The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance))
Read The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance)) Online
Authors: Marie Hall
The Witching Hour: Grim Reaper Saga
Because sometimes death isn’t the end…
After not only being run over, but watching her husband die in the same hit and run, Eve Philips thought she would never love again. Years pass and her sisters worry that she’ll become an old crone like so many other witches. They’ve made it their personal mission to help her find her next true love. But Eve wants none of that, she throws herself into her potions shop--
Witches Brew
--determined work, and not a lover, will fix the void in her heart.
Until the day she sees him. Cian, gorgeous and mysterious, she’s frightened by the desires he brings out in her. A passion that rivals even the love she’d felt for her husband.
But Cian is not what he seems. He’s fae. More than that, he’s the grim reaper of legend and his mission means her death. She shouldn’t have seen him. His kind moves in stealth, but the moment her golden eyes meets his he knows his world will never be the same. He’ll defy his orders and his Queen to keep her. But will Eve want what he offers when she discovers the truth? That he was the one who harvested her husband’s soul…
The Witching Hour: Grim Reaper Saga
Copyright 2012 Marie Hall
Cover Art by Elaina of
For the Muse Designs
Copyright June 2012
Formatted by
Ironhorse Formatting
Edited by Marie Hall, C.C., Sharon K.
Kindle Edition
This is a work fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Marie Hall, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in the context of reviews.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of all people involved with the creation of this ebook.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Marie Hall. Unauthorized or restricted use in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patent Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2012 by Marie Hall, Honolulu, Hawaii, United States of America
Dedication
To my readers, I thank you.
Thank you to Lee for doing such an amazing formatting job! As always, and to my girls… you know who you are. None of this would be possible without your constant encouragement!
Table Of Contents
The haunting, eerily lyrical strain of Type-O Negative filled the alleyway like a siren’s wail. Beckoning. Unrelenting. Deadly.
Undetectable to all mortal and immortal alike, Cian stood within the shadows of Club X. A popular club that catered to the interests of the supernaturals: the vampires, werewolves, and witches.
Behind the club, the inky black of the San Francisco bay stretched for miles. City lights sparkled and danced over the obsidian water like will ‘o wisps.
He waited, scanning the milling faces. An electrical shiver of heat sizzled down his spine; his transformation had begun. He despised this part most, seeing the victims alive, happy and smiling. Centuries of watching death was like a poisonous cancer spreading through his soul, devouring him whole. He was tired, but still he trudged on. What else was there for someone like him? He existed in darkness, a creature born to night and madness.
Sounds of honking cabs, cable cars, and trotting horse drawn carriages warred with the knowledge that out there lurked monsters of the worst sort. They were coming out to play, to feed, and to kill. The latter a trait he knew by heart.
The tenuous peace between the races today was a far cry from the cold reality of earlier centuries. Then, there had been war. Any person thought to be outside the norm was killed, maimed, or tortured. No questions asked. Ever.
But the veneer of civility between the groups was fragile at best. Infighting between the clan, coven, and pack continued to this day. Partially over turf wars, but mainly over a past so dark many feared history would repeat itself.
He lifted his hand, staring at the glove inscribed with runes of death and instantly he was transported to another time, a different era. Screaming horses, the sharp smell of crushed grass, and battle cries consumed him. It had been a massacre and all caused by the deception of the fae.
The
monsters
might not want to admit it, but once they’d revered the beauty of the fairy folk, admired their skill of magick and knowledge of the arcane. But now the fae were outcasts in a society full of them. The irony was not lost on him.
The musty odor of old blood and fur snapped him back to reality. A pack of weres threaded their way through the alleyway. Their eyes roved the dark shadows; top lips pulled back to reveal large incisors, gums exposed. Several pairs of nostrils flared as they tasted the scent of night, ever vigilant, aware, and wary.
More followed. The soft strike of shoes on wet pavement, leather trench coats rustled as they swept the ground. The lethal, rapacious glide belonged to vampires whose postures screamed confidence and deadly grace.
Humans came too, at least those bold enough to brave the club’s nefarious clientele. Women mostly, dressed to the nines in their short black dresses revealing impossibly long expanses of thighs; a veritable walking buffet for the baddies all around them.
Thick smog slithered through the night like a python on the prowl.
Then the sharp clack of stilettos striking concrete drew his attention. He glanced at the source and instantly knew many things. The raven-haired woman was coven. Her power rippled like silvery waves beneath the pale flesh of her skin.
She was not alone. Two other females--one blonde, one redhead--walked beside her. Their striking features- high cheekbones, strong round jaws, and full red lips--proclaimed them sisters. Walking beside them was a man. He towered the sisters by a good foot. Cian waited for the tell-tell pulse of magick that covered a monster like second skin, but it never came. The man was human. He moved with an easy, uncaring stride, every once in a while brushing his thigh or hand against the dark haired witch.
A shock, like a burst of flame, ran down his arm and into his hand, turning him from man to nightmare. Fire traveled his veins, scorching, it made him grunt with the momentary flash of pain. He hissed and snatched off his glove. The transformation of smooth, tanned flesh turning to a skeletal hand of ivory would have frightened many.
He clenched his hand, studying the bones of his fingers. For an outsider to look at the transformation would almost seem surreal. Above the wrist he was man, flesh and blood. But when the change overcame him--and it was time to harvest--the hand turned to a design of the macabre. The flesh, muscle, and tendon literally faded from sight.
Human depictions always had the Grim Reapers wearing the traditional black cowl with a sickle in their skeletal grip. In truth, reapers were as normal as man. You could pass them on the street, commenting on their remarkable beauty, little knowing that beneath the white smile and ever-present glove lurked the killer of legend.
Cian tucked his hand into his pocket and glanced up. The human male walking alongside the sisters smiled and grabbed the witch around the waist, pulling her close for a quick embrace.
Blood pounded through Cian’s veins, quickened his pulse. He moved deeper into shadow the closer the group came to him, not that he needed to, he was now covered in glamour. A thick blanket of magick that let him see out, but no one see in. If anyone glanced in his direction the glamour would force their eyes to look away. But his eyes remained riveted to the woman.
She laughed a rich, lilting sound. Deep and throaty, hot and sexy, bewitching just like her. Blood rushed through his head as the most unusual thoughts consumed him, what would it be like to have her smile at him? Would her eyes sparkle for him the way they did for her mortal?
Cian’s breathing hitched, and a tangled web of scents tickled his nose--the rotting stench of food, the strong, acrid odor of human waste, but amongst those and almost imperceptible, the gentle fragrance of patchouli and vanilla.
Hers.
He closed his eyes, savoring the richness of it, and realized with a small pang that she smelled of home. The witch reminded him of rolling hills, crystal clear waters, and smog-free air. He missed it. Needed it. The dark stain of humanity rolled like venom through his soul.
Clenching his jaw, he opened his eyes to see the man and two sisters enter the medieval doors of Club X. His dark witch stood poised, ready to step inside when she paused and glanced behind her shoulder.
Golden eyes met blue.
He sucked in a breath.
Can she see me?
His gut clenched. Waiting. Hoping. For what? Covered in glamour, he should have blended into shadow, one with the darkness of night and always undetectable to his prey. No one, save another reaper, could peer through his glamour.
Perhaps she did not see him.
A slow smile curved her lips and an answering awareness gripped his spine, making him tense and rigid. In that moment Cian felt… confusion? Joy? He grabbed his skull, gut churning, because he couldn’t understand the emotions.
Her sharp eyed gaze narrowed and roamed the length of his body. His skin tingled with a hot rush of blood anywhere her golden eyes touched.
