Dark Kiss Of The Reaper (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Two weeks.

Laying on the bed in the room he’d designed specifically for Sara, Azrael stared blindly at the ceiling of stars.

Two guilt-ridden weeks of searching the fields surrounding his and his brother’s homes for the slightest sign of a Shade wearing a winged pendant and a diamond ring.

Nothing. They’d’ been fools to think those trinkets would have passed into this realm with her. How could they? He knew better, and yet he’d let her talk him into that ridiculous scheme.

Now his dear, sweet, beautiful Sara was gone. And he had only himself to blame. His foolish, desperate, lovesick self. He pounded his fist into the bed with a growl. His brothers had been right about the hospital being a trap. Once again, the Fates had bested him.

For the second time in his existence, he wished he could die. How lucky mortals were to be able to leave their pain behind. He hoped wherever Sara was, she wasn’t suffering in any way. He had enough of that for both of them. Adding to his misery was the fact that his entire staff was missing. As if the Fates hadn’t done enough, they’d taken away the only companionship he’d known before Sara.

He cursed Atropos for the millionth time and wished to die again. Or for that biter old Crone to die. A horrible, painful death that would—

“Azrael!” Chronos’ voice echoed through the hall outside.

Azrael groaned. No Vitus meant no one to keep his brothers out, either. Despite the fact that they’d professed their concern, he still didn’t want company. But he knew if he didn’t answer, his brother would just keep yelling. “Leave me alone. Unless you’ve come to reap my soul.”

Moments later, Chronos stuck his head through the doorway. “If you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, there’s something you should see. Now.”

Azrael lifted his head. “You found her?”

“Not exactly—”

He dropped his head back onto the pillow. “Then go away.” He returned to studying the constellations.

“Don’t make me drag you by your wings.”

“Get. Out.” He glared at Chronos, wondering why he couldn’t take the hint.

Chronos looked over his shoulder. “I need some help.”

The bedroom doors burst wide and Kol sauntered in. “You have any idea how pathetic you look?” He glanced at Chronos. “If I ever fall in love, promise you’ll yank my shades off and stick a mirror in front of my face.”

Azrael swung his feet off the bed and stood. “This is my home and I want to be alone in it. I don’t care what you think, just get out.”

With the strength only a Thresher could muster, Kol grabbed his arm, yanked him out of the bedroom and into the hall. “Move. The longer I’m here, the more likely I am to break something.” He put a finger to a vase displayed in a niche by the doors and gave it a push.

Pulling out of Kol’s grip, Azrael caught the vase and righted it. “I hate you.”

Kol grinned. “I know.”

Resigned, Azrael followed a chuckling Chronos out of the house and onto the front landing. The same ever-present twilight colored the surrounding fields. Nothing new. Certainly nothing worth being forced out of his home.

“What is so important you had to drag me out here?” Azrael glared at his brother.

Chronos simply pointed beyond the pearl paved drive.

Azrael followed the line of his finger. Beyond the glow of the pearls, coming out from the closest edge of the farthest field was a group of Shades, Vitus in the lead.

“My staff is back. I’m sure I would have noticed that when they entered the house.” He pivoted on his heel to go inside.

“That’s it?” Chronos asked.

“What did you expect me to do, sing the Hallelujah chorus? I appreciate that they’re back, but it does little to assuage what I’m feeling.” Facing into his empty house, he leaned heavily on the doorframe. He was exhausted and heartsick and done. “I just want to be left alone.”

He slanted his eyes at Chronos, hoping he’d understand. But Chronos’ attention was elsewhere. He peered toward the Shades, eyes darting from one to the other, and shaking his head slightly. “No, I meant was that all you see?”

Without looking, Azrael sighed and moved to close the door. “Yes, that’s all I see.”

Kol grabbed his arm and spun him around. “Look again. Look closer.”

Azrael studied the Shades more intently. Vitus was still in the lead, beside him was the cook. Behind them was a Shade without the form and substance the Fates had given the rest of his staff. A glint of silver sparkled at the Shade’s neck.

He shoved off the doorframe and stood at the edge of the landing.

“Sara.” The word was a whispered prayer, a wish, a hope. It was everything left inside him. “Did they...” His breath hitched. “They found Sara.”

He ran to meet them, grinding pearls beneath his heels, and reached Vitus in moments.

Up close, the glint of silver at the Shade’s neck seemed little more than a dusting of moonlight. He glanced at his butler. “Is this Sara? Did you find her?”

Vitus nodded, smiled and reached for the Shade, bringing her ahead of him.

Azrael studied the nearly shapeless waft of mist and light. The face held no distinguishable features, the hair floated around her head like seaweed caught in a current.

“Sara?”

The Shade nodded, the slightest of smiles lifting her mouth. She raised a nebulous hand to caress his cheek, her touch a gentle breeze, and mouthed a word Azrael understood easily.

Home.

Chapter Twenty-five

“You owe me this much,” Azrael said. “I reap souls for you without question, and you’ve given me nothing but misery in return.”

“We gave you your staff.” Atropos was unusually placid today. Her eyes hadn’t met his once.

“And that’s all I’m asking for. A form of more substance. Her features back. Just enough that she is the Sara I remember. So she may see herself in a mirror and know who she is.”

Atropos shook her head, but Lachesis rested a hand on the old woman’s shoulder. “Sister, Azrael has suffered much. Perhaps unfairly.”

Atropos canted her head, a spark of anger in her eyes, but Lachesis didn’t let her speak, continuing with a gentle smile for Azrael. “Let us talk a bit and we’ll give you an answer.”

With a hand around her waist, Lachesis helped Atropos inside the newly restored mansion. As soon as they disappeared, Azrael slumped against the balustrades.

Chronos nudged him. “I told you it would help if I came.”

Azrael’s gut was too twisted to answer, so he simply nodded.

The shadows lengthened by a hand span before the Fates returned. Hope sparked in his heart at Klotho’s shy smile.

Hobbling forward, Atropos finally met his gaze. “You may ask nothing of us again.”

“Understood.” Anticipation crawled his skin like ants.

“Since you married the mortal, against our wishes I might add, we didn’t feel she deserved the same status as your household staff.”

Pain creased his heart. Chronos put a hand on his arm. “Stay strong, brother,” he whispered.

Lachesis nudged Atropos gently. “Tell him the truth of it, or I will.”

Atropos sighed. “After careful consideration of the mortal’s thread, we’ve determined you were not the cause of her cancer. It was in her before you, and we think, the reason she could see you to begin with.”

Azrael felt his jaw go south. “You mean you didn’t even have a hand in her seeing me? After everything you led me to believe—” He started forward. Chronos’ grip on his arm held him in place.

Atropos hobbled back a step. “Which is why we’ve decided to make her a Reaper of Mercy as well.” She waved her cane, dismissing him. “We’re through. Go home and explain to your wife why she has wings.” She turned, headed for the door.

Lachesis shook her head and offered them a sympathetic smile. “You have two weeks to teach your bride everything she needs to know before we’ll expect her to begin reaping souls.” She winked. “Whatever those lessons entail.”

* * *

“Where is she?” Azrael mounted the steps of his home two at time toward the door Vitus held open. He wanted to see her. Hold her. Touch her.

The butler pointed down the hall and in the direction of the bedrooms.

“Thank you.” Azrael jetted past, racing to reach Sara. He burst through the doors of the room he’d created just for her. She stood in front of the cheval mirror, flexing her new wings. They were lighter than his, nearly white. She looked more like an angel than he ever had.

She turned, her face a bright beacon of joy, and ran to him. “Oh, Azrael, I didn’t think they’d grant you anything, let alone this.” Once in his arms, she glanced over her shoulder. “I have wings. Wings!”

“So you do.” Wrapping her tight, he drank in her scent, her warmth, her sweetness. He kissed her repeatedly, covering her face until she laughed. He put a small space between them and sought her gaze. “Then you understand what they’ve done to you?”

She nodded. “I think so. They’ve made me a Reaper? Like you?”

“Yes. It wasn’t what I asked for, but that’s how the Fates are, forever doing what they think best. Are you okay with this?”

“It means we get to be together, right?”

“Yes. For always.” He hoped she fully understood what eternity meant.

“Do I get a flying horse of my own? I think that would be so cool.”

“I have no idea. We’ll know if one shows up.” He cupped her face in his hands. “This is forever, Sara. Just you and me. There’s much you don’t know about this place.” He sighed. “You may wish things had ended differently.”

“Like what don’t I know?” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

“Like...there’s no real daylight here. Only twilight and night.”

“No daylight ever?”

“None.” He knew he should have told her this sooner.

“Is that why there are mirrors everywhere? And that driveway of pearls?”

“Yes.”

She uncrossed her arms and shrugged. “I’m okay with that. We can see the sun all we want when we go back to Vegas to celebrate our first anniversary. Now, back to the flying horse. I really think I should have one.”

He grinned. He liked the way his wife thought. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“This is the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened.” She squealed and clapped her hands against his chest. Her wings fluttered. “I feel amazing! Like I’ve just won the lottery.” She tossed her head, rippling her long brown newly wavy locks. “Not to mention I’ve never had better hair.” She kissed him. “I love you, and this is better than what I’d hoped for. Maybe the Fates aren’t as bad as you think.”

“You’ll meet them soon enough and you can decide for yourself, but before that happens, you have a lot to learn about being a Reaper. I’ve got so much to teach you. There’s your visceral form to master, whatever that may be. Your—”

“I think you’ll have plenty of time to teach me everything I need to know, don’t you? Besides...” She trailed a finger down his chest. “I can think of a lot of other things I’d rather do first. Things we already know how to do very well.”

“Sara, this is serious business. You’ve just become the First Lady of Death. You must learn to control your power if—”

“Ooo, the First Lady of Death. I like the way that sounds, but I’m going to stick with Queen of the Underworld. Much more impressive.”

He rolled his eyes in amusement. His brothers were going to love that one.

“And don’t worry too much about me learning to handle my power. I’m pretty sure I’ve got the basics down.” She pinched her lips together, obviously trying not to laugh, but the mischievous sparkle in her eyes gave her away.

Heat flared between them. He looked down. Their clothes were gone. He bit his cheek to quell the surge of wicked joy coursing through him and did his best to keep a straight face. “So that’s how you want to play it, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded, leaned in and licked his bottom lip. “That’s exactly how I want to play it.”

The End

About the author:

When the characters in Kristen Painter’s head started to take over, she decided to exorcise them onto paper and share them with the world. She writes paranormal romance and has the first of three books in her gothic fantasy vampire series, Blood Rights, coming from Orbit in fall 2011. The former college English teacher can often be found online at Romance Divas, the award-winning writers’ forum she co-founded. She’s represented by Elaine Spencer of The Knight Agency.

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