Kieran (Blackwell Brothers Redemption #3)

Chapter One

“They did what?” Kieran Blackwell stared at his father in utter disbelief.

“Your brothers have forsaken their immortality,” he repeated.

His chest squeezed tight. Only millennia of hiding his true feelings allowed him to keep his face impassive while his mind scrambled to process the bombshell that had been dropped on him. How had such a thing happened? “They bargained with the Fates?”

Such a thing was unheard of.

“No.”

Thunder roared in his ears. No, wait. That was his heartbeat pounding in his head. He swallowed heavily. “I don’t understand.” No one cheated Death and lived to tell about it. His feeble attempt at internal humor fell flat. There was nothing remotely funny about the situation.

With a black cloak covering him from head to toe, an eight-foot scythe held in one hand, and a crow seated on his shoulder, the Grim Reaper was exactly what one expected him to be.

Kieran had been enjoying a rare evening at home when the interior of his condo had been replaced by impenetrable shadows.

It had been decades since he’d seen his father.

He’d assumed something monumental had brought him here. Talk about an understatement.

“I was…displeased by the way your brothers have been conducting business. They reap souls, but there is no empathy, no sense of pride. It is no more than a menial task, something to check off their to-do lists.” Black eyes pinned Kieran in place. “They are not like you.”

Breathe, damn it, and act normal. “I’m pleased you’re satisfied with my performance.” As a reaper, and one of the Grim Reaper’s three sons, there was a lot of pressure on him. They’d each found ways to cope.

When the curved blade of the scythe was pointed directly at him, Kieran forced himself not to flinch. The deadly weapon could destroy even the gods. For a reaper, it was the end. There was no afterlife for his kind.

“Their assignments were simple—reap a soul of my choosing in an acceptable manner.” The crow cawed and flapped his wings before resettling. Long fingers stroked the bird’s feathers. “My apologies, Malaki.”

Kieran glared at his father’s longtime companion. He sometimes believed his father loved the damn crow more than his sons. He certainly spent more time with the creature.

“Now it is your turn.” His father’s ominous pronouncement brought reality tumbling down around him with a heavy thud.

“I thought you were satisfied with my performance.” The gods knew he worked at it.

“Your assignment is slightly different. More of an opportunity. I’m offering you a chance to save your brothers.

If you convince them to reap the souls of their intended targets, and you reap your chosen soul, I’ll restore their immortality, and all will be forgiven.

Unlike your brothers, you have a choice whether or not to accept. ”

“What’s the catch?” Because there was always one.

The corners of his father’s mouth turned up in a smile that was in no way reassuring.

“You have always been clever.” It sounded more like a criticism than a compliment.

“If you take on the task and fail, you forfeit and pay a price, one of your choosing—either eternal exile to Shadowland or you lose your immortality and spend the remainder of a human life in the same small community as your brothers.”

Kieran’s brain worked frantically, assessing the pros and cons of the situation. There was too much at stake to act rashly. His future, his very life, was on the line. His stomach twisted into knots.

I’m an idiot. There was no other reason for him even entertaining accepting the proposal.

It was akin to a suicide mission. Samael and Alexiares were adults.

They’d made their choices understanding full well the consequences of their actions.

But damn it, they were his brothers. The idea that one day they would no longer be there was intolerable.

While they hadn’t been close in centuries, at one time the three of them had been inseparable.

As children, they’d run wild in Shadowland, the home of the reapers.

Their father had always encouraged competition between the three siblings.

Theirs had been a friendly rivalry as boys, but it had grown into something darker and decidedly neither fun nor friendly once they’d taken up their roles as reapers.

For all that, Kieran had always looked up to his brothers, tried to emulate them, but had always fallen short until he’d given up and gone his own way. Now they were in trouble.

If they died, he’d be…alone.

Already regretting his decision, he nodded. “I’ll do it.”

The floor gave way beneath his feet. The dark satisfaction etched on his father’s face was the last thing he saw as he plummeted through a dark portal and slammed into the ground. Groaning, he stared up at the sky. “Was that really necessary?”

His query was greeted by silence.

Planting his hands on the hard-packed dirt, he pushed himself into a seated position. It could have been worse. He could have landed on pavement or sharp rocks. One of the benefits of being a reaper was that his body immediately healed from all injury. But it still hurt, damn it.

Catching his breath, he surveyed his surroundings.

The sun was barely rising above the mountains in the distance.

It had been almost four in the morning back in Los Angeles.

He was likely on the east coast. Or in another country altogether.

He’d landed behind a plain white building with nothing to distinguish it. “I should have gotten more details.”

Too late now. Time to take stock of the situation.

He stood and brushed off his clothes, which had changed along with his location.

The dress pants and linen shirt he’d been wearing had been replaced by faded jeans and a white T-shirt.

Since he’d been barefoot in his kitchen when his father had unexpectedly arrived, he was grateful for the boots.

Bending down, he grabbed a black leather jacket off the ground and shrugged into it.

A quick search of the pockets yielded nothing more than a wallet. How was he supposed to contact his brothers without a phone? “Yeah, I definitely should have asked more questions, made a few stipulations.” Not that bargaining with his father was an option. His word was law.

Kieran noted that his credit cards were missing, and a quick count of the money made him swear. A thousand bucks. That wouldn’t get him far. The only other items remaining were his driver’s license and a condom, neither of which was any good to him in this situation.

Then he shrugged and tucked the wallet into his back pocket. He wouldn’t be here long enough to need more. He’d track down his brothers, fix their mistakes, and be back home in time for a late dinner.

A crow swooped in front of him, then landed on the roof of the building. “Malaki.” He should have expected it. “Here to report back to the old man?”

Caw!

Kieran pointed his finger at him. “Stay out of my way.” The damn bird had always been a tattletale, running to their father about every minor infraction when they were kids. With a roll of his shoulders, he started around the side of the building.

Caw! Malaki tapped his beak against the roof of the building, the implication obvious. This was Kieran’s starting point. He’d momentarily forgotten that he was expected to reap a soul of his father’s choosing while he was here. That was the least of his worries.

His lips curved up into a wicked smile. He’d spent a lifetime cultivating the image of a happy-go-lucky, caring person.

He’d fooled everyone, his brothers and father included.

Some days he almost believed it himself, but he couldn’t outrun the truth.

All his real emotions had been suppressed a long, long time ago, leaving only a tepid facsimile.

The one thread that had tenaciously hung on was the attachment to his brothers.

If they were no longer here, there was nothing to tether him to existence.

An icy finger stroked down his spine. It was a familiar friend of late, one that no longer made him shiver with dread. It would have been easier to leave Samael and Alexiares to their fates. They hadn’t been an integral part of his life for centuries. A part of him wished he had.

But he knew the truth. Once they were gone, he’d go totally cold, unable to feign even basic emotions. He’d bottled up them up so tight he could no longer access them—wasn’t sure he wanted to, even if he could. He either ended up dead or exiled now, or at some point not too far down the road.

Some days, he thought it would be easier to give up the struggle, but he’d never been a quitter. “You’re only prolonging the inevitable.” Even with his brothers by his side, it was only a matter of time. Maybe centuries, but his time was coming.

Cursing himself, he squared his shoulders and headed to the front of the building. “I’m here to save my brothers.” That was something he could do. No one and nothing would get in his way.

…

Georgia Baker swallowed her last mouthful of coffee and rubbed her tired eyes.

She’d been baking for hours, something she usually enjoyed.

But she was exhausted, a victim of her success.

What had started as a small enterprise out of her kitchen had morphed into an actual business.

While that had always been the plan, it had happened sooner than she’d anticipated.

Baker’s Dozen was her pride and joy. The only thing that had been here at the start was the wide plank wooden floor.

She’d chosen everything else, from the blue paint on the walls and white countertops to the quaint bistro tables and chairs and equipment.

It all belonged to her…and the bank. It was a dream come true.

“And it’s going to be the death of me if I don’t hire help.

” She flipped the closed sign to open and unlocked the front door.