Chapter Thirteen
Kieran was aware the second Georgia stepped onto the property.
There was an internal ping in the center of his chest. Even without it, he would have known.
He’d been sitting by the window like some stalker, peeking through a crack in the curtains, unable to bring himself to turn on any lights.
A creature of the dark, he was more at home in the shadows that grew around him.
He hadn’t eaten, ignoring the hunger gnawing at his belly.
She looked tired. It was an asinine observation. Of course, she was exhausted. He’d kept her up late last night, and she’d put in a long day at work. Then he’d added extra time onto it by walking out and leaving her to handle things alone.
The arms of the chair cracked beneath his punishing grip. He eased up before he destroyed the piece of furniture. It was bad enough that he was sitting back and allowing the destruction of her life without trashing her personal property, too.
Coward. The word echoed in his head until it became a roar in his ears, threatening to deafen him.
The icy shield he’d managed to resurrect in the past couple of hours shattered, leaving him defenseless against the self-loathing eating at him and the black void that waited at the end of this assignment.
Georgia didn’t deserve to die. It could be argued that no human did, but he disagreed. There were some people the world would be better off without. But that wasn’t his decision.
Without being able to see her, he visualized her unwinding after the long day. She’d get a shower, for sure, or maybe a bath in the old-fashioned cast-iron tub. She’d likely get something to eat. He hoped she did. She’d barely had time to eat a muffin, and that was only because he’d insisted.
Even after the lights in the house went off one by one, he couldn’t make himself leave his silent vigil. Tipping his head back, he stared at the ceiling. “If you wanted to end me, all you had to do was use your scythe.”
Death and his sons were the only ones in existence able to wield the deadly instruments of destruction.
Their personal weapons had been given to them by their father the day they became reapers.
They didn’t just kill a person; they destroyed the soul, ensuring it never reincarnated again.
It was a terrible power; one he’d never personally used.
His and his brothers’ scythes were effective only against humans.
No one—human, god, reaper, or any creature in between—escaped the wrath of their father’s.
It was feared by all. Oddly enough, in the hands of another, it became a sharp-edged weapon and nothing more.
He hadn’t thought about his scythe in years, preferring to leave it safely in his father’s domain.
He continued the one-sided conversation.
“I did the best I could, never shirked my duty, never asked for help.” And there’d been times when he’d wanted to, but he’d needed to prove to himself, and to his father, that he was worthy of his heritage.
Normal reapers were never conflicted about assignments or got weighed down dealing in death every day of their existence.
That flaw was his and his alone. Or so he’d thought.
Now he had to wonder if his brothers hadn’t tired of it all as well.
“Maybe you sensed the nothingness inside me all along.” It was a defect he’d spent thousands of years hiding from himself and others.
He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes straining to see Georgia’s bedroom window.
If he had his preternatural vision, it wouldn’t be a problem.
Now it was no more than a dark void. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
“If she’d remained a stranger, I could have reaped her soul as I have tens of thousands of others.
Or maybe it’s hundreds of thousands.” Beyond the first few, they’d all blurred together over the years.
He collected his charge, said all the right words, offered meaningless encouragement, and left them where they were supposed to be.
Georgia’s death would haunt him for however long he survived. Assuming he did.
“You put me in her path, made me a part of her life. Why? To torture me? To give me a glimpse of heaven before tossing me into the deepest pits of despair?” He’d stopped looking for his father’s approval a long time ago.
When they were children, the Grim Reaper had been different.
He’d taught them about the world and its history, taken them places, shown them wonders most mortal eyes never glimpsed.
It was only once they’d taken up the mantle of reaper that he’d become distant, their boss rather than their father.
“I’m not asking for help, just answers.” The silence was deafening. He clamped his lips together and vowed never to ask his father for anything ever again. It was a useless endeavor. Whatever agenda Death had, he would see it played out, Kieran and Georgia nothing more than puppets to his whims.
An icy finger of dread dragged slowly down his spine. He slowly pushed to his feet, every muscle coiled and ready. There was no one else in the apartment, at least no one he could see. “Show yourself.”
No sound, no movement; but his unease grew. Something was seriously wrong. It was an inner knowing, as if someone had shouted it in his ear.
Georgia! He leaped across the room, yanked open the door, pounded down the stairs, and raced across the yard.
Without thought or care that he might be waking her, he hammered the side of his fist on the back door before trying the handle.
It was locked. He hammered again. No light came on, and there was no sign of her when he looked through the window.
Heart squeezing, he abandoned the door and raced to her bedroom window.
His height gave him an advantage. He gave a sigh of relief when he saw her lying across the bed.
It was short-lived. Her body was crosswise, not lengthwise.
Her arm was outstretched as if reaching for something, her jaw slack. This wasn’t natural sleep.
With no thought of destiny or fate, he rushed back to the door, lifted his foot, and slammed his boot into the panel below the lock.
Metal crunched and wood cracked as it crashed open beneath the force.
Heart pounding, he raced down the hallway and into her room.
He fell to his knees beside her and grabbed her wrist. Her pulse was weak and erratic.
“No! No! No!” He tapped her lightly on the cheeks.
“Wake up, Georgia. Come on, sweetheart. Open your eyes.”
This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t ready for her to leave him.
His heart squeezed, his breath leaving his lungs in a rush.
The right thing to do would be to step back and allow events to play out.
His role was to be an onlooker, not to influence.
To live among humans, but to remain separate.
It was a hell of a lonely way to spend eternity.
This had to be the pivotal moment of choice. It came down to her fate versus that of his brothers. Not to mention his own. A few days ago, it wouldn’t have mattered. She wouldn’t have mattered. Now she did. She’d touched the tiny spark of light that had survived inside him.
“Fuck the rules. You hear me?” he shouted. “I didn’t ask for this.” Making a split-second decision that would impact more than just him and Georgia, he grabbed her phone off the floor. He’d surreptitiously watched her and had memorized the password. He used it now without hesitation.
He pulled up her contacts list and tapped what he hoped was the right one. “Come on. Come on.”
A deep male voice answered on the third ring. “Georgia, what’s wrong?”
“Cal, this is Kieran Blackwell. I found Georgia.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “She’s unresponsive.”
“Any injuries?”
Reaching past her, Kieran turned on the bedside light to get a better look. “None I can see. She was fine when I left work earlier today.” Why hadn’t he stayed? He should have been here with her.
“Where are you?”
“Her home.”
“Hold on.” The line went silent. He assumed Cal was calling for reinforcements. Then he was back. “An ambulance has been dispatched, and there’s another officer en route. I’m on my way out the door.”
The siren was audible in the distance. Kieran ended the call and tossed her phone aside. Cradling her head in his hands, he pleaded with her. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me see your beautiful blue eyes.” She was struggling to breathe, her chest barely rising.
Calling for help was a direct violation of his assignment, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He stroked a strand of silky blond hair from her face.
Her skin was clammy and cool to the touch.
He wasn’t used to seeing her so still. She was always in motion.
Her expressive face was slack. He brushed his lips over her forehead.
“Don’t go. Not yet.” It was too soon. He’d only scratched the surface of what made her special, had barely gotten to bask in the magic that was Georgia.
The sirens were louder. “Help’s almost here,” he whispered, hoping she could hear him. “Hang on. Don’t leave me.” The ragged plea was ripped from him.
Torn between leaving her and getting help, he wrenched himself from her side and raced to the front door. A Redemption police officer he didn’t recognize was striding up the walkway. An ambulance and Cal pulled in at the same time. “In here.” Leaving them to follow, he returned to her bedroom.
“Step away from Ms. Baker, sir,” the officer demanded, one hand on his weapon.
Cal burst through the door, followed by the paramedics. “What happened, Kieran?”