Caged by Damnation (Caged #2)(42)

Crossing my arms, I spoke, "Wait. Let me get this straight, you own a plant that doesn't exist and you haven't named her?"

He moved towards the center of the room and deftly changed the subject. "Weren't you theorizing about why we don't get along?"

My head tilted to the right in thoughtfulness and I spoke in exasperation. "Nope, not gonna work. I can tell you the rest of my theory later. Why haven't you named her? Doesn't she deserve a name? I mean, you wouldn't have kept her unless she meant something to you, right?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously growing tired of my questions. "I keep things because they are my way of marking time." He sighed. "Think of them as my version of a scrapbook. I never saw the point of naming a plant that was meant for my eyes only."

"Oh. I still think she deserves to have a name. Everything has one, even inanimate objects." Biting my lip, I struggled to come up with something fitting to name such a unique plant. "How about calling her a Pitchrose Fern?"

Death sat on the chaise, leaned forward, and began to massage his temples. "Where did you get that idea?"

"Well, she looks like a fern, requires darkness, and she has pink-colored flowers." I smiled, pleased with the name. I took Death's silence as an agreement and forged ahead with our conversation. "Anyhow, my point in coming here was to discuss the destructive way we deal with one another. If you can learn to deal with me treating you the way I treat everyone else, I can learn to be patient with your caustic personality."

"Am I supposed to be excited by your solution to our problem?" Death paused. "I can try to refrain from being acerbic if you can start lightening up and stop holding everything over my head."

"What am I holding over your head?" My tone sounded defensive, even to my own ears.

"Our deal, your being here. Every time I have attempted to have a conversation, you blow up over something relating to that." He reached for a mug on the table beside the chaise and took a sip while I pondered his statement. I had to admit it was true.

"Okay." My voice startled me. "That wasn't right of me. I feel a little bitter about the situation and might take it out on you sometimes, but I'll try to do better." My hand shot out, waiting to shake on our new agreement.

It took a few breaths before Death reached out to grasp my hand. His hand was warm, a combination between smooth and hardened, and his grip was like steel.

I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Um, do I get ownership of my hand back?"

He released me quickly. If it hadn't been for the trail of warmth left behind, I would have wondered if we had really shaken hands. "Did you like your gift?" His eyes trailed to the necklace dangling around my neck and I subconsciously touched it.

Remembering the red liquid that I had spied inside, I asked, "It's beautiful, but what exactly is in it?"

"My blood."

"Huh? I don't think I heard you right. I thought you said blood." Laughing at myself, I thought he would join in. When he didn't, I realized that I had heard him correctly. "Why in the world would you think giving me a necklace with your blood in it is okay? I may have signed up to become a Hellhound, but I never vowed to wear a badge of ownership."

My thoughts trailed back to each Hellhound, remembering that all of them wore a necklace of some sort. I couldn't help thinking of them as dog collars. The thought sickened me.

Death moved closer. "You have an astounding gift for jumping to the worst conclusion." His fingers stopped a hairsbreadth away from my collarbone before grasping the pendant. "My blood ties me to you, not the other way around."

My breath caught as his thumb massaged the vial, occasionally colliding with my skin. "How?"

He glanced up, suddenly letting his gift fall back into place, and a nervous laugh escaped him. "There aren't many Hellhounds left and I need to protect my investments." His tone had gone cold and flat.

"See? That's exactly the kind of asinine thing that ticks me off! I am not an investment, and neither are they!"

I wanted to storm from his chambers, but something held me back. Blood rushed through me, pumping adrenaline through my veins, making me want to retaliate. Desperately, I fumbled in my mind for something to distract me from him being his typical self. I had just made a promise, and wasn't about to break it moments after I had spoken it aloud.

I swung my body away from his, angling towards any direction that meant I wouldn't need to see him, my gaze seeking any distraction, using the objects in the room as a means to an end.

A piano laid ownership to the far right corner, a boon for sleepless nights. It overlooked a window which showed nothing but darkness. It wasn't simply the absence of color, but barren of existence. I shuddered, looking upwards, and I noticed a balcony that seemed out of place. A blanket hung over the edge, and a replication of the stars was etched into the ceiling above it.

I climbed the old-fashioned staircase, overlooking the inner workings of Death. I stood poised over the question all mortals asked: What was the true meaning behind death? I was here, facing a room that held all his secrets, and yet couldn't be further from understanding them.

Death followed me onto the balcony but I intercepted him. An instrumental version of At Last brushed aside my intent. At my feet lay an open box. I reached down and picked it up, wondering what it was. Death sidestepped me, grabbing the box from my hands, and I realized it was a music box. The object, like all the others, didn't fit his personality. It was the type of music box a woman would decorate her dresser with, or a young girl would place on her vanity.