Dante’s Circle Reborn: A Dante’s Circle Collection

by Carrie Ann Ryan

  Everybody laughed, but Misha kissed Caly again, and then he turned to the large gold doors that led into the Conclave.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  * * *

  “Well, then. To being an official species of the paranormal,” Caly said, clinking her glass to Misha’s. They were at a bar called Dante’s Circle, with the seven lightning-struck, as well as their mates and most of the vampires of his small group.

  The Conclave meeting had been relatively quick, the elders unable to stand up to all of the lightning-struck and their mates. Personally, Misha thought the dragon alone could have handled it, however, the show of force from everybody from so many walks of the paranormal realms had meant something.

  Misha’s body warmed, and he held Caly close, not wanting to let her go. He had just found her, and their story was only beginning.

  “We have much to do, a new realm to form, and so many people to find. We’ve been hiding for too long.”

  “We will make this work, cousin,” Broderick said, looking down at his mate and child. “I never thought we would have the chance.”

  “Do you think there are more paranormals out there?” Caly asked.

  “More secrets? More than what the Conclave has shown us?” Dante asked. “Perhaps. After all, even I didn’t know about the vampires.”

  Misha grinned. “And it’s just burning you, isn’t it, dragon? That you didn’t know all of the secrets.”

  Dante let a little tendril of smoke leave his nostril, and Misha raised a brow. That was a neat trick. “It’s interesting, to say the least. As you are now a Conclave member, you will learn more secrets than you ever hoped to know.”

  “I look forward to it. And keeping my people safe.”

  They would always have to worry about the dark ones, would always need to worry about keeping secrets from the humans, but now, they could make a home.

  As he looked down at Caly and felt the bond pulsate between them, he was excited to find his new home with her. Ready to figure out who they could be together, and where they would go.

  Because they were fated mates, they were instantly connected, but falling in love and finding their paths was only the beginning.

  REAPER’S SONG

  Chapter 1

  They said that death came in many forms.

  Grieving came in just as many, and those who were left behind after death took, reaped, slayed. They were the ones who proved what death could be.

  Not that he had ever truly understood what that meant.

  After all, he was no one of consequence.

  Death came as a shrouded figure, as one who slowly sucked your soul through the hole where your heart once was and never let go. Death came for those who waited, and it came out of nowhere.

  Death could steal your life, but it could also end your pain. Death could be quick, or could come with a vengeance, slowly, inching away life, moment by moment. Time after time.

  Death changed with each passing day. And as he found out, it had a face and a name.

  The reapers were death. The ones who took souls and ended lives. They weren’t few, they were legion. They were of the past, the present, and the future.

  Reapers were of the paranormal, for the paranormal.

  Reapers had once been paranormals themselves, after all.

  He did not remember his name, did not remember his face or his soul. He didn’t remember what type of paranormal he once was, or if that was even important.

  All that he remembered was sliding into shadow, turning to dust, and waking up with no essence.

  The others near him spoke in hushed tones or ignored one another, all waiting for their names, for their purpose. But he didn’t know what he was waiting for. Or if he would ever be ready for what came.

  “It is time,” a disembodied voice said from above. The man with no name frowned and looked up into the dark clouds.

  His eyes began to focus, and he started to see shapes. Silhouettes of other men and women surrounding him. Suddenly, he knew he wasn’t alone.

  He just didn’t know who these people were. Let alone who they had been or what their purpose was. He only knew the name Reaper, and that should have been important enough. But was it?

  “I am Reaper. The one named Reaper, the one who will always be named such. You are reapers, my progeny.”

  The man with no name frowned, wondering how he had been chosen. Why was he progeny when he felt as if he had been something more before. Yet maybe he was wrong. He didn’t know this life, didn’t know these shadows.

  “The reapers are the ones who are just, who are death. My progeny takes the forms of who they once were, only in shadow. They are no longer light, no longer dark. They are nothing but smoke and myth.”

  The man with no name didn’t like that. He had been someone once. Hadn’t he? Images of fire and pain and a smile that made no sense filled him, and he wondered why those things seemed so important. Why was he so confused?

  “My reapers find those who are near death, even if they don’t realize they are such. They take their souls and usher them to the next phase.”

  “What is the next phase?” a voice asked from beside him, and the man with no name tilted his head.

  “It is not for us to know or say. We are merely the travelers, the shadow-bearers.”

  “I don’t understand,” another voice said, and the man with no name agreed.

  “We are of shadow, we are reapers.” The leader paused. “We now have a voice in the Collective, the Conclave. But they do not know who we are, nor do they need to know.”

  The man with no name wondered what the Conclave was and why it was important. And why his head hurt thinking about it. Had the man he was before known of the Conclave? Or understood what any of this could be? He wanted answers, but trying to find them seemed like it would take so much, things he didn’t have.

  “You are reapers. We do not know what happens after we reap a soul, only that it is taken to the next phase. It is not for us to know more than that. But it is for us to find. I am the Reaper, you are reapers. There are others like me, with other designations, those who help with your paths and your training. They help decide who will be next, and what cords must be cut. You are the reapers, and you will aid in bringing about the next phase of life, death, and existence.”

  The man with no name frowned but followed along. It seemed like this was important, but all he could do was wonder where he had been all this time, and who he had been. He didn’t like not knowing, but from what Reaper said, it was not his choice. He was not supposed to know.

  That didn’t make it any easier for him to understand, however.

  “First, we, the Collective of Shadows, will find your names. You will be given a new identity. Soon, you will learn what it means to reap a soul, and what you must do to protect the sanctity of time, life, and death.”

  “But didn’t I have another name before?” the man with no name asked, his voice hard as if strained from lack of use. In all honesty, it sounded like he had swallowed marbles, and he didn’t like it. In fact, it sounded as if it were nothing like what he had once been.

  Only Reaper said that shouldn’t matter, right? So he wasn’t who he once was. Still, he wanted his old name.

  Reaper shook his head. “You had a name once, but that man is gone. Dead. You died, just like the others. I reaped you,” Reaper said, looking directly at him. “I took your soul, and you were chosen for a new destiny. This is your new path. You will be known as Ashen. What once was, and what will now grow into what is.”

  Ashen shook his head, not liking this new name. It was reminiscent of smoke, dust, and burned things.

  He didn’t want to be associated with burned things. Imaginary flame danced along his skin, a memory of burnt flesh and screams. The end filled him, but then the memories were gone just as quickly as they came.

  Yet he could still hear the screams. Not his own, but of those who watched.

  Had he died i
n a fire?

  Had others cared that he died?

  Ashen didn’t know. But now, he had a name, a purpose.

  And he would become a reaper.

  Even if he still wondered who he had been before. Even as he tried to remember who had once cared enough about him to scream in agony.

  * * *

  Time passed, although Ashen didn’t know exactly how long. It seemed like a blink, and he had an eternity. Perhaps that’s what a reaper was. Maybe they lived outside of time.

  He didn’t know. Apparently, it wasn’t his place to ask.

  “A reaper does what its leaders tell them.” Ashen nodded as if he understood. He didn’t.

  “You are to take the souls of those on your list and bring them to the next phase. You do not look at the next phase, you do not talk with anyone on the other side of the veil. They will not notice you. They will not speak to you. But you are supposed to take the souls of those you seek.”

  “Are we killers?” Ashen asked, feeling as if that were a very important question. He had already died, although he didn’t know exactly how. Reaper wouldn’t tell him.

  He didn’t want to be the cause of death. Didn’t want to cause pain. He didn’t want to even be near death.

  Apparently, however, he was death.

  Reaper shook his head. “No, you are not killing them. Time has done that. You do not cause their pain, their strife. You are not the center of their demise, or the bearer of their grief. However, you are the holder of their soul. Death will come for them, and you will be there for their souls.”

  “Am I not death itself?” Ashen asked, confused.

  “You are death, but not Death.”

  Ashen really did not like Reaper’s rhymes and riddles. Only he didn’t have any say. Or any other reference. He was still learning his way. This new body of his. He knew it had to be a new one because the dreams he had when he was allowed to sleep had so much fire in them. The form he held now might be physical in a sense, but it wasn’t what he had been originally born with.

  He didn’t remember his name, didn’t remember who he had been. The longer he stayed in this realm, this shadow realm of sorts, the more he was certain that he had once been a bear shifter.

  He could sometimes sense the bear within him, wanting to get out. But he wasn’t that shifter anymore. His bear had died along with the man, but he missed him.

  “Do reapers ever change into what they once were?” Ashen asked one day as they were training.

  “Some do. Once they learn more about their new bodies. Others—most, in fact—aren’t able to do that.”

  Reaper looked at him, frowning as he tilted his head.

  “Do you know who you once were?”

  Ashen shook his head. “I remember fire, but I do not remember my name, or who screamed for me. I know I was once a bear. I can feel it prowling inside me, wanting to get out, but I am not strong enough to reach him.”

  “You’ve progressed farther than most would at your age.”

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Ashen asked, truly wanting to know the answer. He didn’t know if he ever wanted to be a true reaper. He didn’t like the idea that he was death personified now. However, he didn’t think he had a choice.

  “You died in fire, as you remember. The others mourned for you, and enough time has passed that while you have not been forgotten, they have progressed to a new stage of their grief. You will not see them again, for you are Ashen, not your former self. With the strength within your veins, I suspect that, one day, you may be able to shift into a bear, once your bear finds purchase in this new reality. That will be some time. Now, because of your strength and your training, the Collective of Shadows is ready to give you your first assignment.”

  Ashen’s brows rose, and he stood up straighter, looking down at the scythe in his hands. He took in the long, billowing black robes around him.

  He looked exactly like the Grim Reaper of legend, only he wasn’t skeletal. Rather he was a man, a shadow of who he once was. His cheekbones were prominent, the flesh slowly sinking in. He had dark shadows under his eyes, and he didn’t have as much muscle as he once had. He was still broad, however. Still strong. At least he could remember that much. But he didn’t feel exactly like he had once before. How could he after death?

  “The Collective of Shadows?” Ashen asked, coming back to what Reaper had said.

  “The Collective metes out the assignments. They know whose thread must be cut, just like the fates themselves.”

  “The fates are real?” Ashen asked, thinking of the three fates of Greek lore.

  “Who is to say what is real and what is not? What is myth and legend, and what is pain? After all, we are living in a world of the supernatural, where even our most imaginative minds can’t fathom every type of paranormal out there. Every type of realm that exists.”

  Ashen noticed that Reaper hadn’t actually answered the question. However, he hadn’t really been expecting it. Not with a life that now consisted of unanswered questions and riddles.

  “What is my first assignment?” Ashen asked.

  “You will know soon. The Collective will be here with your first assignment.”

  “And I…kill this person?” He still wasn’t exactly okay with that, even if they said he wasn’t the bearer of the death.

  “You take their soul as they die. You do not kill. You’re not that person.”

  “Yet I still don’t have a choice.”

  “No, it was written in your destiny long ago that this is who you would be. There’s no need for you to be worried. Scared of who you are. This is part of life, and there must always be an ending.”

  “I thought the paranormals were supposed to live for eons. How do I take them from this life?”

  “You take them just like I took you. It is your destiny, just as it’s theirs to fade into the next phase of existence.” He paused. “You are not killing them, Ashen. Remember that.”

  He wasn’t sure people would agree with the other man. It was hard to do so when he wore the black hood and held the scythe of the fictional Grim Reaper who killed and took souls. However, he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

  He waited in silence along with Reaper until the Collective showed, ten men and women in robes that hid their faces. Reaper slid his cowl farther down his face so he was cloaked in shadows. So, there were eleven. Eleven that made up the Collective. Those who decided who would die and who wouldn’t.

  “Ashen,” Reaper said, his voice deeper than usual. “You are now of the reapers. Your first assignment will be a woman named Eva. It is her time. This is her place. You are not the cause of her death, but the reaper of her soul. You will send her to the new phase and help her in this new stage of her existence. Go forth and reap and know that you are just.”

  Ashen rolled his shoulders back. “It will be my honor.”

  “Good, because this is your test,” one of the members growled out. Ashen didn’t like this one already, even if he didn’t know who he was. “If you fail, your end will come sooner than you would like.”

  The others muttered in agreement, and Ashen held back a frown.

  So, if he didn’t do this, they would end him? Take him to the next plane? No, he didn’t think so. He had a feeling if he didn’t do this, if he didn’t take Eva’s soul, he would lose everything. And he would be but a blip in existence, not able to go to the next phase.

  However, he knew his duty, knew his role. He was a reaper. And he would reap the soul.

  They sent him the information on who Eva was, along with a mental image of her.

  She was of average height, but nothing else about her was average. Her bronze skin glistened under the sunlight, her dark hair lustrous and shiny. He wanted to run his hands through it. He wondered where that weird thought had come from. She had dark eyes that seemed to see into the unknown, and gorgeous curves that begged for a man’s touch.

  But not his, he didn’t think reapers were allowed that.
<
br />   She was a banshee, one who screamed of death. He wondered if she would scream for hers.

  He nodded and then put the location into his mind before he transported to where she stood. He hung back in the shadows, invisible to the naked eye—something reapers could do—and he waited. Eva held a basket of flowers in her hand, picking wild ones from a large hill in the banshee realm.

  Banshees mostly lived within the human realm, though they had a small realm where they could hide amongst their own. However, they needed to scream for death or it hurt them, so they traveled to the other realms often, doing what their souls desired. They screamed for death; though they were not the cause of it.

  For if you heard a banshee scream, death was sure to come.

  These were Eva’s last moments. He watched her, wondering what would happen to the others once they noticed she was gone, her soul ripped from her because of his duties.

  “Okay, just a few more flowers and then I’ll have enough for the picnic,” Eva said to herself, smiling. “Little girls love flowers for their picnics, so I am being the best Auntie Eva ever.”

  A smile twitched on Ashen’s lips, but he stayed where he was. She talked to herself and seemed to be a good aunt. He hated that he was going to have a part in her end.

  And then she stiffened, all humor and happiness draining from her eyes as she looked to where he stood in the shadows.

  Her mouth opened, and she sang. Not screamed, but sang. The song, however, wasn’t one he knew, nor one he wanted to hear again.

  It ripped into his ears, his soul—or at least whatever soul he had left. It felt like talons shredding him, the high-pitched song one of beauty, death, horror, and, yes, of life.

  She sang, the basket of flowers falling to her feet before she followed it, dropping to her knees as she pulled at her hair and screamed and screamed and screamed.

  Was this because of her death, or someone else’s?

  Ashen took a step forward and emerged from the shadows. He looked at her then and froze.