Page 69 of Song of the Dark Wood

Conor’s eyes flared brighter. “Imeanyou have no idea what you walked into, and you’re making things worse.”

“It might help,” Charlie intoned. “It might calm him. At least let her try.”

Conor looked at the reaper with murderous intent, but Charlie nodded at Rowan. She closed the space between them, careful not to look at the soul’s eyes.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.

“He was attacked by a monster in the Dark Wood. What was left of his life force has been partially drained. We need to try to restore him so that he can cross over. Otherwise, he will become a wraith,” the female reaper said.

Wraiths were souls trapped between worlds, forced to wander and never find peace. They were responsible for hauntings, and it was considered the worst fate for a soul.

Rowan shuddered. “Valen?”

Conor nodded.

Rowan took the soul’s hand in hers, and she started to sing a lullaby she’d heard Orla sing many times when she thought no one else was in the tower.

The soul stopped screeching and writhing and focused entirely on her song. His gaze burned into her, but she didn’t dare meet his eyes for fear of being possessed.

Rowan felt the heavy silence of Conor’s magic fill the room. The soul squeezed her hand tighter.

“It’s working,” Charlie whispered.

Slowly, the soul filled in more evenly with color, and the red patches faded.

Rowan watched Conor. A strange blue glow pulsed beneath his hands where they rested on the soul’s chest. He looked strong, powerful, and darkly sexy, with his hair falling over his forehead and his brow furrowed in concentration. She imagined having that same focus directed at her. She imagined his hands on her, and it filled her with a strange, fluttering heat. She clenched her thighs together.

Conor’s nostrils flared, and his gaze snapped to Rowan. “Stop being distracting.”

She looked back at the spirit’s hand, trying to hide the mortified flush of her cheeks as she continued to sing.

After a few strained minutes, Charlie brushed her shoulder, indicating that she could stop. Conor grabbed the spirit and dragged him out of the room.

Rowan looked awkwardly from Charlie to the female reaper.

“I’m Petra. It’s nice to meet you. Charlie’s told me so much about you, but it’s interesting to see that power of yours inaction,” she said, brushing her long, dark hair behind her shoulders.

“How many reapers are there?” Rowan asked.

Charlie laughed. “Plenty.”

“What do you do all day?”

Petra’s eyes narrowed on her. “Hunt down souls apprehensive about crossing. Help balance the realms. Keep Conor safe.”

Rowan shivered, considering what the reaper might do if she knew about the dagger strapped to Rowan’s thigh.

A moment later, Conor appeared at the door. He looked wrecked by the effort of restoring the soul. “Charlie, Petra, leave us,” he said.

Charlie winked at Rowan on his way out of the room. “I’ll keep an ear out just in case he loses his composure, lass.”

Rowan turned and smiled at Conor.

“Don’t smile. I’m very frustrated with you,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair and rolled his shoulders back. Rowan didn’t know someone could look so weary and dangerous at the same time. She stood completely still as Conor turned to look at her. “You do not listen.”

Rowan stood tall with her hands on her hips. “Neither do you.”

“It was perilous for you to be here during that process.” He punctuated each word with a step closer.

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