Page 67 of TBR: Dead But Well Read

Lifting my chin, I stared up at Rip. “I am Saul’s soulmate, and I bear the mark to prove it.”

Thanks to our height difference, Saul’s hard length pressed against my back. Poor guy had just taken care of that problem, and now he’d gotten aroused by this?

“This can’t be.” Rip reached out a hand as though intending to touch the mark, but snatched his hand back when Saul growled and shadows swirled around me like snakes ready to strike.

“Are you a reaper?” Rip asked.

“No, I’m a ghost.” There was no reason to lie.

Rip looked at Saul with disgust. “If you possess the ability to mark other species, why waste it on a ghost who will be gone within weeks? At most, you have a few months.”

“I possess the ability to mark only my soulmate. No different from any other reaper,” Saul answered coldly. “She is mine, and I am hers. We are bonded and marked under reaper law.”

“Do you hear this?” Rip threw up his hands. “Saul wishes for us to accept that this specter is his bride!”

His what?

Several of the reapers laughed, but I stood frozen. I knew soulmates were a for life sort of deal, thanks to all the shifter romance—I mean, research books—I read. But marriage?

When I died, I’d grieved the fact I’d never be a bride or a wife. And now I find out I’d gotten married in the bathroom of a club?

Way to keep it classy, Axelle.

“We are married by the laws of our species and you dare to mock my bride?” Saul’s voice shook with rage.

Instead of stopping while he was ahead and not dead, Rip decided to do the equivalent of dropping a handful of Mentos in a soda bottle and shaking it. “Why are you like this? You take perverse pleasure in choosing the path that brings shame and disgust upon your species. No other paranormal species would lower themselves to take a ghost for a bride.”

The loud, overly dramatic and drawn out clearing of a throat drew everyone’s attention.

“Actually, you’re mistaken.” Lochlan pushed away from the wall where he’d been hidden in the shadows only a few feet away from Zacharias.

The reapers closest to him jumped in surprise. He’d moved so quietly, they hadn’t even realized he’d been lurking in the shadows, ready to join in the fray if things went further south.

Lochlan made his way to stand in front of me, a reckless glint in his eyes. “Hey, boo.”

Ignoring that things were still stiff between us, that a reaper had just told the world I was his wife, and that he was surrounded by reapers who were twitchy and looking for reasons to attack, Lochlan pulled me away from Saul.

Holding me against his chest, Lochlan whispered, “May I kiss you?”

I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded and Lochlan’s mouth immediately captured mine. He didn’t just give me a quick peck, either. No, he took his time, kissing me with a passion that made sure everyone in the room got the impression we were lovers.

When he finally released me, my lips were red and puffy and I struggled to clear the haze from my vision. The man knew how to work magic with his mouth.

Turning to face Saul, Loch stretched out his hand. Saul accepted the offered hand, and the men clasped forearms in a warrior’s greeting.

“Welcome to our circle, bro.” Lochlan’s eyes glinted with mischief as he spoke, knowing the effect his words would have on the gathered reapers.

I’d overheard enough talk between the collectors to know reapers didn’t join collector circles, they didn’t share theirpartners, and they’d never view a collector as family. And Lochlan had pushed things further by calling Saulbro.

“Thank you. I am pleased to be part of Axelle’s family,” Saul responded with sincerity.

The room was silent except for the ragged breathing of several livid reapers.

“Who are you?!” Rip demanded, glaring daggers at Lochlan.

Lochlan spun on his heel to face him and immediately took the stiff stance of a commanding military officer. “Lochlan of the Knights Baudelaire. And proud member of Axelle’s circle.”

I didn’t know who the Knights Baudelaire were, but the rest of the room did, judging by the gasps and excited murmurs.

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