Page 93 of Reaper's Ruin
I’d stood there, looking into the eyes of my killer, and he’d seen nothing but another Storm Court noble. The disconnect was jarring—this monster who had destroyed my life now smiling and making pleasant conversation as if we were meeting at a garden party. Sure, I’d been in jammies, no makeup and a messy bun sitting on my couch, and now I was dressed in a gown with makeup and a perfect coif, but still. No recognition. None. He’dmurderedme and hadn’t even noticed I was the same fucking girl he’d stabbed to death.
I’d never been vindictive or homicidal. Always a “water off a duck’s back” kind of girl. But seeing him standing before me, feeling his hand on my skin—the same hand that had driven a blade into me, again and again—sent a wave of nausea crashing through me. It still churned in my gut alongside something new. Something I’d never craved until now.
Violence.
I wanted revenge. Vengeance. Justice. I didn’t think I’d ever find peace until I stood over his limp corpse, the same way he’d once stood over mine.
“Lady Soraya? Are you well?” Lord Destan asked, his hand coming to rest at my waist as he leaned closer. “You seem distracted.”
I forced myself back to the present, plastering another smile on my face. “Just admiring the view,” I lied smoothly. “The fireworks display looks like it will be spectacular.”
His answering smile was warm, too warm. In another life, I might have found him charming—handsome in that classic way, with his chiseled features and easy confidence. But right now, his hand that had now drifted to my hip felt wrong. Unwelcome.
“It will be,” he agreed, his touch lingering as he guided me closer to the balcony’s edge. “The Storm Court’s annual display is legendary, and for a King’s coronation it will be extra special. Have you seen fireworks here before?”
“No. This is my first time.”
“It’s incredible. The Storm Warriors infuse the fireworks with actual lightning for an effect unlike anything in other courts.”
I made appropriate sounds of interest, painfully aware of how his fingers had splayed possessively across my hip. Part of me wanted to step away, to establish some distance, but I needed to play my role. Lady Soraya, enchanted by Storm Court nobility, not Soraya Peterman, the murder victim trying not to fall apart at seeing her killer. The ghost working with a Reaper to solve her murder who only wanted one hand on her hip, and it wasn’t this one.
“I have something for you,” Lord Destan said, reaching into his jacket. “A small token, if you’ll accept it.”
He produced a delicate glass flower that seemed to glow from within, capturing light and refracting it in impossible ways.
“Lightning-bloom,” he explained. “They bloom only during the fiercest storms, when lightning strikes the sand just right. This one caught my eye because it reminded me of you—both beautiful and rare.”
As I reached to accept the gift, a ripple of tension seemed to pass through the crowd. Nobles were stepping back, making way for someone moving through their midst with determined strides.
I glanced over Lord Destan’s shoulder and felt my breath catch.
Rhyker was approaching, and the look on his face...
Holy shit.
I’d seen Rhyker angry. I’d seen him determined. I’d seen him facing down a Voltmauler with nothing but a knife.
But I’d never seen him like this.
His eyes were thunderous, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking in his cheek. His entire body radiated barely contained violence, like a storm about to break. And his gaze—intense, possessive, murderous—was fixed not on me, but on Lord Destan’s hand on my hip.
My heart skipped, then raced. After days of cold distance following our kiss, after pulling away whenever I came too close, after acting as if nothing had happened between us...
Rhyker looked like he wanted to rip Lord Destan’s arm off and beat him to death with it.
“Lady Soraya,” he interrupted, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Your presence is required elsewhere.”
I turned fully toward him, surprise and confusion probably evident on my face, though beneath it, something warm and forbidden curled in my stomach at the naked possession in his eyes.
“Lord Rhyker? Is something wrong?”
“Yes.” His glare never left Lord Destan, who still hadn’t removed his hand from my body. Every second that hand remainedseemed to darken Rhyker’s expression further. “You’re needed. Now.”
Lord Destan straightened, clearly affronted by Rhyker’s tone. “We’re in the middle of the fireworks display. It’s about to really get going. Surely whatever business you have can wait.”
Rhyker fixed him with a look that would have made a smarter man take several steps back. “Remove your hand from her,” he said, each word precisely enunciated, “or I will remove it for you.”
Lord Destan’s face paled, and his arm dropped away from me as if I’d suddenly burned him. “I—I meant no offense.”
