Chapter 7
Ruadan
“Shoes off,” the sin-eater demanded as we stepped into his apartment. I watched as he kicked off his own, using his toes to scoot them off to the side, before I followed suit.
I looked up and came to a dead stop, stunned beyond words.
The sin-eater’s apartment was tiny, but that wasn’t what shocked me.
It was the riot of chaos and color. It was overwhelming—but not necessarily in a bad way.
Everywhere my eyes landed, there was something to observe.
A delicate teapot, painted by hand with the petals of a violet iris.
An incense burner made from clay, shaped like the body of a man curled over his bent knees, his muscular back on display.
Foreign coins, in gold, silver, copper, from countries that no longer existed, hand-stamped and uneven, worth more now than they ever were before.
I kept my expression neutral as I browsed the row of shelves along one wall, even as my curiosity bubbled beneath the surface.
I had so many questions—I was the god of spying, after all, but this was not the kind of mystery I could solve on my own.
The sin-eater was nothing like I would’ve guessed from his appearance, and I hated how much I loved his space.
Reaching out carefully, I lifted the lid of a small box, made from intricate gold filigree and chips of tortoiseshell, and the stale aroma of tobacco still lingered inside.
“The snuffbox was a gift from Lord Albert Prescott, in 1837. His wife died suddenly of a fever before the priest could arrive, and he feared for her mortal soul. The very next day, he had me run out of town, complete with torches and pitchforks.” He sighed as I replaced the lid, knocking over a glass figurine of a little girl with an umbrella.
“Try not to break anything,” the sin-eater grumbled as he carried the paper bag of food toward a doorway, which I assumed led to the kitchen. “You’re like a bull in a china shop.”
I was reluctant to follow when there was so much to see, but my grumbling stomach insisted. I took one last look around the small living room, seeing it through a fresh set of eyes. “So, all those trinkets…” I said as I ducked through the narrow doorframe into the outdated kitchen.
“Payment, yeah.” He set the food down on the two-seater table in the corner and began to unload the food.
“Why wouldn’t you sell the items if they were payment?
Some of these are priceless relics, worth more than I could guess.
Museums would pay a pretty penny to have anything here be a part of their collection.
” He could easily afford to live somewhere far swankier than this place, if he so chose.
At least somewhere with a better view from the window, instead of the brick wall of the building next door.
He shrugged, opening a utensil drawer and grabbing us each a spoon. “It doesn’t feel right to profit off someone’s death.”
“It’s a job,” I said as I pulled out a chair at the table. It creaked dangerous as I lowered into it, and Ulysses snorted.
“Why don’t you shift into something a bit less…
rugged,” he suggested, waving his spoon at me, “before you break my furniture. Don’t feel like you have to keep up the pretense of being all big and burly for my sake.
I’m not some sucker for a pretty face, I won’t fall for your manipulation.
You’re probably five-foot nothing in real life, aren’t you. With a combover and buck teeth.”
I let his snide comment about my appearance wash over me, before leaning back in the chair, provoking it to let out another warning groan. I broke out in a shit-eating grin as I realized he was deflecting. “You think I’m hot,” I teased.
“What? I do not,” he grumbled defensively, barely able to look at me as his cheeks pinked up. He tried to turn his attention to his pho, adding an aggressive amount of hot sauce.
“You do,” I drawled, flexing my pecs to make them pop a few times, his attention zeroing straight in on them before he could stop himself.
“Well, I hate to tell you this, but this is all me, sin-eater, no magic about it. Why mess with perfection?” I taunted, trailing a hand down my chest and drawing his gaze lower.
The poor boy’s face was practically glowing with heat.
“If it’s making it hard for you to focus, though, I could switch to something else.
A woman, perhaps? The pope? A yeti? Just as long as they have opposable thumbs, cause I’m starving,” I said, leaning forward and grabbing a spoon, breathing in the fragrant steam coming off my bowl before dipping in my spoon.
He paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “So you can change into anyone? Anything?”
I shrugged, a little smug. “Sure.”
“What about a rock?” he asked.
“I have, in fact. It’s great for a stakeout. Nobody suspects a rock.”
“What about a dragon?” The way he said it, I was sure he thought he’d stumped me, but he would have to try harder than that. If my imagination could conjure it, I could claim the shape.
“Of course, but if you were worried about me breaking your chair as a human, a dragon would break a whole lot more than that.”
“Not if you were a teacup dragon,” he said, biting on that delectable lower lip of his to hold back a giggle. “Something I could tuck into my pocket.”
“If you want me in your pants, sin-eater, all you have to do is ask,” I purred, reaching across the small table to drag a fingertip over the back of his hand.
He jerked his hand back like he’d been burned, choking on his pho, and I laughed. “It’s the pho… it’s spicy,” he claimed tightly. And while I’d seen just how much hot sauce he’d used, I had a feeling that wasn’t it at all.
I took pity on the poor guy and changed the subject. “Fair is fair,” I said, turning the tables on him. “How does your power work then?”
“I don’t know how it works, exactly, just that I can draw a person’s sins from their body into mine.
I can sense people’s sins on them, a bit like walking into a restaurant and guessing what they have on the menu, but there’s no point in purging them when they’re still alive, since they’ll just sin again.
I mean, it’s human nature, isn’t it? To want something, and to take it.
And then once I take it into my body, I…
digest it. It affords me a long life, and it leaves their soul pure so that they can pass through to the underworld, without risk of punishment for their misdeeds in life.
” I would have to ask Lagamal’s opinion on this guy, scrubbing souls clean before he could condemn them.
“But what about your soul?” I asked, a hollow pit opening up inside me, churning with something akin to dread. “Where does that leave you when it comes time to leave this earth?”
He gave me a self-deprecating smile and another of those damn shrugs. “I don’t know the answer to that, but I’ll be sure to let you know once I cross over.”
An uncomfortable feeling settled inside me somewhere, dangerously close to my heart. It was almost like pity, but mixed with awe in all that he’d done for others. We stared at each other for a long moment, and that pit in my chest yawned wider, deeper, begging to be filled with something.
So what did I do? I panicked. Clenching my jaw, I sneered, “That almost sounds selfless… if only you didn’t benefit from it.
Living forever? People have sold their souls for less.
” I arched my brow, letting my earlier mistrust of the sin-eater rise up in me, but as his face fell, I hated myself for what I’d said.
Just like that, the fragile truce we’d begun to build came tumbling down.
His gaze dropped down to the table, and he seemed to shrink right before my eyes. “Right. What a great deal,” he said, his voice flat. He shoved back from the table, his fists bunched, his food barely touched.
“Hey, I didn’t mean…” I reached for him, but what was I going to do? Hug him? I let my hand drop. I sighed. “I’m sorry. Please stay and finish your meal.”
“I’m not hungry. I had a big lunch, remember?” He refused to look at me as he stomped off, mumbling about taking that bath.
I heard a door slam down the hall. “I’ll just sleep on the couch then?” I called after him, but he didn’t answer. Should I leave? He hadn’t asked me to, and I couldn’t ignore the connection I felt with him. I truly believed our paths had been meant to cross, whether it was Danu’s doing or fate’s.
“Fuck, you idjit,” I muttered to myself. “Learn to keep your big mouth shut.”
I cleaned up the kitchen, putting his leftover food in the fridge for later, then undressed down to my boxers, turned out the lights, and made myself as comfortable as I could on the too-short, too-narrow couch.
My feet hung well over the end, but there was nothing to be done about it.
I’d slept on worse. I pulled a brown-and-orange crocheted blanket off the back and folded it to tuck under my head, listening to the traffic outside, the murmured voices of a neighbor through walls that were far too thin.
Then I listened to the sin-eater take a bath and wondered if there were bubbles.
Fuck. It’s going to be a long night.
The room was nearly pitch black when I woke up, just a faint glow from the streetlight outside peeking through the curtains. I blinked up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what woke me. And then I heard it.
A whimper.
I froze, listening. It was followed by a low, frightened whine and a quiet voice saying, “No, please…” muffled behind a closed door. The sin-eater was having a nightmare.
I lay there, trying to get back to sleep. I told myself I didn’t care, that his dreams were his own business, but as the pitch crested higher, his voice pleading for help, a sense of urgency tore into me. This wasn’t just a dream—it was a night terror.
“Stop!” he screamed with such desperation, the hair on my arms lifted.
And then before making any kind of conscious decision, I was on my feet, moving down the short hall. I set my palm flat on the door, my chest heaving as my heart raced. “Sin-eater?” I called through the door, but his shrieks continued. “I’m coming in,” I warned, then shoved open the door.
I could just make him out in the shadows, shirtless, writhing on the bed, sheets twisted around him arms and legs, like he’d been thrashing violently—trying to escape whatever had him trapped in his dreams.
Stepping over beside his bed, I hovered there, unsure how to help.
His skin glistened with sweat, his face scrunched up as though in pain as he kicked at the air.
“Hey, sin-eater, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.
” There was no sign that he’d heard me, so I knelt on the bed beside him and took his shoulders in my hands, giving him a little shake.
“Wake up!” I shouted to be heard over his keening wail.
His eyes snapped open, but there was something wrong with them.
Even in the dark, it was like staring into a soulless hell, even the whites had turned an infinite black.
Shit, what was happening? At least he’d stopped screaming.
Did this have anything to do with that black smoke I’d seen coming off him?
Was he somehow possessed now too?
He showed no sign of recognizing who I was. “Are you awake?” I asked, waving a hand in front of his face. He bared his teeth at me, and his arm snapped out, grabbing me by the throat, his fingers squeezing my trachea. I clawed his wrist, tried to peel him off, but he was too strong. What the fuck?
“Wake… up,” I wheezed, fighting for breath.
The sin-eater’s legs twined around mine, and suddenly the room was spinning as he flipped me to my back, pinning me beneath him. He shouldn’t have been this strong, shouldn’t have bested me without even trying—in his sleep!—but “should’ve” didn’t matter. Only that it was happening.
Giving up on prying his hand away, I tried bucking him off me, shoving at his chest, but it was no use. It was like he felt no pain. Like he wasn’t inside his body at all…
Black spots began to form in the corners of my vision as my brain screamed for oxygen. “Uly!” I hissed sharply with the last air from my lungs, and it was his nickname, the one I’d been avoiding using, that seemed to break the spell.
Ulysses’ eyes cleared, the black retreating until they were his usual whiskey gold. He immediately let go of me, and I took deep, shuddery breaths, coughing, my throat burning. It was all too much.
When I fell back against the pillow, a gentle touch brushed my cheek, and when I opened my eyes, I found him blinking down at me. “Ruadan? What happened? Are you okay?” He was actually worried about me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone asked me if I was okay.
“I… You…” My voice was raspy, and I didn’t know what to say, how to explain the position we currently found ourselves in. How he’d nearly choked the life from me, but now we were in his bed, and he was straddling me, my hands gripping his hips like I was holding on for dear life—maybe I was.
Emotions were running high, hearts already racing, both of us half naked…
It seemed as natural as breathing when he tipped forward, and I surged up to meet him halfway, and suddenly, his lips were on mine, my hands in his hair.
I was pretty sure he’d kissed me first, but the question remained. Why was I kissing him back?