to his full too-tall-for-comfort height and then he really glares at me, so I close my mouth and wait for the ass chewing to come.

  “Why do I get the feelin’ that yer goin’ to be nothin’ but trouble?” Samuel grumbles, his accent thick as he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up so it’s even more sexy. It makes me think of morning-after hair and I bite my bottom lip as I imagine waking up in bed next to him on that morning after.

  My thoughts must show on my face, because his scowl changes to something else. Something even scarier and he takes a step closer.

  Like he can’t help himself.

  I totally know the feeling.

  Almost as if they sense a predator closing in on their prey, Gio steps closer to me until his shoulder brushes mine and Toru moves his free hand to my other shoulder. With Samuel towering over me from the front, I’m starting to feel like the lone June bug in a chicken coop.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper, making him lean closer to hear me, “maybe cuz I’m so cute and irresistible?” I grin at him and feel the boys’ bodies on my sides jiggle like they’re silently laughing.

  Samuel grunts. Not sure if he agrees with that one. He sighs heavily again and points a finger at me.

  “Yer goin’ to have to behave if’n yer goin’ to have any chance here at the Academy,” he warns.

  I glance up at Toru, whose eyes are on me as always. I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. Then I glance at Gio, who is also staring at me, like he’s waiting for some pearls of wisdom.

  Good luck with that, I think with a smirk.

  My eyes then move back to Samuel and I know damn well he can read my thoughts: Not really sure I can behave, not with the three of you.

  The look that comes over his face is all sorts of contradictions — sexy heat as he stares at me, his eyes moving down my body; jealousy as he once again takes in the guys who are practically rubbing themselves on me, marking me with their scent; and maybe a little fear as he glances again over his shoulder, where Azrael disappeared just moments before.