Page 42 of Reaper's Ruin
The encounter had drawn more attention than I liked. I could feel eyes on us from all directions—curious, calculating, predatory. I moved closer to Soraya, placing my hand at the small of her back to guide her through the crowd.
“We need to find this weapons trader,” I said. “Stay close to me.”
She didn’t argue this time, pressing herself closer to my side as we navigated the winding pathways of the Dark Market. I was acutely aware of every point where our bodies connected—my hand at her back, her shoulder occasionally brushing against my chest, her hip bumping mine when fear made her press closer to me, her trust in my protection evident in every step.
And though I told myself it meant nothing—that it was merely practicality in a dangerous place—I couldn’t deny the satisfaction that flooded through me at her nearness, at the knowledge that she felt safe with Death himself at her side.
Each touch sent a jolt of sensation through me, heightened by this new physical form. After centuries of numbness, of isolation, the simple contact was almost overwhelming.
And deeply unsettling. Because with each brush of her body against mine, each glimpse of her face turned up toward me in trust, I felt something stirring deep within me. Something primal. Raw. Possessive.
Eight hundred years since I’d last inhabited a physical form. Eight centuries since I’d felt the pull of basic human desires. With every accidental touch, I felt my base desires, long forgotten, awakening inside me.
But I shoved them back down. These were base impulses, nothing more. They would pass. They had to. I had a duty to this girl—to help her find her door, to protect her in this dangerous place. I would not complicate that with urges far too dark for someone so pure. The only thing that mattered was getting her to safety, helping her find peace.
I would not dishonor that purpose by giving in to the demands of a newly awakened body. No matter how her scent clouded my thoughts when she stood too close. No matter how the sound of her laughter sent heat flooding through my veins. No matter how my hands ached to touch more than just her back, her arm, her face.
Another brush of her body against mine. Another surge of heat coursing through me. I clenched my fists, steadying my breathing as I pushed away the impure thoughts clouding my mind.
Even in this temporary mortal shell, she was a soul in my charge. A sweet, innocent soul who deserved better than to be tainted by the desires of a creature who had spent centuries bathed in shadow and vengeance.
I just needed to focus on our mission. Find the weapons trader. Get information about the dagger. Help her move on.
And ignore the way my body burned every time she looked at me with those trusting blue eyes.
CHAPTER NINE
Soraya
I couldn’t stop replaying it in my mind—the cold, deadly calm in Rhyker’s voice as he’d told that thug to walk away, the blur of movement when he’d grabbed him by the throat, the sickening crack as he’d slammed him into the stone.
Part of me was in shock. I’d never seen anyone move that fast, with that kind of lethal precision. Never witnessed violence that raw and immediate.
Another part of me—a part I wasn’t entirely comfortable acknowledging—was undeniably, embarrassingly turned on.
Was that wrong? Being attracted to the way he’d defended me? He was Death itself—literally the grim reaper—and here I was frothing like some rabid, sex-crazed ghost, having completely uncharacteristic dirty thoughts about him slammingmeagainst a wall next.
But that raw power, the protective growl he’d unleashed, the way he’d stood in front of me like a shield forged of sheer muscle—it had lit something in me. Something primal. Maybe it was biology, like some ancient instinct in humans meant to make us swoon for the strongest male in the room. Whatever it was, it had worked. Because damn... I was all kinds of hot and bothered when I should’ve been terrified.
I’d thought that when I died, I’d float up to the clouds, be greeted by angels with harps and halos inviting me through the pearly white gates. Instead, I was a ghost put into a mortal bodywalking around the seedy criminal underworld in some strange fae land with a straight up stone-cold, alpha male hot zombie I wanted to climb like a tree.
God, my life—or afterlife—was messed up.
“You’re quiet,” Rhyker said, his voice low enough that only I could hear it over the constant buzz of the Dark Market.
“Just... processing,” I replied, glancing up at him.
He walked beside me like a shadow given form, tall and imposing in his black leather. The crowds parted before us, people stepping quickly out of our path, their eyes lowered or deliberately looking elsewhere.
“It appears word travels fast down here,” I observed.
Rhyker raised an eyebrow.
“Everyone’s avoiding us. You, specifically. Reminds me of high school. Someone saw Jenny Miller blowing Jake Trion behind the bleachers, and half the school knew before they even came out.”
“Blowing him? I don’t know what that means,” he said stiffly.
“It means...” Heat rushed to my cheeks. “When a woman gives a man...” I shook my head. “Never mind. That’s not important. I just meant to say that news spreads quickly in small communities, and what you did to that asshole has definitely beat us to this section. People are scared of you.”
