Page 1 of Shadow of Death

Chapter One

The darkness was pulsinginside of me again. It felt like a physical thing buried deep in my chest, where it couldn’t be ripped out without taking me with it. I tried to contain it but could feel it clawing at my walls, shredding me from the inside.

Sometimes it seemed to wake up near Kicks; other times a threat awakened it. Then there were times like now, where there was no clear reason.

I spent my days with my guard up, afraid one weak moment would set it free, causing my downfall and that of many others. After all, something as dark as this felt could cause devastation with the powers I now possessed.

The mundane chore of kneading my bread wasn’t helping. I focused on calming it, but it was working into a frenzy, setting my senses on fire. The moreotherI became, the more I changed, the more I seemed to be drawn to things like baking and gardening. I’d do anything that made me feel more connected to the here and now.

“When we’re done, once my debt has been paid, I want this…whatever this is, out of me,” I said, wondering if Death was near and that was why it was pulsing. She never seemed too far, as if she were keeping close tabs on me. She’d saved Kicks, and inreturn, I was to be her vengeance. How long that job lasted, how much vengeance I’d be doling out, was pretty fuzzy.

I can’t take it back,Death said.I told you, that’s not how it works. What passes through you becomes part of you.

She’d actually bothered to respond to me. More often than not, she ignored me. Although I couldn’t see Death, that was its own blessing, with her twitchy, solid-black eyes.

I refrained from continuing the conversation. Talks with her never ended up beneficial to me. I went back to kneading my dough, listening to the crickets chirping outside.

The night was quiet other than them, making Kicks’ approach easier to hear, especially as my senses had been improving daily. Death hadn’t just gifted me with this darkness, but all sorts of little surprises and heightened senses. That was how I could tell by the sound of his determined steps that Kicks was heading here. I’d been waiting for this fight ever since I told him to move on.

In the weeks since, he’d seemed to try to give me my space, as if I’d change my mind. I wouldn’t. This was what was best. There was no future for us. I’d never be the mate he wanted, not with this darkness growing within me. He’d given enough. It was time for him to move on and have a peaceful life. Nothing about my future would be peaceful.

He didn’t kick the door or slam it shut, but it was obvious the second he’d stepped over the threshold that he was in warrior mode. He stood there, skin tanned, hair as dark as pitch and green eyes glowing with a heat that didn’t come close to human. He looked like a warrior god.

He glanced about the cabin, and then cocked an ear toward Charlie’s room. He wasn’t going to hear my little brother. Buddie had shown up earlier, asking Charlie if he wanted to come over to his place and play games. The timing was more than a little suspicious.

Kicks walked over to the table, where I was on my second batch of dough. He looked at my hands before locking eyes with me. Oh yes, he was itching for a fight. In truth, I wasn’t opposed to letting off a little steam. I had nothing but the unknown on the horizon and was jam packed with angst over what was coming my way. If he wanted to brawl, he’d come to the right place.

“You remember your little spiel a few weeks ago?”

Yep.Just as I’d guessed. He’d let my talk stew, trying to soften it but still couldn’t swallow it.

“Of course I remember mylittle spiel, as you call it.” I’d never forget the day I told him it was over. I kept my eyes down, afraid he’d see some flicker of regret. I punched my dough, finding another useful purpose to bread making.

“I don’t accept it,” he said.

Yeah, I already knew that. I didn’t need him to tell me. “Is that what you came here for, or did you have some other words of wisdom you needed to impart?” I forced my attention to stay glued to the dough. His rawness was already drawing me to him. Locking eyes would surely take me under.

“You’re not taking the easy way out. I won’t let you.” His voice was rough, fraying every exposed and overly sensitive nerve I had.

“Letme? I hate to break this to you, but you don’t get a choice. I’m not sure why you think you do.” I’d known this fight was coming, and wasn’t averse to it, but I couldn’t let him get under my skin.

He moved closer until he was right beside me, my shoulder grazing his chest as I continued to knead my bread.

“I’m not letting you do this,” he said.

“It’s. Not. Your. Choice.” I punched my dough again and again, rethinking my eagerness to fight with him. I was rawer than the clump of dough on my table.

Then my dough disappeared. It landed on the floor and then slid another few feet, just so that it could pick up every drop of dirt possible, leaving a messy trail of stickiness and flour behind it.

I spun on him. That had been my best-looking dough yet—it was the first one that had actually seemed like it had a good texture—and he’d flung it across the room? He wanted a fight? Now he’dreallyget one.

I pointed to the poor, doughy carcass on the ground. “You ruined my dough!”

“Who gives a fuck about your dough? You’re ruining your life.”

“Icare about my dough.” He didn’t get it. I couldn’t fix my life. I shoved at his chest with both hands, leaving flour prints on his black shirt. He didn’t budge.

He stood unmoving as I continued to shove at his chest, thoroughly covering him in flour.

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