Page 47 of Reaper

“I love being with you,” he confesses, the growl in his voice softening to a vulnerable whisper. “Everything about this, about us, is perfect.”

At that moment, with the warmth of his body enveloping mine, I realize, despite all the uncertainties, there’s a simple truth resonating within my heart—I’m starting to love everything about this, too. I’m starting to fall for him.

“Make love to me,” I plead.

He enters me slowly, pushing each thick inch in until we’re fused together so completely I don’t know where I end and he begins. Moving with the beating of our hearts, we arch and roll our hips in perfect unity, both taking and giving in equal measure. The slow burn builds until we’re on the cusp of utter ecstasy.

“Now, Reaper. Please,” I whimper.

He grunts, thrusting hard, scraping his pelvic bone across my clit in that perfect angle that always sends me soaring. Undulating waves of pleasure expand out from that soft spot, radiating through me until I’m filled with an energy that feels like love because it is.

Although he’s never said it, I think he feels it. The way he moves proves it, and it doesn’t need to be spoken for it to be real.

When he finds his release, he sobs against my throat. Lying inside me, he doesn’t move. In the cocoon of his arms, our breaths mingle in the quiet aftermath. My heart still hammers from the ecstatic bliss we shared, but it’s a different kind of pounding now—a thrumming echo of life’s fragility. Our love is so fresh and so new it feels fragile, as if anything could shatter it. So, as much as I’d love for him to say the words, I don’t push him.

He finally rolls onto his side and pulls me against his chest. “Do you need water?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Good, because I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for at least ten minutes,” he chuckles.

As we rest in silence, the questions I had at Nina’s come rushing back. Maybe now isn’t the best time to ask him about what happened with the bird, but I don’t want to wait too long. Also, he’s always less defensive after we have sex, so now’s the perfect time to broach the subject.

“Reaper,” I whisper as I trace the outline of his abs with my fingertips. “After the car accident … I had this moment. It felt like … like I was slipping away.”

He stiffens slightly, and I feel the shift in his energy. The room is dim, but there’s enough light to see the intensity in his eyes, a storm brewing in their black depths.

“You’re probably wondering about that and the bird,” he says with a sigh. “I knew you’d ask eventually.”

“That bird wasn’t dazed. It was dead.”

“Yes.

“Then, how …”

“There’s something I haven’t told you. About me.”

My pulse quickens, not with fear but with a hunger for the truth. “What is it?”

“I don’t really know where to start, so I’ll just say it.” He swallows hard. “I can bring back the dead.”

His confession hangs between us, heavy and surreal. It’s madness, right? But then, I think of the animal today and the way Reaper stood over it. Dead one minute. Alive the next.

“Tell me,” I urge, needing to understand what I saw.

“Years ago, when I was locked in Blackstone’s dungeon, something happened.” His muscles tense under my touch, the memory etching agony across his face. “Blackstone threwMatrix down the stairs. He was dead on impact.”

“Matrix died?”

“He was my best friend, and then he was gone. Gone, Lexi. And I … I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t go on living without him. Surviving Blackstone was hard enough, but without Matrix, I knew couldn’t do it.”

“Oh, God,” I breathe out, unable to stomach the pain and fear in his voice.

“I couldn’t handle his death. I refused to accept it. So, I dragged him into the shadows, so we could be alone. I didn’t want any of the other kids anywhere near him. I cried and cried until something wild burst from me—blue sparks, like a damn fantasy novel.” He shakes his head as if he still can’t believe it. “I thought maybe magic was real. I was desperate, so I closed my eyes and silently called his name in my mind. I reached out into the universe and searched for any sign of him. God, this is so hard to explain.”

“And?” My own breath catches, riding on the edge of his story.

“I found him. A single thread connecting us. It was so faint, barely there.” He stops to gaze at me with the raw vulnerability of a terrified child. “I reached for it. Then I pulled and pulled, dragging him back from wherever he’d gone.”

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