““Death raised his brows, unashamed to be caught ogling. “Just because you’re a gutless harlot doesn’t mean I won’t find your . . . attributes attractive. I might be immortal, but I’m still a red-blooded male.” Attributes? Was that why he’d kept me alive? Each morning, I had asked him, “Have you decided whether you’re going to kill me today?” He’d always answer, “Not yet, creature.” Each night by the fire, Death used the tip of one sword to carve barbs in that flattened metal strip from his armor. Though I had no idea why, he seemed very pleased with himself, would gaze at me as he worked. Was his attraction intensifying . . . ? “Harlot? Who talks like that? Father Time, meet the Flintstones.””
