Page 40 of Reaper's Ruin
She nodded, her earlier excitement replaced by a wariness that I found both appropriate and oddly disappointing. I’d grownaccustomed to her wonder, her enthusiasm. This more subdued Soraya felt wrong somehow.
At the bottom of the stairs, the passage opened into a vast underground space—a warren of tunnels and chambers carved beneath the city over centuries. Flickering torches cast shifting shadows across walls stained with smoke and substances I didn’t care to identify.
The Dark Market spread before us in all its chaotic, dangerous glory. Unlike the orderly stalls above, here the vendors were crammed together in a maze-like configuration. The goods on display ranged from the merely illegal to the actively horrifying—weapons, poisons, stolen artifacts, substances that glowed with unnatural light. Anything you wanted, no matter how illegal, was up for grabs in the Dark Market.
And the people were worse. Cutthroats. Thieves. Mercenaries. Exiles from all five courts. Court markers were rare here—those who frequented the Dark Market typically preferred anonymity. But danger was written in the way they moved, in the weapons they carried openly, in the scars that marred faces and the cold calculation in their eyes.
Eyes that were noticing Soraya.
Of course they were. Even in Selyse’s simple forest-green dress, with her hair loose around her shoulders, she stood out like a beam of sunlight in a storm. Her skin was too flawless, her eyes too bright, her movements too full of innocent wonder despite her attempts to blend in.
And her breasts. That damn dress highlighted every curve of her round, soft breasts, pressed tightly together in a way that made me fight to force my eyes to remain above them. But the rest of the Dark Market made no such attempt to hide their lusty gazes that raked every inch of her breasts and fit body. Soraya seemedoblivious to the gawking, drooling men staring at her like a perfectly cooked steak. Like she was unaware of her own beauty.
A burly fae with ritual scars covering half his face watched her pass, his gaze crawling over her body with undisguised hunger. My hand itched for my scythe, for the power to make him know true fear. But even though I no longer had my powers as a Reaper, I knew I was far from powerless. I placed myself between them, fixing him with a stare that promised violence should he move even an inch closer.
He backed down, but others wouldn’t. I could feel their eyes on us from all directions—curious, calculating, predatory.
A hulking Frost Court exile—easily identifiable by the snowflake tattoo inked in icy white across his neck—shoved through the crowd like he owned the place. He slammed his shoulder into Soraya hard enough to knock her off balance. She gasped, stumbling, but I caught her before she could fall, my arm locking around her waist.
Then the bastard turned, smirking.
“Careful, little girl,” he drawled, his pale eyes dragging over her like filth. “Or on second thought, maybe don’t be careful. You can ram into me over and over again anytime you want. Or better yet, I’ll be the one ramming into you.” With an exaggerated thrust of his hips, he licked his lips and laughed.
My blood turned to fire.
A sound rose from my throat—not a word, not a growl. A warning.
I stepped between them, my hand still around Soraya’s waist, shoving her behind me. Rage like I hadn’t felt in centuries wasn’t just rising—it was breaking loose. Something primal. Brutal. Ancient.
“Walk away,” I said low, lethal. “Now.”
He laughed, oblivious to the monster clawing just beneath my surface begging to be freed. He took another step forward. We were nearly nose to nose, equal in height, but I saw no warrior in his stance. Only a fool who thought his size made him dangerous.
He didn’t know, even without my wings, even without my scythe, no one in the Dark Market was more dangerous than me.
“And if I don’t?” he sneered.
My eyes locked onto his, steady and sure, my voice deadly quiet. “If you don’t walk away now, you won’t walk away at all.”
His lips curled in a sinister smile. “She’s the one who won’t be walking when I’m done with her.”
Behind me, I heard her soft gasp. Felt her breath catch.
Cold fury built in my chest, transforming into rage burning like an inferno beneath my skin. And now I would show him that I was Death no matter what my form.
I moved without thought—without mercy.
One second, he was smirking. The next, he was airborne.
I slammed him into the nearest stone wall hard enough to crack it. Dust rained down as his head bounced off the rock, dazed, but I wasn’t done. I grabbed his shirt, hauled him forward, and drove my fist into his stomach like a battering ram. The thud was deep and hollow. His legs gave out.
I caught him by the throat, lifting him off the ground with one hand.
“You speak to her again,” I hissed, “and I will carve the tongue from your mouth and feed it to the ravens. I know from experience, ravens enjoy the tongues I give them.”
His feet kicked uselessly, his face blooming in reds as he struggled for the breath I wouldn’t grant him. One good squeeze and his life would be mine, an angry fae soul perhaps I could reap again when I returned to my form and found him haunting the Dark Market if the underworld didn’t suck him down first.
But I saw the onlookers gathering nearby. No strangers to violence, no one rushing to help, but murdering a man in the open would draw too much attention even in this forsaken place. I had a job, a mission, to help Soraya find her peace, and this man wouldn’t be the reason I failed her.
