Reap & Repent (10 page)

He had a pretty good idea who was responsible. Kylen.

What was even more disturbing was that he hadn’t encountered him all day. Where was he? When Kylen had shown up in the past, he hadn’t missed an opportunity to taunt Deacon, particularly when Deacon was on the job. Today, he had stayed far away. The more he worried the problem over in his mind, the more he felt that it was vital for him to be with Ruth and to train her. She was far too vulnerable now that life as usual was over for her.

She should have been trained from the moment her ability to read auras had emerged. Every reaper he knew had at least one reaper parent who had passed down the gift. Ruth was an apparent anomaly. Neither her mother nor her father had been reapers. He should know. He’d now reaped them both in the course of two days. Puzzling.

Something was off about the whole situation. He hadn’t mentioned it to Ruth, who had more than enough on her plate. He would have to figure it out on his own, and the sooner the better. Ignorance made you weak and vulnerable to attack. The thought of Ruth being attacked made him want to punch something.

He would do everything in his power to protect her, and if need be, he’d take her wherever he went from now on to keep her safe. A surge of possessiveness coursed through him. He hadn’t felt this way about a woman in a long time. Nearly a hundred years to be exact. It was disconcerting. What was she doing at this very moment? Was she safe? Had Kylen been bothering her? Fear and guilt squirmed into the back of his mind as he made his way through the sea of reapers to the stone monolith portal.

Deacon’s emotions were mixed. He’d already failed one woman he cared about. Kara. He hadn’t been able to protect her. His heart couldn’t afford for history to repeat itself. After a brief conversation earlier in the day, Nate, his witch friend, had agreed to come over to Ruth’s house tonight to consecrate it. Deacon had kept the reasons to himself…he had always operated on a need-to-know basis with Nate.

Life, or at least the transportation problem, would get a little less complicated after Ruth’s house was a stop on the consecrated subway. Or so he hoped.

When he placed his hand on the portal, he felt the familiar tug as the consecrated subway sucked him in and spun him toward Good Springs Cemetery.

He materialized in the middle of the grounds and watched the sun set as he made his way along the two miles of gravel road leading to Ruth’s house.

* * *

Ruth’s eyes sprang open to a clattering racket as something crashed down her chimney, landing on the hearth in front of her in a burst of sooty dust. It took
her eyes a few seconds to connect with her brain and formulate a response to the slimiest, foulest-smelling toadlike creature she could ever have imagined. The thing rose from the ashes to its full height of two feet, shook itself like a wet dog, and bared an impressive and terrifying array of needle-pointed, three-inch-long teeth. Its hissing broke Ruth from her paralyzed stupor. She lunged and snatched the iron poker off the face of the fireplace.

Without another thought, she sprang forward and speared the beast through its middle.

It let out a little “humpf,” squatted and dissolved into a smoking pile of gooey, chunky debris on her stone hearth. Ruth’s hands and legs trembled so violently she marveled that she was still vertical.

What the hell?

Salt!

She had forgotten about the chimney and fireplace. On rubbery legs, she stumbled to the kitchen and snatched up the box of salt, giving the entire hearth a good dousing. The remainder she poured directly on the still-steaming blob for good measure. She’d seen enough movies to know that dead wasn’t always dead.

Her heart felt as if it was going to break loose from its anchors and go its own way. When a strong noxious odor wafted up from the thing’s remains, she gagged but willed herself not to vomit.

One mess to clean up is more than enough.

As she watched the blob on the hearth for any signs of life, she realized that the sun had set, and the house was bathed in twilight. Reaching for the lamp
on the end table, she turned it on along with every other light she could reach, all without taking her eyes off the blob.

Covered in sticky goo, the poker trembled in her hand. She peeked at the clock: 8:30 p.m.

She prayed Deacon would show up sooner rather than later because she wasn’t sure how many more surprises she could take in one day.

After twenty agonizingly slow minutes, she caught a glimpse of movement along the driveway. Relieved to see that it was Deacon, she resisted the urge to run to him. Sidestepping the still-smoldering black ooze, she unlocked the front door and waited impatiently, keeping her eyes glued to the blob.

She opened the door, sparing Deacon a sideways glance and a lackluster greeting,

“Hey.”

“Hey. Sorry it’s taken so long. Can you break the salt line so I can come through?”

So it keeps him out, too? Interesting.

She scuffed a foot through the salt, breaking the line.

He took a deep breath, looked Ruth up and down, and was through the door in a heartbeat. Something about her expression must have tipped him off because he immediately scanned the room, his eyes fierce.

“What the hell?” he asked, as he took in the hearth.

“You tell me.”

She was ready for some explanations…and backup. All of her bravery had been exhausted for the day. He reached for the poker she hadn’t realized she was still clutching in her hand. A huge burden lifted from her as she released it.

“Did you do that? With this?” He pointed the makeshift weapon toward the blob on the hearth.

She hoped the blob hadn’t been a friend of his but quickly decided that if it had been, and he hadn’t wanted it dead, he should have warned her. Specifically.

“Yes,” she said, her voice shaking.

He stared hard at her, the corners of his mouth and eyes wrinkling into concerned lines.

“Are you okay?” he asked, inspecting her with clinical attention. “Did any of it get on you?”

“No, none of it got on me. Is it dead?” she asked, trying to still her trembling limbs.

Deacon walked over and stabbed at the gelatinous pile with the poker.

“Oh, yeah. It’s more than dead. You salted it
after
I’m guessing?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice faltering. “I forgot to salt the hearth. I didn’t think of the chimney. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up when that thing slid down and…plopped out.”

Deacon smiled. He looked as if he was on the verge of chuckling, but she thought better of him when he didn’t. She didn’t find any of this funny. At all.

“What the hell is it, and how do I clean it up?”

“It’s an imp,” Deacon said incredulously. “A demon’s spy. Any idea how it found you?”

She considered that.

“It must have followed me home from Huntsbury this morning. It was not a good day.”

“What happened?”

“Can we get rid of that first?” she asked, pointing to the blob.

“Sure.” Deacon laid the poker on the hearth and walked to the back porch, returning with a bucket and dust pan. He grabbed bleach and a scrub brush on the way.

She was happy to sit back and let him work. In fact, she had never been so happy to see another person in her entire life. Relaxing a bit, she felt the tears well up in her eyes. She let out a little sniffle.

“Sorry,” she said, rubbing her face on her sleeve.

“Don’t be sorry. You did a great job here. It’s not every day someone sends an imp after you,” he said, poking at the pile.

Ruth shook her head in disbelief.

“The iron poker was just right, Ruth,” he continued. “And the salt finished the job. Still… I’m sorry that you had to deal with this alone, without me here to help you.”

“That imp wasn’t the only thing I saw today,” she said as Deacon scooped up the last of the goo. He scraped and wiped and bleached until the hearth was spic and span, a dark wet stain the only evidence of her odd encounter. Finishing
up, he dried the hearth with a towel, which she swore to herself that she would never, ever use again. He washed and dried his hands, then returned to sit beside her.

“What else did you see today, Ruth?” he asked, reaching out and palming her cheek. She snuggled into his touch and he pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. She felt him breathe in deeply, then freeze.

He jerked back from her, his hands gripping her upper arms a little too tightly. “You smell like demon, Ruth. What touched you?”

“K-Kylen,” she stuttered. “I saw Kylen today.
He
grabbed me.”

Deacon closed his eyes. Even though she couldn’t see his aura, Ruth knew he was furious. She couldn’t decide whether the anger was directed at her or Kylen.

When his eyes opened, he concentrated his stare at Ruth. Loosening his grip on her arms, he started to gently stroke her arms and shoulders.

“Thank God you’re okay.” He pulled her in close. Ruth was confused. He hugged her so tightly it squeezed the air from her lungs, but this was still much nicer than thirty-seconds-ago Deacon.

Snuggling his face back against her neck, he brushed his lips up and down the veins of her throat, sending goose bumps over her skin. She trembled and felt her body go soft and pliant. He ran his hand up and behind her neck, snaking his other arm around her waist, and crushed her into him. She let out a little moan of pleasure, the green light for him because he was all hands and lips after that.

Easing her back against the couch, he settled over her. She squirmed beneath his weight, luxuriating in the sensation, but wanting more of him. Clutching his back, she slipped her hands beneath his T-shirt to touch his hot, smooth skin. She burned for him to do the same to her.

Rising, he pulled his shirt off over his head, allowing more contact. Her palms slid up and over his chest. She’d wanted to do that ever since she’d caught him sleeping on her couch this morning.

This morning?

She pushed the crazy memories of the day’s events out of her brain. She wanted to feel the here and now. Nothing else.

Deacon closed his eyes as she stroked her palms over his ribs, caressing his beautiful chest. Gazing down at her, his dark hair fell softly into his face. She pushed it back, and he turned his cheek into her hand.

As he sat astraddle her, he glided his hands under her shirt and over her bra, cupping her breasts. She arched up into him, begging him for more contact. No one had ever touched her like he was doing. Her body was on autopilot, and she was no longer in control of her faculties or inhibitions.

He pulled the tail of her T-shirt, and she raised herself enough to help him get it over her head. He undid the front hook on her bra, and her breasts sprang free. His hot, smooth palms slid over each one—her nipples were hard as buttons.

When his mouth closed around her nipple, she nearly unhinged. She was still a virgin thanks to her disastrous romantic forays thus far, but she was embarrassed to let him know.

All she could see in Deacon was need and desire—no aura. It was wonderful. Except she wasn’t prepared. She wasn’t on the pill because she had no need to be, and she had no other protection if things progressed. As Deacon took her breast and nipple into his warm, wet mouth and ran a finger under the waistband of her jean shorts, she really wanted things to advance. Her heart throbbed in her ears as the heat of his hands soaked into her skin.

Not sure how far it was polite to let things go without bringing it up, she was lost between wanting to explain and needing to forge ahead, consequences be damned.

Deacon must have felt her hesitate. He cradled her face between his hands and studied her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “I love it. I want you. I do. So. Much. I’ve just…never done this before. I’m…not prepared.”

“You’ve never made out on a couch before?” he asked skeptically.

“I’ve been around all the bases, just not to home,” she said, instantly regretting her admission. “Please don’t stop.”

He considered her for what felt like forever, then settled down on top of her, skin to skin, his face buried in her neck and chest.

“Damn,” he exhaled.

She didn’t know if that was a
good
damn or a
bad
damn. Her heart dropped in her chest, and she was sure she’d killed the moment.

His weight crushed her into the couch cushions. She loved it. She felt protected. Safe.

He raised his face to hers. “Your first time isn’t going to be on a couch with an imp stain still in sight.”

Disappointment filled her.

Deacon rose, extending his hand to her, and pulled her to her feet. Hooking her bra back gently, he brushed his hands along the sides of her breasts, and then reached for her shirt. He re-dressed her and drew her against him.

“This isn’t finished,” he breathed in her ear. “Postponed.”

She nodded a yes, but felt too teary to voice it.

“My witch friend will be here in an hour.” He inhaled deeply and smiled. “Is that
lasagna
I smell under all of that sulfur and bleach?”

She nodded again. “I’ll warm it up for you.”

“No, I’ll do it. You sit. Talk. Tell me what happened today. All of it. In great detail.”

As Deacon puttered around her fridge and kitchen, Ruth somehow managed to get herself back under some semblance of control.

He retrieved the lasagna and set it on the table to cut and serve.

“This isn’t a frozen lasagna?” he asked, pointing to the dish with a spatula. “You made this? From scratch?”

“Yeah. I was hungry for some comfort food, not crap.”

He looked from the lasagna to Ruth and back.

“Don’t you like lasagna?” she asked, unsure of his reaction. “There’s no spinach in it or anything. Wait, you like meat, right? You’re not a vegetarian or
anything? Are you allergic to garlic? Or, you know, repelled by it?” she stammered, getting upset again.

Well, if he doesn’t want it, then it will be the last meal he ever eats in this house.

“No, it’s not that,” he said, staring down at it as if it was a saucy, cheesy piece of heaven. “No one has ever cooked anything for me. Not homemade anyway. Restaurants don’t count.”