Chapter Ten
Alex surveyed his work and gave a satisfied nod. Needing a physical channel for his frustration, he’d put it to good use in the hidden rose garden. He was covered in grime and sweat, but the overgrown ivy had been ripped away from a large section of the gazebo.
He lifted the tail of his shirt and wiped his forehead. While he enjoyed the manual labor, he wasn’t enjoying sweating in the heat. “Thanks, Dad,” he muttered.
Temporarily having his abilities curtailed—including being able to naturally regulate his body temperature—took getting used to. He’d have to be careful not to get heatstroke. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the pants if he ended up at the local emergency clinic?
From what he could see, a few of the floorboards and a couple of posts were rotten, but it wouldn’t take much to replace them. A fresh coat of paint and the structure would be as good as new.
Not that it was likely to happen. Cilla would be gone before the repair work was completed…if it ever was. He couldn’t see the assignment dragging out for more than a few days now that he’d been shown she was his target.
Mood soured, he dragged his fingers through his hair and tilted back his head to stare up at the sky. A flash of red caught his eye. A northern cardinal swooped past, heading deeper into the surrounding woods. At least it wasn’t that damn crow.
He wanted Cilla more than he could ever remember wanting a woman.
The longer he spent in her company, the worse the longing became.
A craven coward, he’d fled the house after he’d finished the plumbing repairs rather than be near her tempting presence.
His job was to reap her soul when she crossed over, not run away.
“Yeah, right. Crossed over. Sounds bloody neat and tidy.” The harsh reality was she was going to die, either in an accident of some kind or she’d be murdered. Given her current circumstances, he was confident it was the latter option. Then again, there was no telling with the Fates.
Whatever happened, either by accident or design, he’d have to stand by and watch the life fade from those intelligent green eyes.
The sun beat down on his head, but his mood was black. He’d never felt more alone than he did in this moment.
How had Samael done it? How had he spent time with a person only to have to stand back and watch them die? Assuming he’d had the same assignment. That wasn’t a given by any means, but it was the most likely scenario considering they’d been dropped in the same town.
It wasn’t the first time Death had pitted the brothers against one another in a set of challenges, but the stakes had never been this high. Their father likely thought he was pushing them to be better. Instead, he’d driven an invisible wedge between his sons that had grown as the centuries passed.
He was driving himself to distraction. Leaving the leaves and vines in a pile until Cilla told him what she wanted done with them, he ducked beneath the overgrown trees and followed the path to the back yard.
He’d grab something to eat, check on Cilla—because like it or not, she was the reason he was here—and get back to work. His preternatural strength might have been curtailed, but he was nowhere near tired.
At least he’d be able to get a shower when he was done for the day. He’d handled that problem earlier. A small blessing, but one he’d take.
A door slammed in the distance, and seconds later, a car started. The guests had all left earlier and Rosa was off today. Alex lengthened his stride until he was almost running. Had Richard come back? Cilla wasn’t dead. He’d have been called to her if that was the case. Wouldn’t he?
There was nothing about this situation he could take for granted. None of the normal rules applied.
When he burst through the back door there was no sign of her in the kitchen. His eyebrows drew together and his pulse kicked up. “Cilla!”
A muffled sob had the fine hairs on the back of his neck rising. Spurred by the knowledge something was wrong, he bolted into the hallway. She was seated on the floor with her head buried against her knees. His heart momentarily stopped before taking off at a galloping beat.
Not dead, but far from okay. He battled with his need for separation and the instinct to offer comfort. It was no contest.
She flinched when he dropped to his knees and put his arm around her. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He couldn’t offer platitudes and tell her everything would be okay, because it wouldn’t. He might not tell her the truth, but he drew the line at lying.
She turned her head into his chest, her fingers clutching his shirt while her tears soaked it. The barrier he’d placed around his heart cracked easier than the eggs she’d broken this morning for breakfast.
He swallowed heavily, blinking back the sudden moisture in his eyes. He held her until the crying stopped, occasionally kissing the top of her head. He was skating down a slippery slope, one that could land him in a heap of trouble. But he couldn’t stop himself.
She took a shuddering breath. “I didn’t mean to cry all over you.” She pulled away and scrubbed her hands over her face. “I’ve made a mess of your shirt.”
“It was already a mess. I’ve been working in the garden.
” It wasn’t his business. He shouldn’t get involved.
He’d survived this long by remaining aloof and removed from humans, especially those whose souls he had to reap.
“Did Richard come back?” Even as he cursed himself for asking, he couldn’t stop the question.
Most of her hair had escaped the clip on the top of her head and fallen around her shoulders and face. Her eyes were red with dark circles beneath them. The freckles on her nose stood out in stark contrast to the pallor of her skin. She shook her head, but he would not be deterred. “Cilla?”
Rather than answer, she grabbed hold of the door handle and pulled herself to her feet.
He stood, unsure what to do. He was an immortal, a reaper, a man who’d lived for thousands of years.
He’d seen civilizations rise and fall, watched countless die.
In the end, death came for the king as well as the pauper.
In that respect, there was no difference.
Money or status counted for nothing when it was your time.
In this moment, none of his experience mattered.
Even if he’d had his powers, they’d be useless.
He started to back away, to put some distance between them. Her fate was sealed, but his still hung in the balance. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do to change hers, so why torture himself?
Then he caught a glimpse of her arm.
Every muscle in his body clenched, and his blood ran cold.
Gently catching her by the hand, he studied the red mark.
The walls began to vibrate, the pictures on them shaking.
If his powers weren’t locked down, the house might have exploded around them.
Even with them subdued, some remnant seeped through.
His vision went black as molten fury whipped through him, burning away all thoughts of self-preservation or caution.
“I’ll kill him.” He wasn’t aware of uttering the threat aloud until she shook her head.
“This isn’t your fight.” She’d turned away, seemingly unaware the house had trembled. The few times Alex’s temper had broken loose during the course of his life, those around him had fled in fear for their lives. Cilla wasn’t the slightest bit affected.
“The hell it isn’t.” He needed to shut up. She’d given him the perfect out, and he hadn’t taken it.
“You’re already too involved. Trust me. You need to walk away before my problems infect your life.” She headed down the hall toward her room, most likely intending to shut him out until she’d pulled herself back together.
“To hell with that.” He scooped her off her feet.
“What are you doing? Put me down.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” She pressed her lips together, refusing to answer. They needed to talk, and he wasn’t taking a chance at being interrupted.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he carried her to the second floor. The carpet runner muffled the sound of his boots as he strode down the hallway. He took her into his room and set her down carefully on the side of the bed. “Stay here. If you leave, I’ll only chase you.”
“Bully,” she muttered without much heat.
Leaving her scowling at him, he went to the bathroom long enough to dampen a washcloth. He went down on one knee in front of her and wiped her tearstained face.
“I can do it.” She caught his wrist, her fingers unable to come anywhere near to wrapping around it.
Reluctantly, he handed the cloth over to her. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Do you need to go to the hospital?” He wasn’t used to having to think about such things. Whenever he sustained injuries, they immediately healed.
“It’s nothing.” She lightly ran her fingers over the mark. The redness had faded some, but a dark smudge was already beginning to show. “I’m like a banana, I bruise easily.”
Her attempt at levity failed. There was no way to make light of this. She was trying to project confidence, but she didn’t sound as though she believed what she was saying any more than he did.
“I appreciate you letting me cry all over you.” She tossed the cloth onto the bedside table and rubbed her forehead.
“Was it your brother?” Alex wasn’t sure if she was holding back out of some misguided notion of trying to protect Richard.
If he’d beaten the man senseless yesterday none of this would have happened.
He’d have been too busy nursing his own wounds to bother his sister.
Of course, Alex would likely be sitting in a jail cell, and his father would be none too happy.
In the past, Alex always walked away from violence of any kind. The petty fights and world battles of humans weren’t his business. This time, though, it was personal.
“Not Richard.”
That surprised him. If it wasn’t her brother, then who had upset her? “What happened?”