Page 79 of Right Hand Of The Reaper
“I don’t threaten people,” I said simply. “That implies there’s a chance of escape.”
He swallowed again, and why did I like that so much?
“You do realise everyone is watching us?”
I’d forgotten there were other people in the room, too wrapped up in him to notice. When I looked up I saw Rafe, Rayne, Magnus and Roux comfortably sat on the sofa, their eyes glued to us. All they were missing was some popcorn.
“This is hot, right?” Roux asked, a small smile curling her lip.
Rafe looked at Roux. “Death and a nightmare eye fucking?”
“Definitely hot,” Rayne replied as he nipped at Magnus’ ear.
I turned my attention back to Atticus, ignoring our audience. “Can we continue this later?”
He nodded, his chin bumping against my hand. I didn’t want to let him go. I wanted to tear him into little pieces and figure out what made him tick. To look beneath the nightmare and explore all the things that made him scream.
“Is it me, or did the temperature drop in here a little?” Magnus asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“Are you thinking dark thoughts about my little nightmare?” Roux asked, her eyes shining.
“Yes,” I replied, finally letting go of Atticus. A shiver ran up the length of my spine and I found Atticus watching me with a darkness in those mesmerising eyes. I was suddenly cursing having to find a soul from a few centuries ago, wanting nothing more than to disappear for a few hours to explore whatever this was between us.
“There’s nothing little about me, kitten,” Atticus said as he adjusted himself in his slacks and my mouth instantly watered. If we didn’t start this summoning soon, we never would.
“Roux,” I said with a little more force than I intended, “can you do my sigil?”
She quirked her eyebrow at my tone but thankfully didn’t say anything about the way I’d spoken to her. She just stood from the sofa and walked to the middle of the room. My scythe materialised from the shadows, and she wrapped her hand around the long length. Her death magic fizzled through the air, lowering the temperature as her Reaper form cloaked her body. She lifted the scythe high in the air in front of her and held it aloft, chanting a spell before slamming the staff into the floor.
Sparks of red erupted and sizzled along the floor, carving my sigil with a line of Hellfire. There was a lingering smell of sulphur that had Atticus’ nose scrunching in a rather adorable way. And fuck, I needed to focus. Right. Sigil. Summoning.
Once Roux had finished, I stepped onto the sigil, immediately feeling the lingering caress of Roux’s magic. It was soft, like a soothing caress after the upheaval of the emotions I’d just felt with Atticus. It was familiar and comforting. Just like Roux.
I stood in the centre of the sigil and felt my own magic hum through my veins. Starting at my core, it spread through to the tips of my fingers until sparks were dancing across my skin.
I fixed my audience with a grin. “I’d stand back if I were you. Or you might get burnt.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Roux
ThaneeruptedintohisReaper form with an explosion of fire and brimstone. Jeez, the guy was intense. Imagine dying and that being the first thing you saw. A nine-foot skeleton in a long black cloak with a crown of fire sat above his head and flames licking at his feet. He was terrifying to look at and there was an aura of real fear sinking into the room. I let it settle into my bones. It always took a minute or two to get used to his power.
“Wow. That’s uncomfortable,” Magnus said as he eyed Thane warily.
“I’d like to say you get used to it,” I said as I stared at Thane, his empty eyes staring right back, “but it’ll always feel like you’re looking at your demise.”
“Let’s get on with this, shall we?” Thane said, his voice wet and dark. It rolled down my spine like a physical thing, making me squirm.
I nodded to him, and took another step back, encouraging the others to do the same. Magic fizzled through the air, the electricity of it humming against the bones of my Reaper form as Thane’s death magic pulled it to the surface.
Thane muttered under his breath and the magic intensified, swirling up a breeze and pulling at the shadows of my cloak. The edges of the room darkened as a blossoming ball of light grew in front of Thane. It shrank in on itself, pulling all the light from the room, bathing us all in darkness and silence.
Then light exploded like a supernova, echoing with a sonic boom. Wind whipped through the room, knocking over furniture, and blasting the glass from the windows.
Then silence descended again.
A soft whisper of breath pulled my attention the middle of the sigil. There, stood in front of Thane, was the woman from the painting.
