Wicked Souls: A Limited Edition Reverse Harem Romance Collection

by Rebecca Royce

  He nods towards it, and I’m pretty sure he’s telling me I should grab it, but I eye the fire warily and shake my head. This is getting way too weird. “It holds the answers you seek, Kyrie,” Santos whispers.

  “Can you turn the flames off? It’s a neat party trick, but it’s also kind of freaking me out.”

  Santos grabs the letter from Dmitri’s flame display and holds it out to me. I carefully take it from his fingers and rip it open. I scan the contents and feel the blood drain out of my face. Words pop out at me. Words like “Angels,” “Demons,” “Reapers,” and “Scythe.” The letter is signed with an elaborately drawn calligraphic ‘H.’

  Only one person I know signs things with that much drama: Hades. Or, as I refer to him as: Dear Uncle Des. Mental note: address all solstice cards to him as Uncle Asshole for the next year.

  With a sigh of resignation, I open the door and let Santos, Dmitri, and Jay enter the house while I try to get my cousin Melinoe on the phone. I hope she has a good explanation as to why her dad sent me two stupidly-hot men and a death-stick a year earlier than planned.

  Six months ago, my life was so different. It was simpler. No one mailed me weird men or asked me to believe in supernatural things. My concerns were mundane and very human. I fretted over why my boyfriend Thane had abruptly broken up with me and obsessed over the minute details of our relationship with my sorority sisters. I lobbied and advocated for Beta Beta Mu to host Spring Fling. Long hours spent in the library, cramming for Chemistry and praying I passed. Life was stressful in its own way, but it was also beautifully predictable.

  Oh, the changes time brings. It feels like a decade has passed instead of six lousy months. I’ve learned so much and now I know that nothing is what it seems.

  It turns out that my mother was hiding a few things about my parentage. Chief among them was dear old dad isn’t just an asshole stockbroker who never made time for his family. Nope. He’s definitely an asshole, but instead of dealing with money, he’s in the soul business and he’s kind of high up. Not only that? He meddled with humans specifically to get revenge on the existence of my cousin Melinoe. Yeah. It’s fucked up. I would never have known, but dear old Daddy kidnapped me earlier this year.

  Want a piece of free advice? Don’t mess around with Archangels. They’re a special breed of asshole.

  Mom wasn’t particularly forthcoming in her family history either. She kind of failed to mention that she’s descended from one of the Handmaidens of Demeter. Yes, that Demeter. The women in my family have served a goddess for centuries and she never found a spare moment to discuss that little tidbit with me.

  Melinoe rescued me from Daddy Dearest and blinked me away to safety in the bowels of hell with Uncle Des and Auntie Persephone and the family history kind of blew open. Given who my parents are, many people had high expectations that I would be some magical hybrid.

  Spoiler alert: I’m not.

  The only thing I can do is move between planes and walk through the soul fields of the Underworld without harm. Which, on the grand scale of “hey, your family is all-powerful, maybe you’ll have special powers too” is… kind of lame. But powers they are. It’s very clear to everyone that I am not purely human and thus need a not-entirely human job to do. Mel wanted me to work with her and her legions of ghosts. She spends her spare time sending nightmares to the men who wrong women. Honestly, it’s pretty badass. I was all for it.

  But Uncle Des wouldn’t allow it. He already had someone to do that job. My job had to be different. Figures.

  So, he sent me back here to finish college first. My job would start with The Family after graduation. There wasn’t really an option to refuse and even if there was, I was too stunned to say no. What was I supposed to say? “Gee thanks for saving my ass, Uncle Hades but your business line creeps me out so I’d rather just finish my degree and go be a corporate minion?”

  No.

  When the King of the Underworld offers you a job, you’d be stupid to refuse. He’s kind of in charge of Hell.

  However, it seems the timeline has changed a bit.

  According to this letter, it turns out my abilities are useful... to the dead. I’m supposed to train for a new position in the Underworld's hierarchy: Reaper. As in Grim. Grim Reaper. Soul hunting badass with the scythe. And my training is supposed to begin as soon as my tutors arrive.

  I look pointedly over at Dmitri, and Santos. Supernatural Tutors. Check.

  So here I am, two weeks before my last year at Ash Canyon University with an angel and a demon in my kitchen, a scythe in a box, and a sinfully handsome delivery driver standing awkwardly in the corner.

  Melinoe doesn’t answer my call and I toss my phone on the kitchen table in frustration.

  I don’t know what to do. Nothing in my life has prepared me for this.

  “Jay, bring in the rest of the training equipment and then get out. I need a shower.” Dmitri orders as he strides off down the hallway towards my bathroom.

  I am powerless to stop him, so I sink down into one of my kitchen chairs, let my forehead hit the table, as I make an indelicately frustrated noise.

  This proves my point—no good comes from doorbell ringing on Sunday afternoons. If you aren’t careful, Heaven and Hell invade your house.

  Chapter 2

  -3 weeks later-

  The scalding water from my shower beats down on my head, burning me awake in the familiar and time-honored Monday-morning tradition. My muscles ache and I’m exhausted.

  Training to be a Reaper involves far more physical activity than anyone ever told me. I would have protested more heavily if Uncle Des had clued me in on that fact. Dmitri and Santos have been running me ragged with strength training, sparring, and practicing calling the magic of my scythe. I am sure all of this is important, but right now I am fully prepared to make a deal with the devil if it means I can sleep past 0600.

  Yawning, I reach for my body wash and loofah. Classes started this week and I can’t afford to fall asleep in the middle of lecture. This is my last year of college and there is no more wiggle room with my grades. The air in the bathroom suddenly changes and I jump, dropping the body wash bottle on my foot. Only one thing makes that noise: shifting. Of the two roommates who shift that live with me, only one would do it while I am in the shower.

  “Fucking HELL.” I yell as I rip the curtain to the side and glare at Dmitri who is, unsurprisingly, also naked. He gives me a cheeky little wave and leers at me through the shower curtain.

  Dmitri is… intense. That’s the best word to describe him. Asshole, domineering, sinfully delicious, and obnoxious also fit. But, if I have to pick just one word to describe him, I would choose intense. Anytime we have to share a small space, his presence overwhelms my senses.

  I never know whether I should slap him or seduce him.

  Unlike Santos, who exists in a state of hyper-propriety, Dmitri does whatever the fuck he wants, when he wants. Lately, he has wanted to be naked as often as possible, and he likes to shift into rooms instead of knocking. It scares the shit out of me 85% of the time. The nudity isn’t a terrible view, but it’s coming at the cost of my nerves and my sanity.

  He drops a towel on the vanity and steps towards the shower.

  “Nope. Not happening.” I hold up a hand to stop him in his tracks and he pouts at me.

  “Aren’t you humans always advocating for the conservation of resources? Wouldn’t it be prudent to share your shower?” he asks, that sinfully smooth voice of his sliding over my skin like a caress. A very particular part of me screams a resounding YES to showering with Dmitri, but thankfully, tired though I am, my brain is still in control.

  “Get out, Dmitri. I’ll be done in a little bit.” I snap as I pull the shower curtain back in place and go back to my hot water and introspection. Maybe if I ignore him long enough, he’ll go away. Ha. Fat chance. The water pours down my back and all I can think about is running the soapy loofah over his hard body. Fucking hell, indeed.

&n
bsp; Both Dmitri and Santos have been running me hard lately, and I have entered a permanent state of exhaustion…. and arousal. It’s beyond annoying and I want it to stop. Neither one of them will tell me how long they have to stay with me. They just brush off my questions and tell me not to worry about it. Which is fine for them. They aren’t being pushed to their physical and emotional limits every day and then spending all night dreaming of impossibly dirty scenarios involving demon fire, angel wings, and me.

  I can’t even take care of the issue myself when all three of us are sharing 750 sq ft. These walls are thin and I can’t even enjoy a shower alone when there’s a very large, very naked, very attractive demon that just pops into my bathroom uninvited. Frequently.

  Technically, I guess the correct term is hellhound but I don’t think it really matters. He’s hell-spawn. He’s naked. He’s stealing my toothbrush. He’s both accessible and deeply forbidden. I’m tired, grumpy, and sore from all the training. Shit has to change. I need to be strong.

  Aside from Dmitri’s semi-constant nudity, complete disregard for personal property, and the hellish workout schedule they both demand I adhere to, Dmitri and Santos are actually easy to live with. Santos is an accomplished cook, and he has quickly learned all my favorite dishes and introduced me to some new ones. Dmitri has encyclopedic knowledge of all things Heaven and Hell and he has been tutoring me in the evenings over ice cream. We’ve developed a strange routine and we might even all be forming a sort of friendship. It’s weird.

  Turning off the water, I rest my forehead against the tile for a moment before snaking a hand out behind the curtain and grabbing my towel off the rack and wrapping it around myself tightly.

  Stepping out of the shower, I am not surprised to see Dmitri still there, still naked.

  “Magic up some pants, this is getting ridiculous.” I snap peevishly as I tighten the towel around my dripping body.

  He arches an eyebrow at me and smirks. With a snap of his fingers and a small whiff of sulfur and smoke, a tight black t-shirt and dark wash jeans shimmer into being and mold to his body. The transformation is so startling I almost swallow my tongue. Whoa. Hel-lo, Hellhound. If it ever comes down to slap or seduce, definitely seduce him.

  He has my toothbrush in his mouth, and he smiles as he looks me up and down slowly and a distinct heat rises in my core. But then he just shrugs his shoulders and turns back to the vanity. Those jeans do wonders for his ass, and I have to mentally chastise myself to keep from reaching out and grabbing a handful.

  I am saved from certain embarrassment when there is a polite knock on the bathroom door.

  “Dmitri? Kyrie? I made breakfast and we also received a communication from the Reaper Corps this morning.” Santos calls out cheerfully, as if it were normal for the two of us to be in the bathroom together. Lately, it has been.

  Dmitri finishes up and then studies me with a critical eye. Snapping his fingers, he brings forth his blue flame and grows it into a ball the size of a basketball. I start to feel exceptionally nervous as he steps closer.

  Quickly, he flicks his wrist upwards and the fireball pops up towards the ceiling. My eyes track it, trying to step out of the way to avoid being scorched on the landing. It follows me, dropping closer to my hair. Screeching, I throw my hands up to cover my head and two sensations rocket through me at the same time. The towel slides down my body and drops in a wet lump at my feet, but a feeling of intense warmth spreads over my limbs and caresses me gently.

  Dmitri is openly smirking at me and perving my naked body while his flames run all over my skin, drying me and leaving me cozy warm. It’s like going through a full-body demon hairdryer and I secretly love it. Once I am completely dry, he waves his hand again and the flame flies back to him. A single flame stays behind and caresses my lip, causing my breath to catch.

  Chuckling, Dmitri blinks back out of the bathroom and leaves me naked, warm, alone, and uncomfortably aroused. Damn him to… wherever one damns a demon to. Someplace unpleasant. Like an office baby shower or something.

  I pull on my leggings and comfy sweatshirt and flounce out of the bathroom, almost running over poor Santos in the process.

  “Good morning, Kyrie. I have prepared pancakes and fruit for breakfast. I hope you slept well?” Santos hands me a steaming cup of coffee and I could kiss him for his thoughtfulness. For all the ways that Dmitri drives me batshit crazy, Santos makes up for it in being impossibly sweet and taking care of me.

  I take a fortifying sip and walk the five steps it takes to get to my rickety kitchen table and sit down next to Dmitri. “You said you had news from the Reaper Corps,” I ask tentatively, digging into the plate that Santos has set in front of me. It’s delicious and each bite makes me feel better about the day, the world, life in general. Santos probably Angel-powers his food but man, it’s worth it.

  “You have received your first reaping assignment. It’s a student here at the school.” Dmitri’s deep voice breaks through my contentment and a cold chill trickles down my arms. Someone here? What if it’s someone I know?

  “Who is it?” I try to ask casually but my insides feel like mush. I don’t actually want to know. The idea of reaping a soul sounds noble; at least in theory.

  Reapers are navigators. The guardians who shepherd the dearly departed to their afterlife. Whether they are destined to go up top, down below, or somewhere in the middle, every soul goes through the Reaper Corps. But when the subject of said Reaping is someone you know? That’s an entirely different proposition.

  I gulp and nod shortly. He is studying me closely and waves his hand in the air. A scroll appears, bringing a faint scent of sulfur with it. My pulse races even harder. Pancakes forgotten.

  “Tomorrow night you will be reaping the soul of Mr. Thane Greene at approximately 11:05pm.”

  My fork clatters to the plate. He keeps talking but I stop listening. I push away my breakfast, bring my knees up to my chest and bury my head from view. Tears drip down my cheeks. I can’t do this.

  Not Thane. Anyone but Thane.

  The now-familiar golden glow that follows Santos everywhere appears beside me and I feel him wrap his arms around me. The tears flow more freely now and I let out a small sob.

  It takes Dmitri a few minutes to realize that I am no longer paying attention to his monologue about the intricacies of Reaping a soul from a traumatic event.

  “What’s wrong with her?” he asks, bewildered.

  I can’t answer him. What would I say? What words could possibly be the right ones to explain to an exasperated Hellhound that I have issues reaping the soul of my most recent ex-boyfriend.

  “What if I refuse?” I ask timidly, looking up at him with watery eyes while hugging my knees to my chest even harder.

  For once, Dmitri is silent. I already know the answer. We’ve been through it loads of times. But I need to hear him say it again. To spell out the consequences and remind me why I am doing this.

  “Kyrie, a Reaper cannot refuse. If you do not do your duty, the Prince’s Tribunal will discipline you. I don’t think that’s how you want to meet the Princes of Hell. They are not known for their patience or understanding.”

  It feels like my heart is breaking all over again.

  Thane is more than my ex.

  He was (and maybe still is) my first love.

  He was the one I had dreamed about spending forever with.

  We were going to do it all. Careers, house, marriage, babies.

  When things were good, they were so damn good.

  Until they weren’t.

  One day, Thane changed. He went from my happy-go-lucky dreamer to a sullen, withdrawn version of himself. He stopped coming over and didn’t answer any of my calls. He skipped class and dropped from the Dean's List to Academic Probation in one semester. I knew something was wrong, but he refused to tell me. When I pushed, he pushed me away harder.

  Thane and I were never supposed to be the couple that broke up over stupid shit, but he didn’t exactly
give me a choice. I maintain that we broke up because of the dramatic changes in behavior, mood swings, and breakdown of communication. He maintains it was because of bacon.

  Tears stream down my cheeks as the memory of that last fight plays in vivid technicolor in my mind.

  We were in the kitchen of his apartment making breakfast. It was a much needed normal day after a slew of hard ones. He was making pancakes; I was frying bacon. I was so giggly that morning. The euphoria of having my boyfriend in a good mood and the small glimpse of who he used to be shining through made me almost incandescent with joy. He stole kisses and grabbed my ass while we worked and for that single moment in time; it felt ok. Like everything was going to be alright. The hard parts were in the past.

  I was wrong.

  I pulled the bacon off the heat and let it rest. It was crispy and perfect. We both said so. The smell permeated the house and for that single moment in time, everything was perfect.

  Then my elbow hit the pan.

  The bacon spilled out, flying over the floor.

  The hot bacon grease splattered us both, but him most of all. It landed on his hands. Popping hot bacon grease scalding and burning him across his fingers and the top of his hand. He let out the most god-awful scream and refused to let me help him to the sink. I called the paramedics and they took him to the burn unit.

  He healed, eventually. But the burns permanently scarred his hands, leaving him with mottled scars. He broke up with me from the hospital, never giving me an explanation for what happened. Maybe it was the bacon. But there was something else going on. I know it in my heart.

  We saw each other a few times after that, but that was it. Our entire relationship ended over bacon. I mourned him then, in a way I still do.

  I don’t want him to die. Reaping his soul might break me.

  Dmitri is oddly quiet. He studies the way Santos is holding me and he gives his head a little shake.

  “This is what we do, Kyrie. The sooner you accept it, the better it will be for you. This isn’t just a job, it’s your calling. Your destiny.”