Page 55 of Reaper's Ruin
Something soft flickered across his features, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate. Then he nodded once. “The lamp should last until morning.”
Our eyes met in the gentle lamplight, and I could have sworn time itself slowed down. He was so close I could see flecks of blue in his storm-gray eyes, could count each dark eyelash, could trace the perfect curve of his lips with my gaze.
“Goodnight, Soraya,” he said, his voice a low rumble that I could almost feel.
“Goodnight, Rhyker,” I whispered back.
He turned and left, closing the door softly behind him. I stared at it for a long moment before finally settling onto the small bed. As I lay there, I found myself imagining him on the other side. So close, yet separated by more than just wood and iron hinges.
Death itself stood guard outside my door. The most feared Reaper in existence was protecting me instead of reaping me. And I was lying here wishing he’d come inside and do something else entirely.
My afterlife had definitely taken a turn I never could have imagined.
As sleep began to claim me, I wondered if he was thinking of me too, standing alone in that dark hallway. And I wondered what would happen when I finally found my door—when I had to leave him behind.
The thought hurt more than I was ready to admit.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Soraya
Thunderspire rose before us like something from a dream.
I leaned forward in the back of the merchant’s cart we’d hitched a ride on, eyes wide as we approached the Storm Court capital. It was built directly into the base of an impossibly tall mountain, its towers and spires stretching upward as if trying to touch the perpetual storm that raged at the peak.
“Whoa,” I breathed.
Lightning danced across the upper reaches of the mountain in a continuous display that never seemed to end. Each flash illuminated the dark stone of the city in brilliant blue-white, casting dramatic shadows that flickered and vanished with the next strike. The rumble of thunder was constant, sometimes fading to a gentle background murmur, other times crashing with enough force that I could feel it in my chest.
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” I said, turning to Rhyker who sat beside me on the rough wooden planks of the cart bed.
He nodded, eyes scanning the road ahead. “The storm has been raging for millennia. It’s what gives the Storm Court fae their power.”
The cart hit a rut in the road, jostling us together so that our shoulders bumped. Rhyker immediately shifted to give me more space, but the brief contact lingered in my awareness.
I studied him covertly as he focused on the approaching city. He’d been distant since last night—standing guard outside my door until dawn without ever coming inside. So much for my romantic “one bed” fantasy playing out. Maybe I’d misread everything. Maybe he wasn’t attracted to me at all. Maybe all those heated looks and that protective rage had been nothing more than a Reaper’s sense of duty toward the soul in his charge.
The thought stung more than it should have.
But I couldn’t deny my own attraction, which only seemed to be growing stronger. It felt ridiculous to be nursing a crush on Death, but here I was, stealing glances at him and wondering what it would be like to feel those strong hands on me in a context that had nothing to do with pulling me through shadow realms.
“The clothes we picked out should work well,” Rhyker said, interrupting my inappropriate thoughts. “No one looks twice at servants.”
We were both dressed in simple, practical clothing—the kind worn by the countless staff he said would be flooding into Thunderspire for the coronation. Nothing fancy or attention-grabbing, just drab grays and muted blues that would help us blend into the background. The more elaborate outfits he’d procured for the actual masquerade and the next days’ events were tucked into our sacks.
He’d taken me to a dressmaker in Centralia, and since I’d had no idea what to wear to the Storm Court, Rhyker had picked out several dresses for me, each one more beautiful than the last. He’d taken a surprising amount of care ensuring not only that I’d fit in but that I felt comfortable and beautiful in the exquisite gowns. Seeing my badass Reaper present me with a beautiful gown had done nothing to quell the desire for him that seemed to rage like an inferno no water could put out.
As we neared the massive gates of the city, guards posted at the door checked everyone who entered. They were tall, imposing figures dressed in dark blue uniforms with silver accents that occasionally sparked with tiny lightning bolts.
“Do you think they’ll let us in?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
“They should. With all the extra help being brought in for the coronation, they’ll be expecting plenty of new faces.”
The cart rolled to a stop in a line of vehicles waiting to enter the city. When it was our turn to move forward, the driver called back to us, “This is as far as I go. The guards are checking everyone at the gate.”
We thanked him, climbing down from the cart with our small bundles of belongings. The line of people on foot moved forward slowly, each person being questioned by the stern-faced guards.
But when we reached the gate, things didn’t go as planned.
