4. Midnight
Midnight
I make my way through the building and enter the graveyard. It’s brighter than I expected. Enormous flood lights showering the cemetery with strobing colours and patterns.
The DJ booth is at one end with a bar to the left. I head there, grab a drink and scan the dance area, looking for anyone I recognise. My drink is bitter and cool, the ice clinking against the glass.
I spot Darwin, another reaper I hang out with, and make my way over to him.
He raises his beer to me. “Cheers, birthday girl.”
“Thanks, Darwin,” I say, tipping my glass at him and taking another sip. He has a hideous cut on his cheekbone. I wonder how he got it.
Unlike me, he has two years left. Which means he stands straighter and surer than me.
The weight of his end isn’t as heavy as mine.
We all carry it, though. Wear the reality of our ticking clock like a cloak.
Strange that most mortals are able to live in blissful ignorance despite the inevitability of their impending end.
I’ve always wondered how they do it. Is it because they have no certainty? Perhaps, rather than let the doubt eat away at their sanity, they stay in denial about death. What else can they do when none of them know whether the end is today, tonight or thirty years from now?
But reapers know.
Our clock is an incessant beat. A reverberation too quiet for humans. It hums through our veins like a second heart. A persistent threat, a constant reminder of the choice we made.
Ten years.
Five.
One.
A few more of the reapers I hang with appear, but each one of them has more years than me. And now I can’t think of anything worse than celebrating. Who wants to be reminded that there’s one day less remaining?
Robin, another reaper, flings an arm around my shoulder. “Happy birthday, chump,” she says, squeezing my shoulder and plonking a kiss on my cheek.
We fucked once.
Or tried. We rapidly realised we weren’t compatible in the bedroom, each as dominant as the other, and way better off as friends.
I smile and hug her back, and then she’s prancing off with a group of girls. She has six years left. I’d bet she barely feels the weight of her clock.
Reapers need each other. No one else understands the relentlessness of the job and the fact we appreciate every day in a way that normal humans don’t.
There’s something about that collective limitation that glues a group together.
“Nasty gash on your cheek,” I say to Darwin.
He nods, “The grinner’s wife wasn’t too pleased to see me. But what was I going to do?”
Ah. I get it. That’s the other thing that unites us—the hate from fellow humans.
It makes sense. We’re reaping the very souls of our people. What humanity forgets is that we will have ours taken one day, too. After all, Omnia mors aequat—death renders all equal.
He drags me towards the dance floor, and I go reluctantly. We hop over long-since abandoned graves and avoid those dug for the dead that were never used. Hardly the safest not to have filled them in before the rave.
The music cranks up a notch, and as is the way with raves—or at least the raves I attend—the clothes lessen. Bodies grind up against each other too close and too rhythmically to be just dancing.
The hours drift by. As we pass 1 a.m., the bar is drunk half dry, people fuck openly over gravestones, on the grass, in seats, leaning against fences, and I thoroughly enjoy the view.
I soon forget that it’s my birthday until the gods drop a gift on my lap in the form of a stunning black-haired woman striding towards the bar. Her long, dark locks flow down past her shoulders. It’s straight, with the slight hint of a wave. She turns and I catch flame-red streaks framing her face.
Fuck me.
She is both the most angelic and sinful being I’ve ever laid eyes upon.
My mind heads straight for the filth, envisioning her on all fours beneath me. Those red locks wrapped around my fist.
My pussy tightens.
I throw the thought away. I should wait until I know her name before I objectify her, it’s only polite…
And yet, it is my birthday, and I won’t get another one to treat myself.
She catches me looking at her. I smile to myself as her eyes roll down my body, very definitely checking me out.
Minx.
Her tongue glides along her lip.
Yeah, she thinks I’m hot.
Game on.
I slide my gaze away—on purpose. Women are playthings to me. Aurelia saw to that. Broke me hard enough I won’t commit to more than a night. What’s the point when I only have a year of them left?
I shift position and join a group of reapers, making sure I can see my dark-haired seductress over the shoulder of one of the lads.
She’s a little older than me, maybe a decade?
Possibly more. Her skin has that indulgent look of a woman whose youth refused to leave.
But her golden eyes carry something else—weight, I think.
It surprises me that she maintains such a serene exterior when it’s clear she’s carrying a heavy burden of secrets.
She is fucking radiant even against the beaming floodlights.
A tailored jacket clings to her curves, it’s black with faint filigree patterns embroidered in matching black threads.
It screams elite, wealth and academia. I’ll bet she’s from Finis.
She sports tight black trousers that hug her arse cheeks in a way that makes me ravenous.
I adjust my stance, my boxers soaked now at the sight of her, or more at the spiralling need of what I’d like to do to her.
She doesn’t seem to give a fuck if anyone stares at her. Hell, half the men and women dancing are throwing her glances, and she knows it.
I want to talk to her. But as I’m about to head over, another conversation seeps into my consciousness.
“Sorry?” I say, unable to comprehend what I’m hearing. I blink at Darwin, my face suddenly hot and stinging.
He grins at me. “Yeah. I got in. I can’t believe it. I’m thrilled.”
Inside, I’m kicking myself for not being able to paste on my best poker face.
My expression falls, hard. On the one hand, I’m pleased for him, obviously.
Who wouldn’t be? It’s a great achievement.
But I am also deeply, deeply, fucking pissed.
How is it he gets into Finis, and I don’t?
What is it about Darwin that makes him better suited?
I’ve reaped more souls, I’m a better reaper and the demon—nay, devil now—I made my deal with is the fucking dean. You don’t get a lot more senior than that.
I swear I do my best to put as much happiness into the words as I can. “That’s brilliant, mate, really chuffed for you. You all packed, then?”
I fear my smile didn’t reach my eyes, though, because he falters.
My failure to get in isn’t on him. But let’s be real, there’s only so much happiness you can shit out when you have to watch your friends achieve the thing you’ve been striving for…
for nine years. Shoot me for being a pathetic, bitter mortal.
I need a distraction. Where’s the hot woman in the jacket? Still by the bar. Mmm. She is a way better option. I can shag my pain away rather than doing something reckless.
I hold my hand out to shake Darwin’s, trying to push warmth into my grip. I clasp a second over the top of our shake and squeeze gently. “Good for you, man.”
His eyes soften. Oh gods, don’t do it, do not fucking pity me.
“I’m so so—” he starts.
I pull my hand out of his grasp.
He rubs his jaw, concentrating on where his toe kicks fresh grave soil.
“Tonight isn’t about me. We should be celebrating your birthday.”
I take a step towards the bar. “I think you’ve got something bigger to celebrate. Besides, there’s always another birthday.”
That hangs in the air between us, because of course, there isn’t another.
Not for me, anyway.
His mouth opens and closes, but just like my future, there’s nothing but silence and air.
“Goodnight, Darwin. And good luck, my friend. May you become the greatest Veilwalker that ever lived.”
I give him a soft smile, and head for the bar. He must watch me leave because my spine is hot the entire way.
I park myself right next to the hot woman.
She cocks her head to look at me, her lips twitching.
“If you’re going to spend the night checking a lady out, you could at least buy her a drink,” she says.
She has sass. I wonder if she’s a brat, too. Nothing like taming one. She puts her hand on her hip like she’s expecting me to buy her a drink.
I run a hand through my short hair. “And what if it’s my birthday? Shouldn’t you be buying me a drink? Don’t pretend you weren’t checking me out.”
She flags the barman down and orders. “A Palimpsest, please.”
“A Palimpsest? What’s that, bitter maturity and historical trauma…?” I wink at her just to see how she’ll react.
Her lips purse. I’ve got to her already, and that knowledge does things to me. My insides light up, the first swirl of heat settling between my thighs. Those golden irises fire up, sass, fight and a little rage fuelling her.
She is magnificent.
“It’s refined, actually. The orange bitters and bourbon mixed with the walnut liquor evoke the depth of the Great Library, and the kind of warmth age-old family recipes bring.”
“Age-old is right—it’s the same drink my grandad used to drink. Helped him on his way to the grave, too.” I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Oh, and let me guess, a young thing like yourself is ordering what?”
The barman returns and slides the Palimpsest to her.
“Moonless Black, please,” I say.
She outright rolls her eyes at me. “I might be middle-aged, but at least I’m not a cliché. And there I was thinking you were the refined kind of masc. A dom even…”
There’s the opening. Oh, I am going to break her. Looks like this evening is perking right up.
“Bold of you to assume,” I say and snatch her tumbler out of her grasp and take a sip. Her lips part, surprise coursing through her refined features.
Good, she strikes me as the type of woman that needs to be kept on her toes.
The bourbon hits first. A heated burn slips down my throat, but it’s a nutty orange lingering on my tongue that makes it sumptuous.
She was right. It tastes like old books and aeons of knowledge. Warm fires and family dinners. Gods damn.
“Not so cocky now, are you?” She grins.
Oh, that’s it.
I step into her personal space. She doesn’t move, another hint of brat? Or perhaps she’s a switch. What’s clear is that she’s sussing me out as much as I am her. I position us with her back to the bar, resting against it.
I press my body to hers, leaning against the bar for balance and knock my thigh between hers. I push up until I hit her warm centre and hold with just enough pressure on her pussy that she inhales.
“You have no idea how cocky I can be. Now, why don’t you be a good girl and tell me your name.”
This close, I inhale her scent. It’s deep and exotic, like oud and amber and a little hint of rose.
Behind her, the barman places my drink down, so I take the opportunity to lean forward, my lips millimetres from hers, brushing against her jaw.
She sucks in a breath, her body trembling with want. It takes a monumental amount of self-control not to lose it and fuck her against the bar.
Her chest heaves up and down, heat radiating off her. “L-Lucy.”
Fuck, I love getting under the skin of a woman.
I jerk back, pulling my thigh away and giving her some breathing room.
Her cheeks are tinged pink, her lips flushed.
She secures a streak of red behind her ear as she sips her drink.
She’s not trembling anymore, but her knuckles are white as she grips the glass.
I bring my Moonless Black up, but to my surprise, she snatches it out of my hand and takes a drink herself, mimicking my earlier move.
I gawp at her. It’s not often a woman surprises me. She swirls the liquid in the glass before taking a sniff, followed by a gulp.
She lingers for a moment, contemplating the rich flavours. Black rum, a dash of cold brew coffee and a squirt of lime mixed with activated charcoal. Oh, and a sprinkle of anise to garnish. Perfection.
She swallows and hands it back. “Stale, slightly bitter and tastes childish. A bit like your moves.”
My eyes bug wide. She uses two fingers to slide my mouth closed, places a kiss on my lips and fucks off to the dance floor.
What.
The.
Fuck.
I stare after her, watching her arse swing from side to side as she disappears into the crowd.
Oh no, oh hell no. I would genuinely reap a newborn for a night with that woman.
Just so I could break her, mind.
“This is hers,” the barman says, handing me a glass of wine.
I grin. “What a shame. Guess I’ll have to go find her.”