Page 37 of Black Heart

And then he’s there.

No fanfare, no warning. One moment empty space, the next filled with his presence. Tall. Immovable. A black hole given form, warping reality to his will.

The Scythe.

“Shiiiiit,” I breathe out in a drunken, off-key melody. “I’m in so much trouble.”

Ethan stares at our new friend. “Whoa, is Darth Vader in his mercenary era? Damn, I left my lightsaber in my other pants.”

“Ethan. We need to leave. Now,” I whisper.

The Scythe looms in the middle of the deserted street, a void punctuated only by the eerie glow of his mask’s electronic eyes. They pulse with venomous green light, scanning us with cold precision.

His gaze locks onto our intertwined hands, then flicks to Ethan’s jacket draped over my shoulders. I’m certain the temperature drops as his scrutiny intensifies.

“Hello, Wraithling,” the Scythe purrs.

“Okay, yeah.” Ethan blinks. “Definitelynot a fellow cosplayer. Unless he’s really committed to the whole ‘fear is part of the costume’ thing.”

I squeeze Ethan’s hand hard, silently pleading with him to shut up.

The Scythe’s focus shifts to Ethan, his voice a glacial command. “I’ll be taking her now. Step aside.”

Ethan glances between me and the Scythe, confusion and alcohol warring in his eyes. “Uh, Layla, you know this guy?”

I open my mouth but only taste the Fisherman’s Regret churning in my belly. Words fail me.

Ethan, oblivious to the danger, throws an arm over my shoulders. “Sorry, Mr. Scary Mask. She’s with me now.”

The Scythe prowls closer, each step a silent threat. “Last warning, Ethan. Walk away.”

Ethan, with drunken bravery I never knew he possessed, squares his shoulders. “Ooh, the cyber-ninja knows my name. I’m shaking in my ergonomic shoes.”

I hiss at Ethan. “Now is not the time to discover your inner action hero!”

“Listen, my dude—” Ethan starts, and I nearly faint at his casual use of “my dude” to address the human embodiment of death.

“—we were having a great night until you crashed our party. I made Layla laugh. You made her frown. I think the scoreboard’s pretty clear here?—”

Ethan crumples to the ground mid-sentence.

“Ethan!” I cry, but the Scythe is already there, his gloved fingers digging into my arm.

“Are you insane?” I scream at the Scythe, lashing out at the arm that just executed some sort of cobra strike on Ethan’s throat. “He’s just a drunk nerd, not a threat!”

He deflects my strike effortlessly, trapping me against his side with inhuman speed.

“Ethan!” I cry, twisting frantically in the Scythe’s iron grip. “Ethan!”

The Scythe yanks me closer, his hot breath a stark contrast to the cold metal of his mask against my skin. I shudder involuntarily.

“He’s not worth it,” he whispers, voice laced with venom. “No one is.”

Fear ignites in my veins as his glowing stare pins me in place. “I warned you to stay in your home.”

I struggle harder, but his hold only tightens. “Let me go,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “You’re hurting me.”

“I could hurt you so much worse,” he warns, voice dangerously soft. “You’re so careless, Wraithling.”

---