Page 97 of Ransomed to the World
“It wasn’t what you think.” Valen reached out to her, and she jerked away, her skin crawling at the thought of his touch. To know that he’d seen…everything—the torture, the pain, her despair—and done nothing shattered her image of him as a loving uncle.
What the hell was wrong with her that people thought it was okay to treat her like trash?
“It’s not what you think,” Valen protested, his tone firm, almost angry. “You think I didn’t want to destroy your uncle for what he did? That I didn’t want to drag his soul to hell?”
He ran a hand over his dark, wildly curling hair and snarled with frustration. “You were bound to him. Anything I wanted to do to him would affect you too. I couldn’t touch him until you severed the connection!”
Annora pursed her lips, still not convinced he was being completely honest.
Too many people had lied to her over the years.
“And you weren’t alone.” Valen’s voice softened. “Young Alcott had found you by then. You were his tether, the only thing that kept him fighting. He managed to resist becoming a reaper through sheer stubbornness. In fact, he was on the verge of changing when you caught his attention. Then he fought even harder to stay whole. If you could persist in living, then so could he.
“If I somehow managed to get you away from that sadistic fuck of an uncle, Alcott would’ve given up. He wasn’t strong enough to survive in the banished lands as a phantom without his connection to you. You helped him fight to stay alive. And when you needed him most, he did everything in his power to break free and go to you.”
Of all the things that Valen could’ve said to convince her, that one hit her the hardest. Despite all the pain, all the torture and anger over the years, she’d change none of it if it meant losing Edgar.
While Valen believed she saved Edgar, he was wrong. It was the other way around.
“I did what I could, protected you when you were balanced between life and death, but being a bridge gives you powers that are beyond me. No one saved you from death but you. You held on because you’re as stubborn as your mother. You fed from the afterworld enough to heal your mortal wounds.”
Tears glistened in Valen’s eyes. “There were many times when I wanted to plead with you to just let go, so you could join us here in the banished lands where I could keep you safe, but I knew it wasn’t your path. You were born for a reason. The phantom realm needs you.”
Annora resisted the urge to growl, not interested in any airy-fairy philosophical debate about fate. She wasn’t sure she believed in it anymore. She’d clawed out her own existence, and she refused to be guilted into giving up that hard-won freedom now—not when she was so close to getting everything she ever dreamed of.
She was on borrowed time and needed to get back to the guys, already uneasy about being cut off from them again so soon. She could still feel her connection to them, but it was muted.
And she kept it that way. The last thing she wanted was for them to feel her erratic emotions and charge to her rescue.
So she focused on what she needed to do to survive her next encounter with Daxion. “Explain to me about reapers. Why is Daxion so desperate to become a bridge? It really has nothing to do with his wife, does it?”
Valen’s lips tightened, as if debating what to tell her, and she glared at him. “The truth. No more lies. You owe me that much at least.”
“Fine.” He gave a defeated sigh. “But not here. We need to get off the streets.”
Annora nodded, relieved to be gone, wary of the hunger that crouched in the shadows just beyond them. When he gestured to the others, they took lead, and she’d swear she recognized one of the guys who’d dragged Flora away. When he gave her a slight bow, she knew she was right.
She fell into step next to Valen. “Being a bridge allows me to see reapers, doesn’t it?”
He nodded. “Reapers can’t take physical form in the real world…at least not on their own. They need a door or a bridge opened.”
Things clicked into place. “When I merged the two worlds—”
“You created a doorway that allowed creatures into the human realm.” His expression was grim. “Which is very dangerous. Not all creatures that roam here are reapers—many of the others are ravenous beasts would rain destruction down on the humans if given a chance.”
“How are reapers different?” All Annora could remember from the old human stories and myths was that reapers were the bringers of death.
“When phantoms die, we’re sent to the banished lands and hunted down, just like any other creature—with one exception. We have the ability to fight back and use dark matter to send those souls to the beyond. Those who survive are selected to become reapers. It has nothing to do with bloodlines or power. It’s a duty we take upon ourselves to keep the realms in balance.”
“It’s a natural progression for phantoms?” Annora wasn’t sure what to believe.
“It used to be.” He rubbed his jaw, looking even more haggard. “Now there are just too many souls in the dead zone, since fewer and fewer phantoms survive. We’re trying to cull the souls and send troops in when a new phantom arrives, but we rarely arrive in time.”
Horror cut Annora down to her soul, the screams of phantoms being torn apart ringing in her ears.
“Reapers keep things in balance, our connection to dark matter making us the perfect candidates, but we’re dying out. Once we’re gone, there will be nothing to hold them back.” They changed directions, leading her toward the fringes of the island. Annora was surprised to see other reapers pass them, chatting and talking in groups like they were normal people.
“Why are reapers so important to Daxion?” Why was he so intent on gaining to get access to the afterworld?
