“Succumbing so soon?” Bane asks, his long strides eating up the space between us effortlessly.
“I’m not dead yet, which means you can’t take me to wherever you’re supposed to. Isn’t that right?” I ask curiously, playing into his delusions for a way out.
“There are very few rules I play by,” he rumbles. “I could kill you now and drag you down to hell kicking and screaming if I wanted to. Maybe try a little less sass with me, huh?”
Swallowing hard as I gaze at his powerful and wide stance as he walks beside me, I find that I’m both scared shitless and still interested in this man who calls himself a reaper. God, what’s wrong with me?
Did the news of my mortality twist my mind? I need to get it together
“I’d rather not go to Hell,” I say, my voice cracking. “Impossible choices probably aren’t the best to be posed to a walking dead man anyway.”
Bane’s eyes soften for a second, but I’m convinced that the starlight’s fucking with me when I see a calculating glint in his eye.
“What if I had the power to save you?” he asks.
“That’s not funny,” I groan, turning to face him. I don’t need talks of false hope right now.
“Interrupt me again, and I’ll take your tongue,” Bane scowls, pulling a wicked looking long blade out of thin air. “I only need your words to agree, and they can be written in blood.”
“Shit,” I whisper, my eyes on the blade.
Where the fuck did he pull that from? It’s a lot bigger than he is, no way he could hide that under his cloak.
It’s curved and on a long handle. That blade looks a little bit too real for my liking and I bet he could swipe it like a baseball bat and kill me with it.
If I wasn’t convinced this man was a killer, I am now.
Yet, some fucked up part of me knows I shouldn’t want to push him, but thoughts of testing him, seeing what he’ll do next fills my mind. I’ve always been a brat.
“I’d prefer you not,” Bane snorts. “I hate when humans shit when they see me. It’s enough to give me a complex.”
I blink, taken aback by his response. For a crazy person, he has a sense of humor. I don’t know how to respond to that.
My foot slides back as if to run, my eyes wide and scared, no longer wanting to play into his messed up game.
“How do you feel about striking a deal, Onyx?” he asks, his discerning gaze on me. He must know my nerves are frayed. It’s written all over my shaking hands and wheezing breaths.
The way he drifts closer to me, as if he’s walking on air has my heart racing, my body breaking out into a sweat. Black inkyclouds swirl around him and there’s a part in the back of my mind that's telling me that this isn’t just the rambling of a crazy man. As bizarre as it might be, maybe what he’s saying is real.
Or maybe I’m hallucinating and this is all in my head.
“Tell me more,” I find myself speaking, cursing myself for refusing to play it safe. Why am I doing this? I should be running away.
Except, I can’t. Fuck. It’s like my body is rooted in place, my feet unable to move.
“So eager,” Bane teases. “There’s nothing that says that you can’t give me your soul.”
Give him my soul? You know what, fuck it. What else do I have to lose? I want to hear the rest of this offer. “But does that mean I’ll be saved from cancer?” I ask worriedly. “Just like that? I give you my soul and you what, own me?”
“As a reaper, I need to collect souls to fulfill my quota. Normally, that process doesn’t happen until the souls are ready to leave the body, then the humans' lives are done and they’re no longer able to stay on this earth. Lucifer has a specific amount he requires or we’re out of a job. Hell is rough, what can I say.” He winks, making my gut twist in ways I’m not sure about.
“But, if someone were to make a deal with me, to willingly offer me their soul, I have the power to let you live longer knowing when you do meet your demise, your soul is mine. No other reaper can claim you. A soul willingly given is the equivalent of a hundred souls that pass on their own. I can take you now and be done with you. If you promise to give me your soul, I’ll promise to remove the cancer in your body,” he says. “Just be aware, when you die, you become mine. I will own you in any way I please.”
The idea of being his is intriguing to me, and I bite my lip at the thought.
“What’s the catch?” I ask. “We covered that you’re not doing this because you saw me screaming into what I thought was the void. How do we solidify this? Do you need me to open my veins and sign my life away in blood?” There’s this burning hope inside me that this is real, that everything he speaks of is the truth. I’m a desperate dying man. I really have nothing left to lose.
“You watch too many movies,” Bane says with an amused huff.
