Page 53 of Reaper's Ruin
The door burst open with enough force to make the hinges groan in protest. Rhyker’s massive frame filled the doorway, daggerin hand, his body a coiled spring ready to strike. His eyes scanned the room, seeking threats, then settled on me hopping on one foot.
“Oops,” I said sheepishly. “I stubbed my toe. Sorry. I’m okay.”
He looked like a god of vengeance backlit by hallway light muscles tense under leather... all because I’d stubbed my toe. I should’ve been embarrassed. Instead, I kind of wanted to stub it again.
He lowered the dagger, tension draining from his shoulders, replaced by something that looked almost like relief. Then his expression hardened again.
“Be careful,” he growled. “We don’t know what happens if you get seriously injured in this form.”
“I think I’ll survive a stubbed toe,” I said, trying not to smile at his over-reaction. The fierce Death himself, rushing to my rescue because I’d stubbed my toe. It was almost... cute.
He turned to leave, then hesitated. “I need to procure more funds for our journey. We’ll need better clothing to blend into the Storm Court. You get some rest. Lock the door behind you and don’t open it for anyone. And here. Take the dagger, just in case.”
“What? No. No way I’m staying here alone. I’m coming with you,” I said immediately, all thoughts of sleep forgotten.
He frowned. “It’s safer if you stay here.”
“I’m already dead, technically,” I countered, crossing my arms over my chest. “And in life, I sat everything out. I always said, ‘There will be time for fun after.’ After my test. After high school. After college. After nursing school. After. It was always after.” My voice caught slightly. “And then I didn’t get an after. I got murdered.”
I stepped closer to him, looking up into those storm-gray eyes. “So, no. I’m not staying behind. I want to be part of things in this little chance of an afterlife I have. Because if I don’t find my peace, this could be it for me. The last days of my existence.”
Something shifted in his expression—conflict, consideration, and then resignation.
“Stay close to me,” he said finally. “And do exactly as I say.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Reaper, sir,” I replied with a mock salute, relieved when the corner of his mouth twitched just slightly.
We slipped back down the stairs and out into the night. Centralia had transformed with the darkness. The gleaming white towers that had looked so majestic by day now resembled pale ghosts against the night sky. The well-patrolled main streets gave way to shadowy alleys where the law seemed to hold less sway.
“Where are we going?” I asked, sticking close to Rhyker’s side as he navigated us through the twisting backstreets.
“I know a place,” he said. “One where the sort of people who deserve to lose their money tend to gather.”
“Back to the Dark Market?”
“No. There are a few places in Centralis proper where some of the more lucrative deals go down.”
“So we’re going to rob some criminals?” I clarified. “Like a supernatural Robin Hood situation?”
He glanced down at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I don’t know what that means, but if that makes you feel better about it, then yes.”
“It does, actually. Very noble of you.”
“There’s nothing noble about what I am,” he said, his voice suddenly distant.
I wanted to argue, to tell him that what he was doing for me—risking everything to help me find peace—was the definition of nobility. But something in his tone made me hold back.
Instead, I asked, “What was it like? Becoming a Reaper?”
He was quiet for so long I thought he wasn’t going to answer. Finally, he said, “I don’t remember much of it. Just... darkness. Then waking up in the Shadowveil with a new purpose.”
“And you’ve been there eight hundred years?” I couldn’t fathom that kind of time. “Most Reapers move on, right? That’s what you said.”
“Yes.”
“But not you?”
His jaw tightened. “No. Not me.”
