A Reaper.

Why would Lucifer choose to punish me with a true neutral being?

It wasn’t only my retribution. It was Ezequiel’s as well.

The answer was likely as simple as Lucifer knowing I would fail and would be sent to Purgatory until the end of time. I would be stuck on that plane with Dabria. At least the destitution wouldn’t be as lonely as my existence now.

I uncorked an aged bottle of whiskey. The label had peeled off years ago, but it wasn’t likely I would see another occasion to drink it. The ice in my glass sang to me as I poured the brown liquor over it and filled the glass to the brim like a degenerate. I was making imaginary wagers with myself on how swiftly I would lose my immortal life here on Earth.

One day? A week?

I finished off the whiskey in two gulps, and our new bartender eyed me with concern as I took another long swig straight from the bottle. I was well into the first half when Ezequiel came strutting from the elevator. I didn’t expect him to have his head held so high with the task we had been handed.

“Is she settled in her new enclosure?” I called. My voice echoed across the empty dance floor.

“For now.” He held up a small book. “Did you see this?”

“Is that the new edition of How To Care for Your Death Angel for Dummies?” I laughed at my own joke and squinted at the book in his hand.

“It’s the rules to her existence. Imagine such parameters.” He fanned the thin pages across his thumb then held it out at a page with an image that had caught his eye. It was an illustration of what humans imagined the Grim Reaper to look like: a ghastly figure with a dark cloak, a skeletal face, and a long scythe. This creature didn’t look anything like Dabria, with her beautiful dark-brown skin, fully formed brown eyes, and pouty lips that concealed the skull beneath.

“She’s our punishment for creating.” I sighed over the pages. “As if you haven’t suffered enough.”

“Being your business partner and the only other being willing to stand by your side isn’t suffering.” He elbowed my ribs, and we both laughed.

“I do seem to be collecting outcasts, don’t I?” I said, a cocky grin on my face. “First, a Watcher Angel exiled by Heaven and too vile for Hell. Now, a Reaper in solid form who would otherwise only exist between the folds of time and space. What a lucky prince I am.”

“She’s cute,” he said, watching me closely to gauge my reaction.

He’d stopped me in my tracks, and I didn’t know how to react.

It wasn’t that Dabria wasn’t pretty. If it were any other time in my long existence, I would have taken her to bed without a second thought. But our devious tour in Vegas proved that even in a place where it took little to no effort for a man to find a companion for the night, my gifts were fractured.

Ezequiel had seen it for himself in our room.

Though he had fucked each of the bridesmaids thoroughly, I had only used my mouth on a few, and before that, it had taken a woman on her knees in my office several minutes to arouse me long enough to get off.

Impotence for the Prince of Lust was the worst irony and would be the highest mortification if it wasn’t cured soon.

Though, babysitting a Reaper would put a damper on such attempts.

I finally formulated an answer that sounded more like justification than denial. “She’s . . . a Reaper.”

He cocked a smile and fixed his eyes on mine, calling me out on my sad attempt at an excuse.

“She’s our Reaper. For now.”

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