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oversized rack, her hourglass figure, and the cold ruthlessness of her eyes. The red hot emotion of hate ripped aside the cold grip of death, surging fire into his muscles and life into his body. He lunged to his feet and hurled his sword at Death.
    “Oh, please. You bore me.” Death flicked his hand in Jarvis’s direction, and the sword screeched to a halt in midair, then turned and slammed itself right into Jarvis’s gut.
    “Jesus.” He sank to his knees and yanked the sword out, gasping as the poison from the blade raced through his body. Hello? Rule No. 1 of Battle Skills for Beginners: Never get your own weapon turned on you. Had he learned nothing in the Den over the last one hundred and fifty years? The fact that Death was predisposed to never lose a showdown was no excuse.
    Blaine stirred beside him and groaned. Fire began to lick at Blaine’s chest as he fought back from the precipice as well.
    Jarvis fumbled for his sword, fighting to get his numb fingers to function as Death led the Guardian of Love toward a cluster of pine trees. Jarvis palmed the donut-hole in his gut as he struggled to his knees. “Cam,” Jarvis croaked. “Don’t go with him.”
    Cam turned his head toward Jarvis. Gone was the child-like awe of his own magnificence, the impish smile of irresponsible troublemaking, and the irrepressible joy of self-adulation. In its place was a haunting emptiness. Sunken cheeks. Hopelessness.
    Holy hell. Love was dying . If Cameron died, he would take love with him, and that was just not a good thing for his brother, for the Guardian of Hate, or for the world in general. “Cameron Swain, get your ass over here right now—”
    His brother dissolved into millions of black particles and was gone. Taken by Death, who was the one being in existence Jarvis had no chance of defeating or even subverting.
    “Mother of hell,” Blaine groaned. “You’re screwed. You’ll never get him back from Death.”
    “No, I won’t.” Jarvis couldn’t help the stupid-ass grin of anticipation as he gripped the wound in his belly. The surge of interest at the twist that had just been thrown at him. “But there’s one woman who could work a little deal with that scythe-bearer.”
    Blaine raised his brows, a sudden knowing look on his face. “Dude, you didn’t need to get your brother kidnapped by Death to have a reason to talk to Reina. We could have just done a double date.”
    “Fuck off.” Jarvis shoved himself to his feet, stumbling as the poison raced through him. “I don’t want to date her. I just want her help.”
    Blaine sat up and rested his arms on his knees, trying to regain his strength. “Got news for you, buddy. Reina’s dealing with some serious personal shit, and she doesn’t like you. There’s no way she’s going to help you.”
    “She has no choice.” Jarvis sheathed his sword.
    “That woman always has a choice.”
    Jarvis grinned, thinking again about that moment when he’d had her underneath him. When he’d sweettalked her into seeing his side. “Not when it comes to me.”
    ***
     
    Reina raced up the marble steps to the Castle of Extreme Opulence, praying she was sliding in before the “Fired: Do Not Admit” tattoo showed up on her forehead.
    She flung open the front door, and a quick inspection of the ornate, three-story, twin staircase foyer revealed that the Death wasn’t present. Dammit. She needed to find him before—
    Linneah Nogueira, Death’s willowy executive VP and HoneyPot Queen, threw open the French doors and strode into the reception area. “Reina? I thought you’d been fired.”
    Oh, crap. Reina faked a relaxed, slightly confused expression even as her heart began to thud. She couldn’t let Linneah stop her. She had to get to Death. She had to. “Good morning, Linneah. It’s nice to see you.” Reina sauntered oh-so-casually toward the long hallway that led toward the executive office suites known as the Hallows. “Did he really say he’d fired me?