Dark Kiss Of The Reaper

• Title Page
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty-One
  
• Chapter Twenty-Two
  
• Chapter Twenty-Three
  
• Chapter Twenty-Four
  
• Chapter Twenty-five
  
• Chapter One
  

DARK KISS OF THE REAPER

by

Kristen Painter

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Kristen Painter

Dark Kiss Of The Reaper

Copyright © 2011 by Kristen Painter

Cover Art by Kim Killion

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

* * * * *

For Elaine, without whom this book would not have been.

* * * * *

Chapter One

A slinky sweep of sound pulled Sara’s attention from the patient charts in front of her.

What in the...

A man glided down the corridor wearing a silvery robe, which might have been made of chain mail, except the weave looked too fine and moved too fluidly. Satiny gray wings sprouted from his back, their tips long enough to skim the floor. She choked at the sight, nearly spewing her coffee across the charts.

She blinked, but the guy was real, not a trick of the dimmed lighting and long hours. Her hands tightened on the paperwork. Only tonight’s full moon could explain the tall, dark madman strolling down the hall dressed like the angel of death.

If he thought for one minute wearing a get-up like that in the cancer ward was funny, he was one twisted individual. Or maybe she was just particularly cranky. She hadn’t spent a lot of time in her happy place lately. Ray’s being two months behind on alimony payments had a way of doing that. Her lawyer hadn’t been much help either. Men. Now she had the freak of the week stalking the ward well after visiting hours. These kind of moments inspired thoughts of quitting.

A hard breath rushed from between her clenched teeth. Who was she kidding? She had no life beyond her work, few friends that she hadn’t met at the hospital or at Grounded, the coffee shop where she worked morning shifts. After the divorce, she’d had to move to find an affordable place and the friends she and Ray had shared hadn’t made any real attempt to keep in touch with her.

The winged reaper disappeared around the corner. Who dressed like that for a visit to the oncology floor? She’d seen a lot of odd things in her time at Franklin General, but this might win the award for most tasteless. Granted, he wasn’t carrying a big, shiny scythe or wearing black, but still. Whatever happened to singing telegrams and guys in gorilla suits delivering balloons? Now those brought a smile to most patients’ faces, but this? Whoever had sent Joe Black to deliver their message was one warped individual. Probably good friends with her ex-husband.

She left her coffee and files at the undermanned nurse’s station and went after him. Being unit secretary made her especially protective of this floor.

“Sir.”

No response. Typical male. Only heard what they wanted to. She fisted her hands. Raising her voice at this late hour would be unkind to the patients who’d been able to fall asleep. She picked up her pace, hoping proximity would substitute for volume.

“Sir, visiting hours are over.” Her whisper came out a loud hiss.

He kept moving, his stride purposeful and determined, yet smooth...almost like he was gliding. Weird. She couldn’t see how his wings attached, but the way they arched over his broad shoulders and down his back looked pretty sturdy. The costume must have cost a fortune.

Holy crap! She stopped short. Did the wings just move? They must be mechanized. Now several steps behind, she raised her voice as loud as she dared. “Sir!”

No response. Her temper rose a notch.

He opened the door to Edna Metzger’s room and slipped inside so deftly that he barely broke his stride. Edna was in the last stages of gastric cancer, but the octogenarian steel magnolia showed little evidence of the pain she suffered. Sara reached for the handle and entered the room as quietly as possible.

The costumed man bent over Edna’s bed, his back to Sara. This close, he was even bigger than he’d originally seemed – taller, broader, more ex-linebacker than grown-up cherub. His robes, no longer swirling about him, now outlined wide shoulders and sculpted arms. She glanced at Edna. Thankfully, still sleeping.

Linebacker or angelic whack job, he had to go. Poor Edna. Her one and only visitor was about to get kicked out.

Sara cleared her throat softly. “Sir, you can’t be in here. This woman is very ill. She doesn’t need to be disturbed. And your outfit is in very bad taste, if you ask me.”

He straightened and looked over his shoulder. Smoky eyes circled with chrome glittered beneath straight, dark brows. “You can see me?” His voice slipped across her skin like a warm breath.

Her hands relaxed. Wow...those eyes...had to be contacts. A sweeping calm settled around her like a warm blanket. She blinked, shook her head, refocused.

“The seven-foot wings make you hard to miss.”

He turned, his robes opening slightly to reveal a flash of silver near his waist, but before she could identify the object, the robe settled over it. His eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it, shaking his head as if puzzled.

Seen full on, he was quite a sight. With his chiseled jaw and divinely bowed mouth, he played the part of an angel well. Maybe he was a struggling actor or a wannabe model working an odd job to make ends meet. Although with a face like that, she couldn’t see him struggling long. He could be a stand-in for Michelangelo’s David. She cleared her throat softly. Now was not the time to be thinking about any man naked, winged or otherwise.

The odd sooty hue of his thick curls must be a wig, or maybe powder in his hair, but his hair looked too soft to be artificial and shone too much to be powdered.

He reached out and touched her shoulder, his fingertips grazing the seam of her sweater.

The slight touch set every nerve in her body on alert. She jerked back. This might be the first contact she’d had with a man in months, but her body shouldn’t respond so quickly. It wasn’t like she was desperate. Much.

Dropping his hand, he tilted his head. His mysterious eyes tapered with curiosity. “You are alive.”

Cute but cracked, and apparently, more gifted with pretty than smart. Tragic, really. Such a waste of great packaging. “Okay, I don’t know who you think you are but—”

He took a step closer. A warm, male scent drifted around her, fogging her head. “You can see me, acknowledge my appearance, and yet you don’t know who I am or what my purpose is?”

The voice was pure music. And he smelled good enough to lick. But he was still a nut case. She stepped back. “I know you don’t belong here. Look, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, just doing your job, but you need to leave now or I’m calling security.”

“I am Azrael, the Angel of Death.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and the third Tuesday of every month I’m Wonder Woman.” She jerked her thumb toward the door. “Let’s go. Out. Before you wake Edna and scare the life out of her.”

His sly smile knocked her back a step. “As you wish, Sara Donovan.” He held up his index finger. “I will give you one night.” He nodded in a way she could only call respectful, then brushed past her on his way out the door, swirling more of that delicious maleness around her.

For a moment, she stood motionless. She glanced down at her hospital ID. Of course, her ID. Satisfied that’s how he’d known her name, she scanned Edna’s sleeping form. Everything seemed in order, but Sara didn’t really know what she should be looking for.

Had he taken anything? Left anything behind? What was his purpose? To help the old woman in some way? His Angel of Death outfit didn’t exactly say, “get well soon” but his eyes hadn’t been the eyes of a man intent on harm. In fact, there’d been something comforting about his dark gaze. Not to mention sexy.

Couldn’t she be attracted to an accountant for once in her life? An accountant would understand the consequences of unpaid alimony. Rolling her shoulders, she blamed the unexplainable attraction on lack of sleep and excessive amounts of caffeine. She shook her head. That was the only reason she could be wondering if Mr. Crazy was free for dinner.

Satisfied all was well with Edna, Sara yawned and checked her watch on her way out of the room. She ought to report the incident to security, but her day had been too long already. She’d make sure the unwanted visitor was gone, then she was going home.

Working full shifts at two different jobs back to back had a way of leaving a body dead tired.

* * *

Sara’s alarm clock showed no mercy, yanking her from a particularly vivid dream and shoving her into the cold reality of morning. She snaked one arm from beneath the covers and whacked the offending object until it shut up.

She rolled over and stared at the ceiling, trying to catch the remnants of her dream. White sand, blue water, warm sun, swaying palms...the dream had been the same these last few nights. Except...she blinked...hadn’t there been a new element last night? A man on the beach. With wings.

She didn’t want to think about what her subconscious was trying to say. At least she’d slept, something that hadn’t been coming easily the last few days.

Sighing, she pushed back the quilt and hoisted herself to the edge of the bed, the dream’s peaceful feeling ebbing like a midnight tide. A real vacation would be wonderful, but she wasn’t going anywhere further than the town square on her budget. Besides, the oncology floor might actually shut down if she left.

Well, maybe it wouldn’t shut down, but there would be mass confusion. She smirked. Chaos. Unparalleled disorder. They needed her.

She glanced at the clock, then stuck her tongue out at it. Time to move, whether she wanted to or not.

Her head protested the sudden rise, but she kept motoring toward the kitchen and the coffee that would be waiting. Thank the heavens above for the auto brew feature. She added sweetener, a splash of skim milk, then filled the mug with black gold. She popped two aspirin and gulped them down. The hot coffee went down like a single ray of sunshine on a rainy day. Nice, but not enough. She’d have a double espresso at work, before she started her morning shift at Grounded.

She leaned against the counter, giving herself a few more minutes to wake up and the caffeine time to kick in. The far edge of the laminate needed gluing down again. How did that happen when she never cooked in this kitchen? Not much point in slaving over a gourmet meal for one, and heating up take-out in the microwave and baking frozen pizzas didn’t really count as cooking.