Chapter Fifteen
As much as it pained Alex, he owed Malaki. The bird’s earlier appearance had snapped the sensual snare that threatened his control. More than anything, he needed to maintain discipline until he was finished here and could return to his “real” life.
When he’d landed in Redemption, he’d been confident in his ability to successfully complete his assignment. But the longer he spent around Cilla, the more that confidence eroded. Around her, years of discipline and iron control disintegrated.
He slammed the hammer downward with more force than necessary, driving the nail all the way in with one solid strike. With the lawns finished, he’d moved on to minor house repairs. Anything to avoid going inside.
Cilla had helped Rosa with the bags when she’d returned from grocery shopping and had remained inside.
He grabbed another nail and hammered it into place.
The structure of the front steps was in decent condition but some of the top boards had warped over time and were loose.
They needed to be replaced. This was a temporary repair.
He yanked on the board, satisfied when it didn’t move and went on to the next.
“There are sandwich fixings in the fridge if you’re hungry.” Rosa stepped out onto the porch. He wondered if Cilla had sent her rather than come herself. “It’s after one. You’ve been working outside for hours. You need to hydrate or you’ll give yourself heatstroke.”
“I’m fine.” Only he wasn’t. He was sweaty and tired, the heat combining with the physical activity to drain him.
“Suit yourself, but you’ll be no good to Cilla if you’re too weak to stand up on your two feet.”
He pressed his lips together and slammed the hammer down again. What was worse than unsolicited advice was unsolicited advice that was correct. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Up to you.” When she went to step around him, he noticed she had her purse.
“Running more errands?”
She slipped her sunglasses on. “Heading home. I’m working only a half day. You take care of yourself…and her.”
Something in her tone alerted him. “She told you about yesterday.”
“Of course she did. Cilla’s my best friend. She tells me everything.” The emphasis on the last word left no doubt that Rosa was well aware what had happened between him and Cilla last night. “You’ll be here tonight?”
“She won’t be alone.”
“Good.” With that parting word, she left.
Alex hammered two more nails—two more than necessary—before giving in to the inevitable.
He couldn’t stay outside forever. After testing the porch steps, he gathered the tools and supplies and let himself inside, appreciating the coolness that wrapped around him.
There was no sign of Cilla in the kitchen.
He continued on to the utility room, returning everything he’d borrowed.
It was as good a time as any to take a break. Fatigue aside, anything was better than sitting around waiting for the inevitable end to arrive. His stomach growled, reminding him the apple he’d grabbed on his way out the door this morning wasn’t enough to sustain a man his size.
After washing up, he checked the fridge.
As promised, he found sliced ham and turkey along with freshly washed and chopped lettuce, sliced tomatoes, and three kinds of cheese.
Rather than decide, he dragged it all out, setting it on the counter, along with two bottles of water.
A short search netted him a cutting board, knife, and plate.
He glanced toward the door to Cilla’s rooms. Was she in there?
Would she come out if she was? He wasn’t making a lot of noise, nor was he being especially quiet, but Cilla was tuned to the sounds of the place.
Maybe she was outside working in the secret garden.
The idea of her being out there alone bothered him.
She’d be vulnerable if anyone came upon her.
“Not my problem.” Someone had sliced the bread, saving him the trouble. Starting an assembly line, he constructed four thick sandwiches. Satisfied that would do, he cut the first one in half and worked his way down the line.
An upstairs floorboard creaked and was followed by footsteps coming down the stairs.
It had to be Cilla. Distracted, he wasn’t careful when he sliced the knife downward.
“Fuck!” He dropped the sharp utensil and yanked his hand away from the counter.
Blood seeped from the cut and trickled over his hand.
As he watched, it dripped onto the floor.
It’s not stopping. His heart began to pound as the reality sank in. He’d had stab wounds that had bled less. Hell, he’d had multiple gunshot wounds and hadn’t batted an eyelash. I’m bleeding.
The reality was unimaginable. He was a reaper, the son of Death himself, an immortal. Healing was as natural to him as breathing, as intrinsic as his preternatural hearing and vision, but those had also been stripped from him.
“Oh my God, what happened?” Cilla rushed toward him, grabbed his arm, and dragged him over to the sink. “How deep is it?” She turned on the tap and thrust his hand beneath the light flow. The blood mixed with the water as it ran down the drain.
“It’s nothing.” Only it was everything. He’d survived the crash without a scratch, but his assignment hadn’t begun until after. It had never occurred to him his father would take things this far. He was essentially human. Talk about a kick in the balls.
“It’s not nothing.” Fussing, she gently examined the wound from several angles.
“It doesn’t look deep.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a clean kitchen towel.
“It needs to be disinfected and bandaged, but you won’t need stitches.
” She wrapped the towel around his hand and bent his fingers inward to hold it in place.
“You sit here.” Taking his arm, she led him to the nearest stool and pushed him onto it.
“I’ll be right back.” She ran to the door of her suite, shoved it open, and disappeared inside.
If he wasn’t in shock, her actions would have amused him.
The white of the kitchen towel began to turn red.
He needed to keep pressure on it. He’d been around enough humans to have picked up a few things, but injuries of any kind were outside his scope of knowledge. It had never been necessary…until now.
Pale but composed, Cilla hurried back with a first aid kit. “I’ve got this.” It took her two tries to get the box open.
He grabbed one of her trembling hands. “Take a breath. I’ll live.
” It was only a shallow cut, but he wouldn’t want to test his luck with anything more serious.
This could be nothing more than a warning or it could be his new reality until this assignment was complete.
He didn’t dare consider it might become a permanent condition.
She took a deep breath and nodded. “Let me see.” A small murmur of distress escaped as she examined the wound. The sound cut him worse than the knife. He hated adding to her already high level of distress.
“I can take care of it.” While he had zero experience, he was intelligent enough to slap on a Band-Aid.
“I’ll do it.” Putting action to words, she cleansed the affected area.
It was likely overkill, but it soothed the clamoring of his soul.
He stared at the top of her head as she worked, almost groaning when a strand of her hair brushed against his arm.
“There, that should do it.” She affixed a large bandage.
He studied the dressing. It was perfectly aligned and there was no sign of any dried blood.
Being tended to with such care was a new experience.
He paid experts for services when necessary.
Used to being alone, he was unfamiliar with someone doing anything for him without expectation of getting something in return, usually a favor or monetary compensation of some kind.
“You sit here and eat your lunch.” She pressed her hand to his forehead. “You were working in the heat too long. Drink plenty of water.” Keeping busy, she dumped the used supplies and repacked the case.
He grabbed her arm when she went to leave, careful not to squeeze too tight. “Thank you.” His voice was rough with barely suppressed emotion.
“You’re welcome.” Her husky tone reminded him of how she’d sounded last night when they’d made love. Her pupils dilated. She licked her lips.
Knowing better than to start something he couldn’t finish, he slowly released her. She took a shaky breath. “I’ll be outside, if you need me.”
He feared he’d always need her, but that wasn’t to be. The rapid retreat of her footsteps matched the beat of his heart. Staring at the bandage, he considered the implications.
It could be punishment for getting involved with Cilla. It could be a reminder of what he’d face if he failed in the task his father had set for him. Exiled with a complete loss of power would leave him helpless, without hope that he could someday break free.
Right now, he wasn’t even sure he was capable of reaping Cilla’s soul. He rubbed his wounded hand across his chest before resting it over his heart. Surely his father wouldn’t strip him of his ability to reap. He might as well be dead.
Unlike humans, there was no afterlife for reapers. No opportunity to be reunited with loved ones. No chance to reincarnate into another life. If the Grim Reaper destroyed a reaper, they were gone. Period. Not even his sons were safe from his vengeance.
Alex bowed his head, feeling every one of the years he’d lived weighing down on him. Millennia of service meant nothing. All the souls he’d helped transition were worthless if he failed this task.
Shoulders stiffening, he raised his head. The unfairness of the situation fired his anger and determination. While he hadn’t been close to his father since childhood, he’d held him in the highest respect. Now…now he felt nothing at all.
The Grim Reaper was an adversary. Granted, he was unlike any Alex had ever faced. But no one, not even Death, would break him.