Page 20 of The Reaper
“And you don’t know what a girl like me is capable of,Devon Brady.”
Fuck me.
Hearing her say my name like that made my dick twitch. I needed her gone. She needed to leave so I could go back to my carefully orchestrated life of self-made mayhem. I didn’t do well with chaos I couldn’t control. Chaos that came with yearning blue eyes and a full, pouting, smart mouth.
“I’m driving you home,” I stated, but she smirked and held her hand up, waving over my shoulder. I turned to see what she was waving at and saw a taxi crawling to a stop beside us.
“No need,” she sang, mocking me. “Agirl like meis capable of finding her own way home.”
She bristled with pride at her little victory as she opened the car door and jumped into the back seat. Every instinct that I possessed told me she needed protecting, no matter what kind of show she put on to try and fool me into thinking otherwise. My heart screamed at me to get into that taxi and see her safely home. So, I yanked the back door open, climbed in next to her and then shut it behind me. Her head spun around, and she glared across at me and huffed, pretending to be pissed. When she reached over my body, trying to open the door so she could force me to leave, I laughed and batted her away.
“I don’t need a chaperone,” she hissed. “I’m quite capable…” But her voice became white noise as something caught my eye. There was bruising on her right hand. Fresh bruising.
Without a second thought, I took her injured hand in mine. A spark of electricity jolted through me, but it was nothing compared to the anger I felt at the thought that someone had hurt her.
“What’s this? Who did this to you?” I asked, rubbing my thumb gently over her knuckles.
She didn’t pull away from me at first, just looked down at our joined hands, then slowly, she slipped her hand out of mine and placed it gently in her lap.
“I caught it in a door. It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing, and the way she looked at me with a sad longing in her eyes told me she wanted me to drop it, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t in my nature to back down. Just the thought of someone hurting her made me want to rain down hell. If I found out it was actually true, I wouldn’t ever be able to hold back.
“You don’t get bruises like that from a door. You’ve hurt your knuckles, not your fingers. Did you have to hit out at someone or something? Were you protecting yourself? If you’re in trouble, I can help you.”
The cab driver turned around, looking at us with annoyance, and asked, “I haven’t got all day. Where to?”
“I’m going to St Michaels vicarage, and he’s getting out,” Leah May replied sharply, clearly hoping I’d drop it. I wouldn’t.
“I’m not leaving this cab, so if you want to get paid, I suggest you drive and pay no fucking attention to anything that’s going on back here, am I clear?” The taxi driver shrugged at me and then turned around and pulled away from the kerb. Leah May did a cute impression of a girl trying to look annoyed and tutted under her breath as she turned to look out of the window.
“Fine,” she whispered to herself. “If you want to waste your day making pointless journeys to the vicarage, go right ahead.”
I ignored her fake snippy response and reiterated, “If I find out someone hurt you, I will be making it my business, you know?”
She didn’t look at me, just responded with, “I’ll bear that in mind. Thanks for caring.”
“It’s my job,” I snapped back, and suddenly, a stab of guilt hit me at the realisation that I might’ve made her feel like it was nothing, just business. “I don’t like to see women hurt,” I added, but it felt like pointless words falling into the air between us.
We travelled in silence for a few minutes, and I saw her, from the corner of my eye, turn and open her mouth to say something. Then she shut it and stared out of the window again, thinking better of it. When I heard her muttering something about ravens, I moved to face her and asked, “What did you just say?”
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
Her body language indicated that she was feeling defensive. I could tell from the hunch of her shoulders, the fact that she wouldn’t look at me, and the way her arms were crossed over her chest like she was holding herself back. But then she shifted slightly and turned her head, blushing and widening her eyes at me.
“You did,” I carried on, pushing her to respond. “You mentioned ravens.”
She opened her mouth again, closed it, and I was about to argue when she bowed her head and whispered, “Did you know the raven is my spirit animal?”
“Why would I know that?” I frowned at her, but she didn’t listen, just carried on regardless as she stared absent-mindedly out of the window.
“The raven is a symbol of death. A bad omen. That’s according to my research, anyway. But in our country, they say if the ravens ever leave the Tower of London, it’ll bring about the downfall of our kingdom. Not such a bad omen for us then, hey?”
“I think we’re safe,” I replied with a hint of sarcasm, but she continued to ignore me. She clearly wanted to get this off her chest.
“Charles the second instigated a law that six ravens should be kept at the Tower at all times to avoid a disaster. There’s seven there now, six and a spare.” She gave an ironic little huff then added, “But in Greek mythology, ravens are the bearers of bad news. They’re God’s messengers in the mortal world, just flying on in to let you know your days are numbered. I don’t think the Greeks would want to hang out at the Tower, do you?”
I had no idea what was going on in this girl’s mind. I don’t think she could keep up either. I’d heard people ramble nervously before, but she was taking it to a whole new level.
