Page 6 of Stolen By the Reaper

Her eyes widened as she took in the cavern carved from ancient stone. Iron sconces flared to life with unnatural flames, but did little to stave off the persistent gloom. Cold seeped in, settling into the deepest recesses of my bones.

It was a simple thing to move from where I lounged to standing right in front of her. I caught her chin between my finger and thumb, tilting her face up to look at me. Mountain mists and lavender entered my nose, coated my tongue, spread her through my veins.

Mine. She was mine.

“You may call me Azrael.” I leaned in, ghosting my lips over hers. “Enjoy your solitude, little dove.”

Before she could shove me away again, before temptation grabbed me by the cock and sealed my lips to hers, I summoned my power and teleported away, leaving her alone in the cave with nothing but a single bed and the echoes of her own ragged breathing.

CHAPTER THREE

JOSEPHINE

Itossed and turned as darkness swallowed me whole. Chanting echoed through the void. Faceless figures in black robes circled, their words unintelligible but still somehow full of sinister promise. The blade glinted, poised to strike.

My heart raced. I tried to run. To move a single muscle. But they had me trapped on that cold stone altar.

A thunderous crack split the air. Wind whipped my hair. Shadows danced, coiling around ankles like hungry serpents.

Then he appeared. Tall. Dangerous.

Beautiful.

Green flames in his eyes roared like a furnace as he strode forward. Power radiated from his broad shoulders, the strong column of his neck, the harsh line of his jaw.

With a wave of his hand, the crowd of robed men went flying back. He never broke stride. Another flick of his wrist and they went silent. The dagger dropped to the ground.

“Mine,” he growled, voice like gravel and silk.

Strong arms scooped me up. Lips claimed mine in a searing kiss. The world spun away...

Warmth. So much warmth. Hands ghosted over my skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. A low chuckle rumbledthrough my bones. Pleasure coiled in my core, building with each teasing touch. I arched into phantom caresses, chasing the feeling.

“That’s it, little dove. Let go.”

My eyes snapped open. Twin green flames burned in the darkness, a wicked grin spreading in the eerie light. The same green fire seemed to burn in the glyphs etched into the skin of his muscled arms and chiseled chest, with more disappearing into the waist of his slacks.

“Interesting dreams?” Azrael raked his gaze over my body, lingering on the flush I felt creeping up my neck.

I jerked away, but he was faster. He moved like liquid shadow, rolling to pin me beneath him. One large hand trapped my wrists above my head. The other traced lazy patterns on my hip.

“Now, now, little dove. Is that any way to say good morning?” His smirk took on a mocking edge, but his eyes gleamed with hunger.

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped. I struggled against his grip, but it was futile. The man—reaper—was a solid wall of muscle.

Reaper. As in taking souls, guiding them to the great beyond. Beholden to demons, apparently.

Demons with ties to terrible fiancés.

I’d been over it again and again as hours passed in the dank cave. Pacing. Feeling the walls for some sort of exit or window or anything but solid stone. Finally collapsing on the surprisingly comfy bed.

The deception had been perfect. By design, I supposed, but still perfect. The perfect gentleman, the perfect amount of overlapping interests. Perfect looks. Conversation. Outings.

Six perfect months before the perfect proposal. A little soon, sure. But Alain was... perfect. Who would tell him no?

I’d shed my wedding dress when my chest felt too tight and my lungs fought against working. Tears had flowed freely in the dark. By the time they dried and turned itchy on my cheeks, a cold sort of disgust had replaced all feelings I had for Alain’s fuckingperfection.

Azrael arched a brow, flames simmering in his eyes. “What should I call you then?”

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