Page 19 of The Reaper's Vice

He nods, and though I can’t see his face, I’m sure a smirk twists his mouth. “I can smell your fear from here, little dove. I have to say… it makes me pretty fucking hard.”

I choke on whatever I was going to say next. Taking a shaky breath, I retract the step forward I took earlier, never taking my eyes from the shadowy figure. “Well, that’s interesting because I?—”

I take off running. Somewhere behind me, another cruel laugh fills the air, but I’m too busy sprinting back to the hiking trail to wonder what the fuck was so funny.

Something tells me I don’t want to know.

7

SERAPHINA

“BUT DID YOU DIE?”

I’m heavingby the time I get back to the beginning of the hiking trail, my feet bruised and bloody and my mental state worse for wear. I want to stop, to rest, but I force myself onward, only allowing my pace to slow when the grass and rubble turns to concrete beneath my soles. As the lights of the city filter into the space the shadows once possessed, I finally allow myself to stop and catch my breath.

Not two seconds later, a feminine scream sounds off somewhere in the far distance, and my insides squirm. Two distinct pops fill the air, and the night returns to its deadly quiet. A deadly reminder of what could have happened to me.

I blow out a breath as the air around me sours. I wait several moments for police sirens I know will never come, then send out a short prayer to the gods above to help that poor soul cross over.It’s the only help she’ll be receiving…

Blinking hard against the emotion welling in my eyes, I pull my dagger from its sheath and continue my journey. I should go home, but after that interaction with the stranger, I need something to ground me. So, rather than head back to my apartment, I cut diagonally through the city toward the mountains on the northern outskirts of the city limits.

It takes well over an hour, but eventually I make it to the Moriton Mountain Preserve. I head straight to the back, passing through a small gap in the fence the park rangers never bothered to fix. I squeeze through a small space between the cypress trunks and deeper into the woods, my feet taking me down the overgrown path I know by heart.

Another hour, and I enter the small clearing at the base of the Moriton mountains. The autumn wind bites at my exposed flesh, and I stick my tongue out, tasting the moon-kissed air as it whips through my silvery hair. Stepping up to the wall of rock, I place my palm on the small indent at the level of my shoulder, then quickly step back as a panel of pure rock shudders open. Elvira isn’t expecting me tonight, so I hope she doesn’t freak out?—

Shwick!

I duck at the last second, just missing the dagger destined for my skull. A dullthunkrings out as it lodges into one of the cypresses behind me, and I straighten with a glare toward the shadowy person standing in the shadowy tunnel of rock. “Must we do this every time?” I grumble, eyeing the mossy green aura shifting around her in the dark.

The silver-haired woman steps into the moonlight, the green hue around her dulling as she leaves the shadow of the tunnel. The weathered skin around her mouth tugs upward as she lowers the second dagger to her side, eyes dancing with thinly veiled affection.

“Only if you keep insisting on sneaking in like a naughty teenager.”

I roll my eyes despite the laughter building in my chest, finally stepping into the passageway. Elvira pockets her dagger and steps in front of me, blocking me from moving any farther into the tunnel.

At the same time as she leans in to scour my face, she reaches out as if meaning to touch my arm. But right before she makes contact, she pulls back like something burned her. “You’re skin and bones. Haven’t you been eating?” Disapproving eyes take in my frame which has, admittedly, lost a few pounds since last I saw her.

I sigh, closing my eyes with a shrug. “When I remember to.”

“So that means no.”

I open my eyes, finding irises the color of bloodstone boring into my soul. “What?”

“Why are you here, Seraphina? And what on earth happened to your feet?”

I shrug again, not wanting to detail my strange encounter with the man by the lake. “Got drunk at the club. Couldn’t drive, so I had to walk here and… heels are a bitch?”

Elvira folds her hands over her chest, looking me up and down. “A weak excuse, but I won’t pry. Though, I do need an answer to my first question.”

I blink at her.

“Whyare you here?” she reiterates, her eyes creasing with worry. “Did something… did somethingbadhappen with Ivan?”

I shake my head vehemently. “No, not at all. I just… I missed you guys.”Not a lie, but not the whole truth either.

A wave of relief washes over the old woman’s face as her aura explodes with color, but a moment later, it dies down, and her smile is replaced with her usual look of cold indifference. “Going soft on me, dove?”

I smile at her nickname for me, still finding humor in the irony all these years later. When I first met Elvira ten years ago, she lived on the streets like me. She took one look at the scrawny fourteen-year-old rummaging through the trash—covered in so much soot and grime that it colored my hair gray—and dubbed me her “little bird." At first, I found the name offensive, not realizing it was a term of endearment. Now, I covet it.

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