Chapter Twenty-One
With Cilla wrapped in the shelter of his arms, Alex listened to a lullaby of night insects and occasional bird calls through the open window.
It was all so peaceful. And it was all a fucking lie.
He’d heard Malaki in the garden earlier, knew in his heart that tonight was the night.
He ground his teeth tighter rather than vent his anger.
When Cilla sighed and shifted restlessly, he nuzzled her ear and whispered, “I have you.” She immediately settled, her breathing evening out. That gesture of trust pierced his heart. He was going to betray that faith in him, going to allow her to die.
Wondering how it would happen was making him crazy. Normally, he wouldn’t care. That wasn’t his job or his problem. It was his duty to escort a soul to the afterlife, nothing less, nothing more.
Only problem was Cilla wasn’t a stranger or simply a job.
She was the woman who’d touched his heart.
After thousands of years of holding himself aloof, it hurt to feel this much.
It was as though he’d been viewing the world in black and white and now everything was in Technicolor with surround sound.
His father had erred if he believed this would make Alex a more empathetic reaper. If anything, it would drive him to create impenetrable barriers around his emotions. Despite following orders and completing this assignment, there was still a chance he’d find himself exiled for eternity.
Millennia spun out before him—lonely, dark, endless, with nothing to look forward to, nothing to offer comfort. How long would it be before he forgot Cilla?
Never! The echo reverberated from the depths of his soul. She was a permanent part of him. If he wanted to save himself, he couldn’t interfere.
Did he even want to save himself?
Human lives were a mere blip. Whether Cilla died tonight or several decades from now mattered not in the scheme of things. Maybe there was a way to visit her in the afterlife. Just because it had never been done didn’t mean it was impossible.
It was something to think about. Assuming she’d want to see him. Chances weren’t great, considering he was going to stand aside and watch her die.
He thumped his head against the pillow and swallowed a growl of frustration.
All this thinking was getting him nowhere.
All the normal pursuits were out of reach in this situation.
He couldn’t lose himself in his garage, working on a repair or custom bike.
He certainly couldn’t jump on his Harley and take off for parts unknown.
That would violate the terms of his assignment, which wouldn’t end well for him.
He strained to hear anything out of the ordinary, but without his preternatural hearing, it was impossible.
He’d wanted to take her upstairs to his room.
The larger mattress would have given them more space.
It would also have put distance between them and the doors in case anyone decided to break in.
He’d refrained from suggesting it for two reasons.
Firstly, she’d be more comfortable in her own space; his room was impersonal.
Secondly, moving Cilla would most likely be viewed as interfering.
There was no way to tell what his father might consider an infraction until this all played out.
He may have already violated the terms by sleeping with her.
It would have been easier on both of them if he’d left after supper, hidden his bike somewhere, and hiked back to Ivy House.
Now, instead of being hunkered down outside, watching what transpired with detachment, he was impatiently awaiting the inevitable with growing trepidation.The longer it took, the more likely it was he’d do something stupid.
That would do neither of them any favors.
The heat was making him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t make himself release her.
Their naked bodies were entwined, her head on his shoulder, her hand resting over his heart.
It would be easy to roll them over, slide into her hot depths, and make love to her again.
He was more than ready and willing. But he’d worn her out earlier, desperate for both of them to find fulfillment one final time.
Closing his eyes, he forced every taut muscle to relax. Staying awake wasn’t going to stop something from happening or make it happen sooner. He stifled a yawn. He was fighting sleep, his body more human than immortal, something he’d never get used to.
If he was banished without his powers, he’d lose any chance of ever finding Cilla in the future—if such a thing was even possible.
Reapers didn’t belong in the afterlife, but he’d never read anything that said it was expressly forbidden.
It was more an accepted guideline, a possible loophole to exploit.
As much as it would hurt them both, his only option was to complete this assignment, regain his powers—find a way to keep his father from blocking them again—and hunt the afterlife for her. Plan made, he eased her more fully against him and let himself drift.
A crackling noise invaded his sleep. His eyes were unusually heavy. It was far more difficult than it should be, but he persevered and forced them open. The air in the room was hazy. Beyond the window, orange and red lights danced. It took a second for his brain to process what he was seeing.
Shit! Fire! He shook Cilla. “Get up. The house is on fire.” He rolled out of bed and yanked his jeans on.
“What?” She sat upright, blinking with confusion. Then his words registered and she scrambled. “Why haven’t the alarms gone off?” She yanked a top over her head, pulled on a pair of shorts, and grabbed her phone. “We need to get outside and call for help.”
Already at the bedroom door, he held his hand to the knob, yanking it away when it burned. “Too hot. Fire has to be in the kitchen.”
“It’s outside the bedroom window, too.” Her voice shook and she began to cough.
This was it. Cilla was supposed to die in the fire. It was a terrifying way to go.
Fuck that. No way was he letting her burn.
He grabbed the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her.
Snatching her into his arms, he took a few steps back and made a run for the window.
Without considering the ramifications, he ducked his head against hers and smashed through the window screen, taking part of the frame out in the process.
He hit the ground hard, twisting at the last second so he took the brunt of the fall.
Glass shattered as he rolled them away from the flames.
Someone yelled in the distance. Had a neighbor seen the blaze and called the fire department?
He yanked the sheet away. Cilla was pale and shaken but alive and unharmed. “Are you okay?” she asked as she ran her hands over his bare shoulders. “You’re bleeding.”
Something that shouldn’t be happening. It didn’t matter. Nothing did but keeping her safe. Saving her had been as instinctual as breathing. “I’m fine.”
“The fire.” She struggled up onto her knees. The blaze was eating at the back side of the house, but hadn’t spread yet. She lifted her phone. “It’s dead.”
That wasn’t surprising. He’d tried to thwart Death. This was fate’s way of balancing the odds, which meant she wasn’t safe. He caught movement from the corner of his eye. Two men were coming at them fast. Neither was a firefighter. Both had guns.
Jumping to his feet, he dragged Cilla upright. “Run.” He shoved her ahead of him toward the secret garden. She didn’t pause or ask questions. Head down, she raced toward the opening between the trees.
A muffled shot rang out and struck a branch above his head.
He ducked and followed her. Branches slapped at his face, some seeming to grab at him to either slow or stop him completely.
He yanked his arms free, ignoring the beating they were taking.
He caught up to her and the two of them burst into the rose garden.
Panting for breath, she stumbled toward the gazebo. “Hurry,” she urged.
He heard something behind him and spun around to face their attackers. The shot struck him dead center, slamming into his chest. The impact drove him back several feet. Blood poured from the massive wound. He stumbled but didn’t go down. If he did, she’d be left alone with cold-blooded murderers.
His father, the assignment, the consequences—none of those mattered.
Reaping was more than what he did, it was who he was.
It was an integral part of his DNA. Nothing should have been able to override the necessity to do what he’d been born to do.
But a far greater force drove him to push past the agony threatening to consume him.
I love her.
It was a revelation. It would be his ultimate downfall. For no matter what he did, Cilla would die. The Grim Reaper would have his due.
Letting out a bloodcurdling war cry, Alex attacked.
…
It was like something out of a nightmare…
or a horror movie. Blood covering his chest, Alex let out a yell that rivaled any ancient Viking and surged toward their assailants.
She screamed his name as one of them fired again.
Alex rammed into the shooter and took him to the ground, fighting him for possession of the gun.
The second man raised his weapon and aimed it at Alex’s head.
“Hey!” she yelled and waved her hands. He immediately turned his sights on her. Diving to the right, she hit the deck of the gazebo and slid to avoid getting hit when he fired.
She needed a weapon. Crawling as fast as she could, she searched the space, praying she wouldn’t run into any snakes. Her hand closed around the handle of a broken shovel. There was no telling how many years it had been here, but it was better than nothing.
“Might as well make it easy on yourself and come out.”
Sweat stung her eyes. Ignoring it, she focused on the man coming for her. Oddly enough, she recognized him. He was the courier who’d hand-delivered the legal document from her ex-husband.