Nothing could have prepared me for what happened when Death teleported me to his house. The snow, my first hint that we are no longer in Ottawa, crunches beneath my feet as soon as we appear. A winter chill bites the skin of my exposed arms. A snowflake lands on the tip of my nose. The frigid air slips through my nostrils. I sneeze. Then, I start panicking.

Because, like any normal human, being dangled at the edge of a bottomless void sends my stomach churning.

Ok, maybe I am exaggerating. I am not really being dangled. In fact, Death holds on to me with a death grip (no pun intended). The void is actually a precipice. And it is not bottomless. I can definitely see a bottom down there. Much, much lower than the summit we find ourselves on, but still, a bottom.

"Death? Did you just get lost going to your own place?" I look down the snowy mountain. It appears that we find ourselves in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but snow and mountaintops. Lots of them. In fact, I could describe this place as the Grand Canyon after Frosty the Snowman shat everywhere with all of his snowmen and snowwomen friends.

"Don't be stupid. Of course I didn't get lost."

"Interesting. 'Cause I could swear we are in the middle of no where right now."

"We are. That's the whole point." He starts pulling me in the other direction and my eyes land on something not very far from us.

Through the fuzzy blizzard, I can make out what looks like a small house. Actually, it is more of a cottage. The kind made out entirely of wood, with big windows and a triangular roof. It even has a chimney, which has me even more perplexed. It looks quaint. One might imagine a family of two parents and 2.5 kids would rent such a place for their yearly ski trip. Or a porno crew filming a movie titled "A Winter Orgy-land".

Death lets me inside and I look around in awe. Maybe it is because it oddly reminds me of my own place. Well, my former place, I think with bitter resentment.

Maybe it is because I expected something else entirely.

"What is it? Did you think I lived in a cave?"

"With your dodgy social skills, yeah," I scoff. "Or maybe something more Christian Grey. Like, with a red room of pain somewhere." I crane my neck, looking around some more, "You don't have one of those, do you?" I am not trying to sound eager or anything. I really am just curious. Really.

"Who's Christian Grey?" he lifts an eyebrow.

I shrug, "No one."

He flips on a switch and the place lights up. I watch him remove his cloak to reveal a tight, short-sleeved t-shirt and set it on a hanger. I watch his arm muscles flex with every movement and even though I try not to ogle him, it is impossible not to. He moves to the kitchen and his presence seems odd in the small, tight place. It is as though he is too big for place.

"Where are we?" I ask.

"Iceland."

Huh. Explains the snow and lack of people presence.

He turns on the stove and sets a boiler on it. Man, this is so weird. I am standing in Death's house while he is making coffee.

"Sit." He gestures to the leather sofa that is set in front of the fireplace. In a blink of his eye a flame appears in it.

"Ok," I say, sounding maybe a little cautious. I sit on one end of the sofa, liking how it feels. Not too soft, not too firm. "So, I take it you don't like people either." No one would chose to live in such a place if they did. I would know.

"I don't. I kill them for a living." He sends me a pointed look.

Sometimes, I feel like Death gets me. It is nerve-racking and kind of terrible, actually. When the person who understands you most and who is most alike you is the Grim Reaper.

"Coffee?" he asks.

"Sure. Black, please." Not that I think he would have sugar and milk in here. Actually he might. This whole place is just so normal. So... odd.

He hands me the cup and I gladly take a sip. I do not mind the burn. He kneels in front of me and places a hand on my cheek, turning my head to take another look at my bandaged wound.

"Do you want some blood?" he asks.

I choke on my coffee, "What the fuck? No!"

"It would heal that," he points to my temple, "And that." He gently taps the scratch between my breast.

"No thank's," I turn away and pull my knees to my chest, "I'm cool."

"Suit yourself." He sits next to me, swallowing his coffee in one big gulp. When he turns in my direction, I feel his hot gaze penetrating me. The air around us sizzles, heavy with something I recognize.

Then, he rakes a hand through his hair. "How are you feeling? After everything that happened tonight." he finally says.

The million dollar question. How am I feeling? Stressed, kind of scared, sad. Because my house is gone. Because some bat-shit crazy vampire is toying with me.

And because I am alone in your house. With you.

"I'm ok."

His lips press into a hard line as his eyes bore into mine. Sometimes, I think he can see right through me. Like an x-ray machine, spotting everything and anything that is out of place. That should not be there. That needs to be fixed.

We stay there, motionless for what seems like an eternity. I fight back the urge to touch him. I tell myself that it is a moment of weakness. A dark hour, where seeking solace in his arms seems like a good idea only because of my circumstances.

This man tried to kill you. Then, he lied to you.

But then he saved you. Helped you. Understood you like no one else ever has.

"The sun is about to rise here, you know?" He stands up and I follow him with my eyes. He extends his hand towards me, "Come, I want to show you something."

I take his hand and see a corner of his mouth lift. He throws his cloak on my shoulders and leads me outside, only with his t-shirt on. Maybe the Angel of Death does not feel the cold.

We walk alongside each other until we stand on a ledge, sticking out a few feet from the mountainside. I am curious and perhaps a little suspicious.

"Stay there and don't move," he orders and turns his back to me. Facing the precipice, Death begins to take off his shirt. I watch his back muscles rolling under his golden skin, trying not to drool too much.

Then it happens. Large, thick wings appear out of thin air. At first, like wisps of immaterial white light. Spectral-like, translucent. Then, it is replaced by long, grey, white and brown feathers. Similar to those of an owl, but longer. Way, longer. One feather might measure the length of my forearm. Thick veins peak out from under them, like muscles. They look strong, deadly.

His wings are beautiful.

"Oh my god..." I mutter, awestruck. For a minute, I stay rooted in place, unsure of what to do. I kind of want to touch them.

I run my finger along one of the feathers, but he jerks it away.

"Don't touch them, they're sensitive!"

"What?" I blurt.

"Just don't touch them, ok? You can look, but that's it."

"But, they look so fluffy."

"They most certainly are not fluffy," he turns his head sideways to look at me over his shoulder, "Those feathers are sharper than razor blades."

"What about those fuzzy bits?" I ask, unconvinced.

"What fuzzy bits?" he almost sounds self-conscious.

"There." I point to a little area at the top of his wings, where I can see what looks like soft fur.

"That's what protects my skin from being cut, please don't call them fuzzy bits ever again."

"Ok, whatever. I think they're cool."

"Yeah?" he asks. I can detect the hope in his voice and I am not sure if I find it endearing or heartbreaking. Maybe Death is not used to getting compliments. Maybe he wants to impress me. That would be a compliment to me. When one of the most powerful beings in the entire universe wants to impress me.

"Don't let that get to your head either. I've seen many cool things." I shrug, trying to make myself sound nonchalant.

He shakes his head, "Not like this one, sweetheart. Hop on." He puts one knee to the ground and waits.

I hesitate. This might be a once in a lifetime chance. To ride on the back of an angel.

"Come on, Emma, or we'll miss it. I promise it will take your mind off things," he taunts.

"No funny business, promise?"

"No funny business unless you ask for some," he winks.

I scrunch my nose. I think that was a sex joke.

Whatever. "Alright." I circle my arms around his neck and jump so that my legs wrap around his waist. He grabs them on each side of him and before I can focus any more on the fact that I am pressed against in a very intimate way, he launches for the sky.

Winds whips at my face and I bury my head in his neck, shielded by the hood on my head. My gravity shifts and I tense.

"Relax," he whispers.

Right now, I am about as relaxed as a turkey around Thanksgiving.

"Yep, I'm good."

"You sure? 'Cause if you tighten those thighs any more, I'm afraid you're going to break them." I immediately loosen them, but he holds them in place and chuckles.

We slowly come to a stop, hanging loosely at least 900 feet off the mountain as his wings bat against the air. "Open your eyes."

The first thing I do is look down, where the cottage is merely a black dot in a sea of white. The mountains look tiny from up here. Way less intimidating than they had when we first arrived.

When I look up, my eyes widen. I watch as the small golden sphere rises from the horizon, casting shimmering orange and pink rays over the white snow below. The clouds dance around the rays, mixing with its vivid colours in a spectacle of light and shadow. The view is breathtaking and I have no words to express the beauty before me. I watch with my mouth agape, unable to take my eyes off the landscape. This has nothing to do with the sunrises you can see from down below.

One thing is certain though. All thoughts of my burned-down house escapes my mind.

"Amazing isn't it?" he murmurs.

I nod, "I'll endure you forever if it means I can see that anytime I want," I joke.

"You speak as though you have a choice."