Page 6 of A Shadow in the Reaping
Angelwing poison.
They knew the Reaper was coming. They found the rarest poison, one that shouldn't even exist. And they've used it to escape a reaping for a crime that shouldn't be possible.
I skitter across the pavement and roll Ashen onto his back. The fire in his eyes is little more than the flicker of a candle flame. It's the first time I look at him. Reallylookat him. He's beautiful. There's something ancient about him, something timeless. Strong cheekbones, straight nose, full lips. Thick, dark lashes, eyes the color of cognac. Eyes that won't let go of mine. Eyes that are dimming with every struggling breath.
I break my gaze away and tear his shirt open above the wound. Black, geometric tattoos cover his chest, looping up the sides of his neck. Symmetrical patterns of honeycomb, flowers, and stars flow like layers of scales away from the face of a jackal on his sternum. The wordsShalasu Ningsisascroll beneath the jackal's muzzle.Merciful Justice. I swallow down the urge to snort and I meet his eyes. They break from mine only to blink, pressing closed with pain.
I can smell his demon blood as it flows from the wound. I can barely detect the poison, but it's there. And if I'm right, there's only one way to stop it.
I bite down into my wrist and then hold my arm close to my chest. I meet Ashen's eyes with a question in mine. He gives the slightest nod and braces for pain.
Holding my wrist above his chest, my blood drips into the wound. The mix of my cold, black blood with the heat of his produces an acrid smoke. Ashen's eyes are still closed and his expression is going slack. I already know that vampire blood isn't enough to stop him from dying an everlasting death.
I clear my throat. I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm not even one hundred percent sure I know what I'm doing. In five thousand years, I should have taken more time to memorize witch's spells. But there was always other stuff to do... wars, eating, more wars, hiding... So if Ashen winds up with the head of a snake, I take no responsibility.
I take a deep breath. The Reaper's eyes haven't opened. I might just luck out if he stays unconscious.
"Gasaan tiildibba me zi ab. Dul susi giskasilim tilla."
My voice finds its way into the air so infrequently that it sounds almost unfamiliar. But even to me, its owner, I know its power. It's like a rainbow unspooling to scatter color across the sky. It's like the most precious gem that multiplies in your palm. It's a promise of all your hopes and dreams fulfilled, if you'll just lean a little closer. It's brought the mightiest kings and queens to their knees, begging for one more word.
Despite all the beauty of my spoken mysteries, the Reaper doesn't stir. I glance around. The mist from the werewolves is gone and I don't hear anyone else around us. It's just the ragged, shallow breathing of the Reaper and the discordant drum of our hearts.
"Niglulli duma galu barama niingar. Tirrama salutti sa kassapti sa ruhie ipusu supii arkis upuus."
Still nothing from the Reaper. His breath stalls. He might have spent his last with my words. I can barely hear a faint, slow beat within his chest. I squeeze more blood into his wound and close my eyes.
"Saggiu Ashen giu. Suna sitaba kilal azuus. Sunu liiktisuma.
Asallah libakkunu, arrus maratuktuk."
I wait.I listen for any change. But there's no sound between us.
I bend my head and kneel back. I should feel relieved. Another Reaper gone, one that can never come back to collect another soul.
I don't know why I even tried in the first place. Maybe it was because it seemed unfair for a demon to die by a poison from the heavens.
My palm splays across my stomach as I remember the warmth of his hand. Ashen had pulled me from the battle, if even for a moment. But he didn't know who I was, and he needed me. He needed me to finish a reaping and I'm pretty sure the Alpha is still out there.
I take a deep breath. When I finally open my eyes, a pair of bright pupils shine back at me, the black consumed with flame. They burn into me with the blinding light of epiphany.
"Leucosia," he whispers.
...Fuck.
"Amah haass muhhaki usaanna teenki," I say, and with the handle of his sword I hit the Reaper hard enough in the head to undo all the good work I've just done.
Chapter 5
"Holy goddess on a stick, you look like shit," Ediye says, yanking me off her haint blue porch and into the comfort of her cottage. And she's right, I know I look like shit. I ran for two hours straight to get here.
She wafts some smoking sage around us and then leads the way through the living room. An unkind person would call the interior of Ediye's housechaotic. A gentler soul would sayeclectic. But I know there is an order to the stacks of books and the herbs that hang from the ceiling, the candles lining shelves and the feathers poking out of vases. Ediye is a skilled witch and a collector of history. Ediye has also been my best friend for over three centuries, and so I know she's about to give me so much shit for what I've just done.
"I think I need help," I say, following her to the kitchen. Her turquoise maxi dress swirls around her legs, a bright contrast to her skin, the richest, warmest hue of midnight.
Ediye throws me a heavy look over her shoulder as she fills a kettle, her ebony eyes scoring my skin like knives. "I've been telling you that for decades. You need help. Serious help."
"I mean, like...morehelp. More help than usual."
