15. Raven
The Killian didn’t fight fair.
Not that I particularly cared in my present state of mind.
Sure, I wasn’t remotely okay with his want for my death.
Not in the slightest. I wasn’t ready to cross that bridge.
But the more compelling drive currently pushing me was an inner storm of fire and ash and total oblivion.
I wanted to break things. Destroy them beyond comprehension.
A whoosh, whoosh, whoosh filled my ears. Vibrated across my skin.
I was furious with the Killian, but I was equally angry with, basically, everyone.
I was mad at Valen for being a pushy, irritating jerk.
Mad at the queen for trapping me in the current situation.
Mad at Winter because he eased the discomfort of the ice magic lingering in my system and confused my feelings.
I hated feeling beholden to him. Hated needing him in such a manner. Hated going against my motto of not getting involved.
I was mad at Aldine for dying and abandoning me and Chace in the damn reap of a task…
not that I could truly hold him at fault.
And I was mad at Chace for leaving me alone to figure out the reaping job.
Rationally, I knew his absence wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t stop the anger from roiling through my body and soul.
Every kick and swing I took at the Killian failed to land its mark. He used whatever magic he had that stopped time, thus enabling him to shift feet and yards around me in nothing more than a blink.
And it wasn’t just the Killian I was fighting, because his image kept flickering between the many faces of those who ignited my emotions. Winter, Chace, Valen…the Killian.
If I could get one hit upon my target, maybe I’d feel better. Be able to expel all that ugly energy building inside of me with violence. Send the darkness away from me through the harsh contact.
As if sensing my need, or possibly taunting me, the Killian stilled, allowing me to land my boot straight to his abdomen. The slam of my foot against his body was like kicking a wall—hard and immovable. The hit rattled my bones.
Whoosh, whoosh.
Before my foot could securely swing back to the ground and provide purchase, he captured my ankle and, with a lift and twist, sent me in a sideways spin.
The ground swirled around me, rose up, and slapped me in the face.
No sooner had I hit the stone than I jumped back on my feet, stared down Valen and pulled my scythe free, preparing to strike.
Valen became Winter, and I hesitated. Despite my anger, I didn’t want to cut down the prince. Only as quickly as the prince stood there, he vanished. The Killian took his place. He knocked the scythe from my hand, sending the reaper tool skittering out of reach.
Crap.
Valen, Winter, the Killian. I was losing my mind. Why was my chest bursting with such uncontrollable rage? And what magic was the Killian utilizing that had me seeing so many faces masked upon his own?
Or was it my mind creating such a trick?
After all, my skin was too tight, my bones aching and shaking, and my lungs were failing to drag breath.
I clenched my fist in the air and screamed. Spewed into the air a wail of hellish demon vileness that poisoned my system. Then I narrowed my sights and charged the Killian.
Before I could reach him, he turned to mist, and from the mist stepped Chace.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
I was mad at him too, for…something. I believed, thought, suspected maybe, my directed anger held true. I didn’t slow my attack.
The man wearing Chace’s face splayed his hands at his sides and approached weapon-free. “What are you—”
I tackled him to the ground.
“Dammit,” he said with a growl and shoved me sideways, twisting and pinning me beneath him. “Reaping hell, Raven. What’s gotten into you?”
I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. The rage had control…and it likely wasn’t really Chace at all, but the Killian attempting to manipulate me. Trick me.
“Stop this.” He snagged my arm, pushed to his feet, and attempted to pull me into a hold.
Red and ash tinted my vision as I slammed my elbow into his chin. With a grunt, he released me and stumbled back a couple steps.
“That hurt.” He spat blood on the stone at his feet.
I swung and missed as he dodged at the last second, barely clearing my strike.
“Raven.” His voice was tempered, soft and reluctant.
He sounded as if he were speaking to a wild animal.
Maybe that’s what I was: wild, untamed, ready to pounce. I no longer felt like myself. Roiling lava owned my inner workings.
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.
His nostrils flared and eyes widened, dark and impossibly animated. As if lightning were crackling across the gathering storm of his irises.
He sucked back a sharp breath. “Shit, Raven. You’re not—”
I spun, connecting my heel with his face. His body jerked to the side, but he didn’t go down.
“Fuck.” He bent over, pushing at his jaw, massaging. The ink of his tattoo, currently creeping up past his neck, contorted with the motion. “Will you please stop it? I don’t want to hurt you. I’m trying to help you.”
A sharp laugh burst from my lips, yet I had noted the male had come into the fight with nothing other than defensive moves.
He could have lunged at me in full-offense mode.
I was certain he was trained for it. All reapers were.
No doubt the Killian was no different…or Chace, if that was who truly stood before me.
I shook that notion away with another scream then pressed my palms to the side of my head. I had started this confrontation with the Killian. No doubt it was still the Killian I faced off with. Nothing else made any sense. Not that what was unfolding made sense, either.
Still, it had been a while since he had utilized his magical time tool, blinking around me, easily avoiding my attacks.
Reaping hell.
I was confused.
Whatever the thing was that had taken up residence inside of me, it was winning the struggle, taking command of my senses and faculties.
It clouded my vision, my thoughts, and reason.
My body shook with the effort to maintain a sliver of control, but that control was slipping…
had slipped…and I was sliding beneath the waters of dominance.
No! I couldn’t allow the darkness to win.
From the coil within my belly, Winter’s magic erupted. Racing through my system and attacking the wicked corruption slithering through my veins. My skin frosted, my fingers turned blue, and my sight glazed with a fine crystalline layer.
Somewhere, someone was screaming. Maybe it was me. I couldn’t be sure.
And the male before me—the Killian or Chace—pounced. Pinned me against the wall, trapped my hands in his, and ignited his collector’s eye.
He was using a reaper’s tool…on me!
I jerked and flailed, but for all my attempts, I remained entombed in his restraint. When the white light of the collector’s eye washed over me, my fight evaporated. Velvety soft waves crashed into me, smoothing over the sharp edges of my aggression.
Under the combined push and pull of Winter’s magic and the reaper’s tool, my urges and desires shifted. The struggle remained but had softened. Became warmth spreading through my limbs instead of a volcano erupting in my chest. And the all-encompassing white light of the collector’s eye…
“Don’t fight me,” he said softly. “I don’t know how this happened, but I can help. Just give me—"
I slammed my forehead into his, cutting off the powered-up reaper’s tool.
His hold gave. I spun us around, turning the tables, pressing him against the wall, and thrusting him into the fixed state of the defeated. His hands thrust between us as if to stop me, hold me back. But as one clamped down on my shoulder, the other flattened against my breast.
The burst of shock in his eyes matched the spur of emotion sparking to life within me.
His fingers curled, and his gaze dipped to his hand then shot back to my face. “I—"
The whooshing in my ears exploded into a frenzy.
I fisted his shirt in both my hands and tossed myself backwards, tugging him with me and sending us into a roll and tumble. He landed, his back to the ground, immobilized beneath me.
His tousled hair obscured his forehead, but the face I gazed upon was still Chace. Not the Killian, but Chace, my fellow reaper. The reaper who had been missing, locked up in a cage somewhere, and now he was here, beneath me. Warm and real, and…clearly aroused.
My thoughts stilled, and the sound all around me faded.
His gaze clouded and his lips separated, and heat pooled at our point of contact.
Mere moments ago, I’d been mad at him, but why? Why had I been mad, when in truth, I’d been worried for days about his condition and whereabouts?
The hostility seeped from my muscles. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
My ragged breath dragged through my chest as my shoulders slumped, and my gaze wandered the lines of his face, the crash of emotions in his silver-flecked eyes—confusion, concern, want…
I averted my gaze, dipped my attention to his lips. Slightly open, split and wet with blood.
His hands settled on my hips, then slid to my thighs, drawing my gaze back to his. “I think I know what’s wrong. And I believe I can help if you’ll let me.”
His voice softened my edge and thawed the portions of me that were chilled with Winter’s magic. I returned my gaze to his expressive, inviting lips.
“Raven. I—”
The whooshing that had previously consumed my hearing was replaced with the too-loud thump of my heart.
I dove my fingers through his hair and captured his next word with my mouth, crashing my lips to his.
I didn’t know what I was doing, what prompted my action, but he tasted of honey-brewed whisky and rainy-day fires, chocolate and sin.
And his hair…darker than midnight and as soft as spun silk. I would gladly stroke it for days.
“Gods,” I moaned.
The taste of his skin, his bloody lip, was euphoric. Similar to the induced effects felt from a dapple of unicorn blood on the tongue.
A low rumble in his chest responded, his tongue gliding along the seam of my lips. I opened for him, and he accepted, plunging forward, devouring, and deepening our kiss.
His hands pulled at me. One wrapping gently along the nape of my neck, the other sliding up my back and drawing me closer, removing the space between our bodies. We were touching in all the places—soft places, hard places, unholy-gods-please-touch-me places.
My heart tripped over itself as it beat faster, more wildly.
And the feel of his tongue inside of me, of his body beneath me, hard and wanting… Reaping hell, it set me aflame.
How had I gone from trying to beat Chace to kissing him? More than kissing him. Because what we were doing in the middle of the street was no mere shared kiss. And I should stop. I knew I should. And yet I didn’t. Neither did he pull away.
Valen, the Killian, both were forgotten. Our family feuds, forgotten. Words, lost. All that existed in that moment was the touch and feel of our skin and our devouring kiss. Hands clutching, teeth mashing, lips melding.
Hands dropped onto my shoulders, stilling my motions. Chace lay beneath me, our mouths resting against each other’s, our breaths heavy and mingled. And his gaze…what? Inquisitive?
I slowly raised my head and turned my attention to the guard clutching my right shoulder. Fight once more began to bloom in my chest, but I stifled the emotion. Whatever Chace had done with his collector’s eye, he had given me the strength to wrangle control of my actions.
A guard stood on either side of me, each with a firm grasp on one of my shoulders.
“You’ve been summoned by the Crown,” the guard said.
The Crown. Now? Reaping queen.
But as frustrated as I found myself, the timing was good. A necessary stop to actions I wasn’t ready for and might later regret.
I shifted my gaze back to Chace. His soft lips, warmed, stormy eyes.
Might. Might regret.
But I couldn’t bring myself to think as such now. Not with the feel of his kiss…and blood…still tingling on my lips.
I allowed the guards to yank me to my feet. I had, after all, signed a contract with the queen, and the last thing I wanted was to break confidence and forfeit my life…per my own blood sealing the deal.
Chace shifted up to his elbows, preparing to stand. “Raven—”
The sharp end of a bayonet pressed to his chest.
His gaze dropped to the threat then shifted to the guard behind the action before swinging his attention back to me. I was already moving…or being moved…beyond the circle, onto one of the converging avenues leading in the direction of the palace.
I watched him over my shoulder as I continued to put distance between us.
I blurted the only word I could drag from my lips, “Sorry.”
A rough yank on my arm swung me around, and my attention momentarily shot skyward. Birds—too-many-to-count crows—flew overhead. Had they been here all along?
Reaping hell, I was a mess.
And Chace, he had helped anchor me…if only for a while.
And now, I was leaving him on the street, with a guard leering over him, a weapon pressed to his chest, and his expression… I couldn’t purge it from my thoughts.
Was he as bewildered and enraptured by our actions as I was?