Raven
At the corner of Demise Drive and Mortality Lane, set at the center of an otherworld metropolis painted in the milky mists of an afterlife glow, stood the Hall of Reaping Requirements and Acquisitions—a sleek tower of glimmering darkness to which I reported every day when not on task.
Today was one such day.
I climbed the fifty-two stairs from the street to the main lobby and made my way through the building toward the back auditorium for the morning lecture.
Every booted step taken through the lobby and proceeding domed rotunda bounced off the white marble tiles and echoed between the slick sheets of agate lining the walls.
Above, pressed against the impossibly high ceiling of the pavilion, a cloud of flapping black feathers spun—circling crows awaiting their next messenger assignment.
Sometimes—okay, many times—the sensation of the murder of crows’ inky eyes set upon me and prickled across my skin, like they watched me more than any other who crossed beneath their flurry of activity. Did my fellow reapers feel the same?
Halfway across the rotunda, near the God of Death’s center statue, Chace Badden fell into step at my side, a confident swagger in his walk.
“Reaper Gunn,” he said, his delivery a smooth tease I ignored.
Even as my shoulders stiffened at the sight of him―black shirt, two unfastened buttons exposing a hint of skin, and pants snug against his body.
I dipped my gaze below his belt, and a tight breath dragged through my lungs.
Eyes up, Raven. Eyes up.
He snagged my elbow―his touch gentle, casual, as if zero tension existed between us. “Spot something of interest?”
I fought the desire to roll my eyes. Of course he’d shown up today with a megabat-sized chip on his shoulder. An ego, no doubt, inflated by his parents’ never-ending bolstering. And…
A handful of females rushing toward the back hall leading to the auditorium tipped their heads together and, with giggles between them, ogled Chace as they passed.
And that. The way he drew admiring gazes from both females and males alike.
With a gentle tug, he drew me to a stop in the center of the large space. Right beneath the watchful gaze of Thanatos’s towering statue.
“What do you want?” I bit out.
He dipped his head as if about to whisper his response in my ear, his unruly, dark hair draping down his cheek and hiding the inked art currently visible across his jawline and neck.
Did I spy the tail of a snake?
From time to time, I’d noticed edges of the magical design shifting across his skin and coming into view.
Those moments were rare; he usually kept the ink well covered, but occasionally I saw a hint of scales or something wrapped in swarthy, stretched leather.
I’d never witnessed the tattoo move across the fringes of his face before, though.
The inked tail rattled.
With a jolt, I sucked back a sharp wheeze.
“Scared or surprised?” His words…and breath (crisp winter mint)…washed over me.
I slid my gaze from the reptile tattoo to his strong brow and defining jawline. His dark lashes swept down over his captivating, stormy eyes, like rolling rain clouds stirred with silver flecks.
Reaping gods, why did he have to be so…
Sin and desire breathtakingly enveloped in my rival.
Up until that moment, I had managed to avoid making eye contact, because…ugh. I blinked. When had he stepped insufferably close?
“Boundaries.” I yanked free of his light hold and resumed my forward stride, a fraction faster than before.
Keeping pace at my side, he made no attempt to recapture my arm, even as his lips lifted in a smirk and his gaze glided over me. “Apologies.”
Despite my apprehension and irritation, I spared him another quick glance and pretended not to notice, or care about, his wavy dark hair, chiseled jaw, or heart-stopping eyes. On occasion, I thought I spied the colors of the sunrise attempting to break through the moody drama of his irises.
I suppressed a sigh. Beauty was often a trap in nature, and no matter how easy I found him to gaze upon, he would always…always…rank high on my avoidance list.
I refocused on the path ahead. “Why are you bothering me?”
“I wanted to congratulate you on your mission success,” he said, regarding my previous task.
The task had consisted of an unwilling-to-depart mark who’d attempted to use magic to stay his death date. His efforts had hindered the effectiveness of my reaper tools and abilities, given I was a worker bee and not a deity.
Even my seasoned parents would have likely found the reap daunting.
Only, aware of what my challenging task presented, I had come prepared with a secret weapon (tool, really) that gave me an edge. One I’d borrowed, unbeknownst to anyone.
A group dashed past us, heading toward the lecture hall. In their haste, they smacked my left side.
I stopped hard with a hiss and rubbed my upper arm and shoulder. Like them, I too should hustle, and yet I indulged Chace in whatever nonsense he was up to.
Why?
Chace’s attention slid to where I massaged my new ache, and he shot the passing group a cold glare. Stared at their backsides until they’d moved several yards away. With a heave of his chest, he returned his regard to me and smiled. Something about his expression felt like a trap.
My chest tightened, robbing the easy flow of oxygen from my lungs. “You have yet to tell me why you’re really bothering me.”
“Is that so?” His delivery, as smooth as a scythe slice through the air, raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
Or maybe it was the twist of his lip, or the way his gaze felt too much like a caress.
“My father has suggested you cheated.” He surveyed our surroundings. No one stood nearby, yet he lowered his voice even more. “You didn’t cheat, did you?”
A tinge of scrutiny rang in the question, but that familiar search for confirmation resonated stronger. As if he wanted some sort of proof to justify his father’s suspicions.
“I don’t need to cheat.” And yet had I?
Ubel Badden, Chace’s father, was the kind of reaper to sow conflict with his words, be they honest or outright lies. Still, the question remained worth considering.
He grinned. “No doubt.”
Without conscious thought, I glanced at my palm and rubbed the new, ugly bruise decorating my skin. The cheat had extracted an unexpected toll, hence the welt. Something I didn’t care for Chace to ever know, lest he use that information against me. Or his father use it against my family.
Could using the tools at my disposal really be considered cheating?
I tended to think not, but then my father kept the tool locked in his cabinet…and it definitely wasn’t standard issue…even if it was created for the purpose of reaping. Reaping with the ease one might imagine a deity possessed.
Still, at day’s end, the job was the reap, by whatever means were necessary. So…
“Nevertheless,” he said, “just because someone doesn’t need to cheat doesn’t mean they didn’t do the deed.”
My uncommitted frown became the only response I gave to combat his statement, and yet he didn’t take the opportunity to walk away.
I so wished he would.
Instead, he offered me a stick of gum.
“Winterfresh,” he said, waving the gum like some sort of white flag declaring a truce between us.
My mouth popped open. “Are you suggesting my breath stinks?”
“Not in the slightest.” He clucked his tongue. “I was simply trying to be friendly.”
“So not your style.” I waved his offer away. “No thanks.”
“Your loss.” With a shrug, he popped one in his mouth and chewed.
The aroma of him, his breath, the gum…an aphrodisiac. My stomach dipped. A sensation I didn’t need to experience with him.
Wrinkling my nose, I leaned away. Glanced around the rotunda.
Why did I allow Chace to continue monopolizing my time, hold me immobile?
“Some have started calling you Ruthless Raven,” he said, his gaze fixed on me.
I attempted to show no physical reaction and focused on the fragile tightrope he’d chosen to walk, conversing with me when the less-than-pleasant peace between our families was already so delicate. My father had eyes everywhere. No doubt I’d hear about this exchange later tonight over dinner.
Chace pressed onward. “Looks like you’ve earned yourself a pretty cool nickname.”
I pulled my lips into a tight line, unglued my feet from their static position, and once more resumed my trek toward the lecture hall. He continued to keep pace and remained close at my side.
Maybe he found the term ruthless cool, but I sure didn’t. The nickname sounded harsh and cold, two things I didn’t care to have associated with my persona. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me to find out he started the spread of my new, endearing title.
I’d never shown him any other side of myself beyond the professional mask I often wore. He had no way of knowing I wanted to be a gentle guide at an existence’s defining track change.
At the edge of the rotunda, as we skirted around the escalators from the underground levels—the gathering ground for lower death-linked supernaturals such as banshees, cyhyraeths, and bean-nighes―moans and howls from below joined the din within the pavilion.
The Hall of Reaping Requirements and Acquisitions catered to all death-related beings, outside of the death gods themselves. They—the gods—had become more of a myth in recent generations, having stilled their involvement in the transitioning of souls.
But the ability to step back from the workload was likely the reason the gods, or one death god in particular, Thanatos, had created the reapers in the first place.
Imagining the God of Death relaxing before a roaring fire, legs stretched out, and a glass of dark liqueur in hand always conjured a silent giggle within my chest.
What did the gods like to do with their free time, anyway?
I hadn’t a clue. But chillin’ twenty-four seven? Highly unlikely.