Death has fallen chapter.., p.1
Death Has Fallen: Chapter I, page 1
Contents
Trigger Warning
Prologue
1. Death by Lust
2. Death by Stalking
3. Death by Paint
4. Death by Heartbreak
5. Death by Choking
6. Death By Archangel
7. Death by Date
8. Death by Suffocation
9. Death by Jealousy
10. Death by Hate
11. Death by Apology
12. Death by Dance
13. Death by Devil
14. Death by Possessiveness
15. Death by Knowledge
16. Death by Grief
17. Death by Neighbors
18. Death by Denial
19. Death by Desire
20. Death by Insomnia
21. Death by Association
22. Death by Impatience
23. Death by Silence
24. Death by Oversharing
25. Death By Satisfaction
26. Death by Distance
27. Death by Delay
28. Death by Luck
29. Death by Combat
30. Death by Unknown
31. Death by Bondage
32. Death by Men
33. Death by Friendship
34. Death by Restraint
35. Death by Chocolate
36. Death by Revelation
37. Death by Hope
38. Death by Vengeance
39. Death by Survival
40. Death by Kiss
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by J. M. Hernandez
Copyright © 2023 J. M. Hernandez
All rights reserved
ASIN: B0CRP5FM24 (eBook)
ISBN: 979-8-21835071-0 (Paperback)
ISBN: 979-8-218-35421-3 (Hardcover)
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any businesses, places, or incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. The publisher is not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Follow me for updates and more on Instagram @miladeywrites
This book is considered dark and mature and is not intended for anyone under the age of 18. Please do not recommend this book to anyone under the age of 18. Triggers include but not limited to:
⋆ Trauma from heartbreak
⋆ Loss of a family member
⋆ Stalking
⋆ Manipulation
⋆ Drinking
⋆ Fire
⋆ Angels & Demons
⋆ Descriptive gore imaginings
⋆ Breath Play
⋆ Threesome (MMF)
⋆ Fight scenes
⋆ Sexual assault (off screen)
⋆ Rape (off screen)
⋆ Cancer
⋆ Talks of dying
⋆ Demonic Possession
⋆ Scythe Play
⋆ Drowning
⋆ Breeding kink
If any of these topics are triggering or distressing, please proceed with caution or consider reading a different book. Your mental health matters.
You matter.
To my book sluts who draw pentagrams in hopes of getting fucked by the Grim Reaper seven ways to Sunday…
This is for you.
If making a deal with the devil is bad, is making a deal with Death worse?
“Rest now, Mara,” Mom says before kissing my head and walking out of the hospital room. I manage to put on a smile for them and ignore the agony echoing in me. I didn’t want to have heavy pain medicine ruin this experience.
After all, a girl only turns eighteen once. My lip trembles when the door closes and I pull my legs up to my chest. I touch my shins, feeling the bones stick out more than they should. My friends once said they were jealous of how easily I lost weight.
They didn’t know it was cancer. They didn’t know I couldn’t keep food down, even when I wanted to. I’ve been jealous of them! Being able to keep a constant weight, to play, to not have to go to the doctor unless they were hurt is a gift. I’m jealous that they get to have a college life, that they don’t know hospital food, and haven’t had to survive on it.
I wipe my eyes. Cancer once was a test, twice proves that something, somewhere is giving me a death sentence and my first escape was just to make this round feel worse. There’s no choice but to embrace what’s coming.
The treatments haven’t worked. Praying to every god and goddess I can remember hasn’t worked. Trying to prolong my time by being the best daughter I can be, that hasn’t worked. Doing everything right hasn’t worked.
All that’s left, is death and what’s left to do but accept it?
That’s what a good girl does. And I’m a good girl.
I am, I know it. I feel it.
Something darkens the corner of my eyes and I look over. I’m sure that there’s a nurse I didn’t notice ready to send me to sleep, but no nurse wears a grim reaper outfit, right? That’s just not tasteful. I stare at the scythe, it’s impossibly white, like bone. No reflection comes off it, no glint of light, it’s just ... there, like an extension of the person carrying it.
I clear my throat, end up having a coughing fit, and cover my mouth. “I know it’s my birthday, but it’s not a costume party.”
No movement, no answer.
I lean forward, further forward, further, until I can peek under the hood. He’s handsome, definitely a nurse I’d remember. With all the drugs, I would have asked that nurse to give me a sponge bath by now.
His gorgeous nearly bronze skin mesmerizes me and those intense green eyes - pale and shockingly soft - are focused entirely on me. When he blinks, I notice how full his lashes are. A few locks of almost curly, black hair fall into his eyes, nearly hiding the scar that rips through his eyebrow and over his right eye.
I catch a glint of light and realize his lips are pierced, two rings on the left side of his bottom lip, even though his lips are soft, inviting. Gorgeous. What a beautiful face to look at. There should be more nurses and doctors like him.
“Beautiful, like a sculpture. What a nice hospital,” I murmur as I lay back, smiling slightly.
I cough and wrap my arms around myself as I start shaking. The cold weighs on me, trickling deeper and deeper. Every problem grows: my head aches, my stomach hurts, even my bones feel heavy. I envy birds, so light they can fly, so easy going, so ... easy.
That’s how living is supposed to be. It’s not supposed to be a constant fight. I manage to take one easy breath, then reach out to the man, nurse, grim reaper, whatever he is.
“Please,” I whisper. “No more drugs unless it’s enough to end it.”
His eyes open wider and actually focus on me, dilating slightly. He steps forward and I take his hand. “Please, if you really are Death, just end it. I’m so tired. I can’t ... I can’t keep doing this. I’m so tired. I hurt so much. Just let me ... let me be done.”
He raises his scythe but holds my hand tighter.
After I manage another trembling breath, I pause. “Wait ... just one request?”
He doesn’t answer, just watches me.
“Let my parents forget about me. Erase me from their mind. They’ve spent so much time taking care of me, worrying, crying when they didn’t think I would hear,” I say, my voice losing strength every second. Why do people need to breathe so much? “Can you just ... give them that? Do that for me?”
He continues to stare at me. He’s not angry, not pitying me, just watching with the same surprised, intrigued expression, like he’s not quite sure what to make of me.
“What makes you so sure I can do that?” He asks, his voice like velvet, wrapping around me, making me feel warm and safe. I sigh and ease into the comfort for just a second.
“I read. I read a lot about angels and demons, a lot about heaven and hell, good to know the options, right? Other religions, too, but ... if you’re really Death, then you can do plenty more than kill with a touch, right?” I ask desperately. “You’re going to give me peace, give my parents peace, too, okay?”
“I can’t do that. I will take you and give you peace,” he says simply.
“Please! You can wait to take me, make me endure plenty of pain, whatever you want! They just ... they deserve something, they need it. They won’t have anything once I pass! Just bills and debt and ... please! You have no idea how hard it is to be human,” I sob.
Of course, the sobs don’t last long. I’m sick, I’m dizzy, and I’m coughing up a storm. I can’t seem to manage anything, and my body feels overwhelmingly heavy. I fall slack back in my bed. “Please, please.”
“I’m sorry, for whatever that’s worth,” he says.
He takes my hand and I gasp, arching slightly off the pillow as my breath pulls out of my lungs and between my teeth. He leans forward, cupping my cheek. “It won’t hurt. Like falling asleep without needing to count sheep.”
“But ... par... parents,” I choke out.
Still, it’s so easy. It’s so easy to fall into the comfort, like falling into bed when I’m dead exhausted, like laying down after twenty hours without sleep. I just want to close my eyes and drift off and ...
And then it stops. His hand draws back and he stares at me suspiciously. His eyes study my face, then he leans forward. He’s so close I can feel his warm breath on my lips. I exhale and try to figure out why he’s not doing ... a death thing. Or maybe I’m already dead and it was that easy.
His eyes flare brighter and then his eyes drop from my eyes to my lips. I want to cover my mouth, I want to draw back, I want to do something to convince him to stop the hurting, to stop everything that I’m feeling, but he’s just staring.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” he decides.
“Wh-why, just-”
“I’ll cure you right now. I’ll give you seven more years,” he says, gazing so intensely that all I can see, feel, or focus on is him. “I will come for you when you turn twenty-five, on the day. It’ll be an easy death. No pain, no suffering, just death.”
“Wha-what’s the catch?”
“I didn’t mention one. Seven years. Your parents can get whatever in line, then you’re mine,” he says darkly.
“Are ... are you leaving?” I ask, wanting to hold onto him for some reason.
He sizes me up again. “Not yet, you haven’t agreed.”
“I agree to your ... your terms, but if I’m living in a hospital-”
“No hospital. Healthy for seven years and then getting a painless death,” he says, still holding my cheek in his hand. “Yes?”
“Yes,” I answer.
He bends down and slowly, his lips touch mine. My entire body heats, but it’s not like a fever, I’ve had plenty of those, this ... this is different. It’s like every cell in my body is jumping for joy, like every bit of pain is dissolving.
His lips open against mine and I breathe in as he exhales. His tongue brushes the seam of my lips and I open again. I want to pull him closer, but he slowly draws back, his lips still brushing mine for another second before he ends the kiss.
His eyes are nearly reflective, entirely black, and I swallow as he eases into the seat my dad had been sitting in minutes ago. “Go to sleep. You’ll wake up and this will just be a bad dream.”
I don’t want to forget him though, Death. So tender, so warm, caring. Everything he’s not supposed to be.
The next day, when I wake up, I’m sure he’s gone. I look in the mirror after hearing that my test results are suddenly improving and I see that one of my eyes has changed. Both used to be the same honey brown that my mom has, but now one is a warm, soft green. No doubt the mark of the deal I made with Death himself.
“Fuck, baby, that feels so good. Holy fuck, I’m so close!” the guy behind me groans as he jerks my hips back against him, thrusting deep.
I feel him, it feels good, I’m into it, but I’m not close to coming. I gasp. “Don’t stop! Don’t-”
“Yes!” He yells, then stills inside me.
Great. No orgasm for me. He moans and lays back in his bed. “Damn, that was amazing. Wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say, adjusting my dress and finding my underwear. “It’s what I expected.”
“Good, maybe we can do this again some time,” he says.
“This doesn’t get you a discount at the bar,” is all I say before I leave.
I don’t bother to drive. He doesn’t live that far from my apartment complex. I rub my shoulder as the autumn air caresses my skin. I adjust my jacket and shake my head. I should have known better. I haven’t been able to get off with anyone. I don’t try constantly. I’m not the kind of girl that has a different guy every night. Just ... a guy every two to three weeks to remind myself I’m healthy and that I get to have what everyone else has. Maybe I can fuck away the lingering hospital memories. I’ve been free of hospital beds and nurses for four years and still have nightmares of IV needs being shoved into me.
Shame that I can’t get off since my ex ended things a year and a half ago, even though I try. I do try. I’ve tried plenty of kinks, all the tips I can find online, all of it, but I’m the only one who can make me come anymore.
My fingers work better than any guy, even if he’s willing to do all the work.
What’s the point of putting myself out there, of going on a date, skipping the date and taking a guy home, if I don’t get anything out of it?
Sighing, I look up at the apartment building my parents and I own. Well, they own it, but my mom and I manage it. Dad still hasn’t recovered from a work accident nine months ago. He can’t work, can’t live alone, and needs round the clock care. Since we can’t afford a live-in nurse, Mom decided to put him in a facility and she spends hours there every day, leaving me to work.
“I should have picked up a double,” I grumble when I realize I have hours alone to look forward to.
Mew?
Smiling, I pull the bag of specialty treats out of my purse. Seven small stray cats have appeared recently. One at a time, they’ve shown up, always hungry. Orange, white, calico, tabby, black, one point coloration, and one with thick gray fur. I stroke the gray one as it leans against me.
“I know, you don’t like the cheap shit. That’s why I’ve sprung for the good stuff,” I tell them.
I give them plenty of treats and pause there as they snack. I stroke the orange cat who hisses at me before accepting the treat and begrudgingly letting me stroke its back. “I know, I’m a stranger. I have danger written all over me, don’t I?”
The tabby disagrees, purring aggressively as it weaves between my legs. All at once, they look over. No hissing, no growling, no running, just staring with their ears up, tails still. I follow their gaze after trying and failing to regain their attention.
Something cold pricks the back of my neck and slithers down my spine. I’m being watched. Taking a slow breath, I follow the cats’ gaze. Under a flickering light, stands a man in a hoodie. He raises his hand and I almost think he’s waving, but he takes a long drag of a cigarette. Even though I can’t see him well, I can tell he’s big, tall, and can feel his intense stare.
He leans against a red Acura and looks me over. I know I look freshly fucked. My messy hair, the shame on my face, the dissatisfaction. Everyone knows the walk of shame, even if it involves a stop to talk to some cats. I suck my bottom lip and take a step closer to the cats. I glance at the black one.
“Should I run or is it just some guy smoking outside since he can’t in the house?” I ask.
Again, it stays focused on the man, but it’s tail twitches. That freezing, intense urge to run slips along my muscles. But if I overreact, then I could hurt myself, could end up worse off.
I look back over, but I don’t see him. I see someone else, in a long cloak that brushes the ground and a scythe. White as bone, looking just as dense. The blade is sharp, but it doesn’t look metal. My heart races in my chest. It hurts, actually hurts as it bangs against my ribs, like it wants freedom.
I take a step back and clear my throat. “You’re kind of early for Halloween, you know?”
He continues forward and I stumble another step back. He raises the scythe and I swear it actually grows. He swings it around and I nearly jump back. I stumble again, tripping over my feet which are somehow still attached to my legs.
I gasp and find the red Acura, hoping that the smoker will help, but he’s gone.
“A hair short,” the man in the cloak says.
“Fuck you!” I throw the second bag of cat treats at him, haul myself up and run around the parked cars and towards the apartment building. I glance back a few times and see him following, not in any rush.
He’s just there, serial killer style. If he’s this calm it means he’s done it before. He’ll kill me. I’m sure of it. And, if I run, if he doesn’t get my throat or something vital, it’s going to be a long killing process considering he’s got a fucking scythe!
I struggle with the door, then rip it open, half running, half tripping up the stairs. Every step is punctuated with a ‘fuck’ under my breath until I get to my own floor. I slip on the step, turn around and he’s right there.
“Scream,” he dares.
I blink at him. For some reason, my legs don’t want to move. I don’t want to pick myself up. It feels like a dream, like no matter how fast I run, he’s going to be there. No matter what he does, it’s not really going to hurt me. Have I had this dream before?
I pull myself up as he brings the scythe down, ripping my heel off me. I jump up and he sighs. “Nearly a toe.”
