Briggs appeared to consider, which gave her time to think. She’d need an excuse to sneak off base and find a way to speak to the spirits at the asylum without being detected by the guardian sentinels. And she’d have to make sure no one from based tailed her. Everyone in camp was a suspect at this point.
It was a toss-up which of those tasks would prove most challenging. Darkmore could likely help, but his mortal body left him with limited access to some of the powers he held as a sometimes-corporeal reaper. But they could still conceal themselves from the living, at least temporarily, with enough spirit energy.
At last, Briggs nodded. “I’ll give you one shot. You’d best work fast and make it count.”
“Fair enough. Let’s keep this plan between the two of us for now,” she said, relieved. Then, as inspiration struck, she added, “I’ll need a little time off to check in with the guardian who sent me to you. She’s great with lost, lonely, and tortured spirits. She can help me figure out the best way to earn their trust without making them run.”
Briggs’ expression hardened and she mentally kicked herself. It had been the wrong thing to ask, she realized too late. He wasn’t a trusting man, couldn’t afford to be, and she’d raised his suspicions. To his credit, he quickly schooled his features to neutrality and said, “No can do, Tennessee. I need you and everyone else here training hard. You’ll have to make do with what you’ve got in the way of persuasion.”
Shit.
On his way out the door, he said, “I’ll see you at dinner. You and Gutierrez are on KP tonight and for breakfast tomorrow. After that, you’ll hit the training courses with Chet. Rest while you can. The next couple of days will keep you busy enough.”
She let her head fall back against the floor as soon as Briggs shut the door, and closed her eyes. I’m not cut out for political games or intrigue, she thought. No poker face, no subtlety, and no filter. It was a wonder she’d kept her association with the reaper secret from the guardian spirits for so long.
A sudden cold chill danced across her skin, part caress, and part sting.
The sting intensified, almost as cold as the reaper’s voice. “You shared your light with him.”
Chapter Seventeen
She froze. Darkmore’s cold voice, deceptively soft, was as predatory as seductive. It took her back to the time when she’d first encountered the reaper. He’d been purely predatory then, hungry for her pain, her suffering, for vengeance against the guardian who’d claimed the soul meant for him instead of taking her. Before she intrigued him, before he wanted her for more than her power and as the instrument of his revenge, he’d come in the guise of temptation. Beautiful, mesmerizing, and dangerous, he’d promised to grant her what her dark heart most desired.
Freedom from the burden that was Mae.
She shuddered at the memory, fresh in her mind after sharing it with Briggs. Sharing had apparently upset the reaper, which was puzzling. He’d never had a problem with the spirit light she shared with Ezra, her guardian mentor, or Zeke, her guardian spirit lover. In fact, when Zeke reappeared in her life not long ago, the reaper, though clearly interested, gave her space to take care of her “unfinished business.” No signs of jealousy or male territoriality. The reaper was a patient hunter. After all, he had eternity on his side.
Until now.
She took a deep breath. He was closer now. She felt his icy presence surround her. Every instinct screamed fight. Her fingers flexed, the energy coursing through her seeking an outlet, desperate to defend against the threat. Anger rose from the reaper and found its answer in her. She didn’t have time for this nonsense, and neither did he.
Suddenly, his presence was gone.
Her eyes flew open and she jumped to her feet, fear and anxiety replacing rage. Had he left? God, this day was turning into a clusterfuck of confusion, impossible tasks, and missteps.
“I’m here.”
She spun around and spotted the reaper in a dark corner of the apartment, his face shadowed. She couldn’t read him. He’d locked his energy and essence down tight, hiding. But she’d felt the intensity of his emotions.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not quite sure what she was apologizing for.
For betrayal? No, she hadn’t done anything wrong with Briggs. She’d needed the man to understand what the trapped souls they were set to liberate could do, and telling him would not have been enough.
She was still guilty over his mortal state and suffering, of course. That was part of it. But the feeling that left her aching, longing, and profoundly sad came from something else.
She’d changed the reaper.
He sighed heavily and stepped out of the shadows. “It is I who should apologize. Jealousy is delectable in others, but I find the emotion…distasteful in myself.”
Taking a cautious step forward, she said, “And I’m sorry for that, too. I brought you to this, I—”
He reached out and grabbed her shoulders, enfolding her in his arms in a fierce, almost painful embrace. Oddly, the bone crushing pressure eased her deep, aching soul. A cool balm in the heat of helpless anger and regret, a calm in the midst of the storm, she held on to the reaper with all of her might.
“I didn’t like you sharing with him,” he whispered into her hair.
“It didn’t mean anything. I had to show him what the souls he’s after can do if we can bring them to our side instead of stealing from them. If I help Briggs, the loa will help you.”
He stilled. Though his emotions were still clamped tight, she caught a hint of something odd. Sorrow? Regret? Longing?
“I know,” he said. “I still didn’t like it.”
She pulled back and he allowed it, meeting her gaze with his fathomless, too-knowing eyes. With a breath for courage, she reached out and cupped his cheek, sliding her hand up to the nape of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Dropping her guard, she unleashed her spirit light, giving him all she was and all she had, holding nothing back. The darkness and light of a lifetime poured out of her into the reaper. He devoured what she offered and demanded more, deepening the kiss and holding her steady as she fed him all that she’d seen and done, all of her hopes, dreams, nightmares, and deepest desires.
All that she was.
That was it, she thought. The reaper didn’t simply crave darkness. He enjoyed feasting on suffering and delving in to the darkest corners of human hearts, but there was…more. He craved experience, knowledge of the human condition.
What was it he’d said the night they arrive in Jackson? I thought I had experienced enough suffering in my many mortal lives to understand all facets of the darkness you humans carry in your souls. I have endured everything.
But had he really? She didn’t think so.
Looking back over all she’d been through with Lazarus Darkmore, she found him to be as much a student of the human condition and its darkness as he was teacher in the dark purgatory of his realm. He wanted to know people, what made them think, act, tick, break, and triumph.
He wanted to know her.
And now, he did.
She pulled away, trembling, feeling as though she’d been psychologically and spiritually flayed. Exposed, vulnerable, completely open to the reaper in mortal man’s clothing. What would he do with what she’d given him? Her base, primitive instincts told her to run. He was a predator, a stealer of souls. Darker instincts coiled within her and screamed that she become predator. Spirit light coursed through her body and soul. He hadn’t taken all of her light, not even a fraction. Her greatest weapon coiled in her fingertips, just beneath the surface and ready to strike.
She forced it back deep within her. Darkmore was not her enemy. He’d saved her from the greed of the guardian spirit who played as mentor but used her for his own gain. He’d protected her from the guardian council at great personal cost. She would not destroy him. He was hers to protect.
Darkmore’s eyes were shut tight, breath ragged and rasping, his body in the grip of small tremors.
Summoning her courage, Vivian cleared her throat and said, “So, are we good?”
“No,” he said, his voice low and husky. “But we will be.”
He kissed her, hard and bruising, pulling her against his body and then pinning her to the wall. She should have been terrified. Even in his mortal form, the reaper possessed an unnatural strength of body, mind, and will. He could destroy her, had nearly done so once, not long ago.
Now, his coolness soothed the fire raging within her soul and gave her shelter from all of life’s storms. He met his match in her as she savaged his mouth and raked her nails hard down his back, rough enough to bruise, to wound, and he welcomed it, growling his approval.
He bit her lip and she screamed, pushing him back, wrapping her legs around his waist, and holding onto him, an anchor in a roiling sea. Instead of fighting her, he brought them to the ground and surrendered to her, at least for a moment. Once she straddled him, he ripped off her shirt and bra, savaging her flesh. Breathless, wanting, she tore at his clothing until he rolled them and somehow managed to disrobe them both.
The soothing balm of his chill contrasted with their rough joining. In spite of his power, he again yielded to her, allowing her to engulf him with all that she was, pouring her light and her heat and everything she had into him. He craved human experience. She gave it to him until they were both breathless and spent.
Drifting off to sleep, she caught a glimpse of a faraway land, one of sand and stone, hot and dry, a village built from sandy stone, windows covered with rich fabrics. The decadent scents of roasting meat and grain filled her senses, as did the unexpected rush of water. An oasis? No, a river, they were close to a river. Men and women dressed in robes, some drab, some brilliant in color and luxurious in texture, heads covered or dark, braided locks swaying with the movement of the people in sandaled feet upon dusty streets.
There, yet not, in the logic of what had to be a dream, she wandered the streets with no sense of time or place, though it was surely some ancient time. No cars or any other machines, no lights, but plenty of animals and manpower in the streets and the fields beyond. There were sheep and goats, but no chickens. Horses and ox-like beasts transported people in chariots and—
She stopped, or perhaps whatever lens allowed her to visit this strange place came under her control when she spotted a man busy etching symbols upon a stone tablet. No, not stone, it was clay. The symbols weren’t from any language she recognized. She moved on, drawn to a small dwelling at the end of one of the side streets, shadowed from the heat of the day and secluded. A sound, raspy and gurgling, came from within the dwelling. It called to her, but also filled her with dread and a strange revulsion she couldn’t explain. The pitiful cries almost masked soft sobs. A harsh female voice spoke, and all sounds stopped.
She didn’t want to see what was inside those walls, but she could not look away.
Past the linen curtain that covered the entrance, inside the dark space, a woman sat on a stool, her eyes red and swollen, tears still falling freely. Another woman, this one dressed differently, richly, adorned with jewelry and tattooed, head shaved. She exuded authority and power. Priestess? Shaman? Healer?
The woman on the stool sought a healer, but not for herself. The bundle on the ground in front of her feet writhed and wiggled. It was the source of those strange sounds, the sounds that were wrong, inhuman. Something came loose from the bundle, its shadow large and looming in the light of the fire. A limb? But it was…wrong. The skin was blotched, almost…rotting. Sores covered it, and there were misshapen stumps where fingers should be.
Tiny fingers, the fingers of a baby.
Oh, God, she wanted to run away. She wanted to snatch the thing that should have been a child and…what? Heal it? It looked beyond healing, beyond hope. The gurgling sounds were achingly familiar, the sounds that came from Mae’s ailing lungs. The baby could barely breathe, the inside of its body likely as ravaged by disease and decay as the outside. The woman, this poor creature’s mother, begged the priestess for help.
Vivian begged, too, knowing that her plea was in vain. There were no herbs that could cure, no salves to sooth, no teas, potions, or incantations that could right the terrible affliction. She doubted modern medicine would help, or would have helped, since what she was witnessing had occurred in the past. The priestess muttered under her breath, then paused. Something caught her attention, something lurking in the corner of the room. The mother didn’t appear to notice, but Vivian saw it.
Saw her.
Felt the chill on her skin and bone deep terror. This was a reaper.
First reaper. Names whispered through Vivian’s mind—Ereshkigal, Nyx, Nephthys, Persephone. She would have many names, but here, she was only death. She had come for the child. The priestess approved.
Vivian screamed.
Strong arms enveloped her as she came to her senses. She was in bed. He must have carried her there after she’d fallen asleep. Cool waves of calm filled her as Darkmore stroked her back and whispered soothing words in a language she didn’t understand, yet was familiar.
She pulled herself together and met his gaze. “That was no dream, was it? It was a vision. Was it yours?”
His face turned to stone, gaze remote and older than any she’d ever seen. Oh, yeah, it had been a vision, something from the past, from his past. He hadn’t meant for her to see, or perhaps he regretted showing her after the fact, but this was deeply personal for the reaper.
“I trusted you,” she said quietly. “I showed you all of me, Lazarus. Everything.”
“And you wish the same of me,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He knew.
She blinked back tears and fought to keep her voice steady. Perhaps she’d read him wrong. True, they’d shared much, and he cared for her. He wanted her for his own, but she’d thought…
Hope was a dangerous thing. Stupid. He was only with her because she’d rendered him mortal, trapped him in this body and, accidentally, bound him to her.
“Never mind. Forget I mentioned it. I can leave if you like and sleep on the sofa.”
She tugged at the sheet. Stupid, considering he’d seen her bare soul as well as her naked body, but she’d had enough exposure for one night. If he didn’t want to share his secrets, she didn’t want to know them.
He put an arm around her and sighed. “Must you always run away?”
She bit back an ugly reply. He was right, of course. What the hell, she’d already given him the deepest, darkest corners of her soul, and the brightest. Another confession hardly mattered. “I forgot…until now.”
“Forgot what?”
“What you are. What I am in comparison. Insignificant by comparison, hardly a blip on your radar after thousands of lifetimes and millions of souls. It’s not your fault. You’re stuck with me and in your mortal form, and this is just another one of many experiences you’ll add to your collection.”
He took a breath, and she rushed to finish before he could speak. “It’s fine. Forget it. Let’s go back to the way things were and make the most of our time together before I restore you to your original form.”
“My original form,” he said, the bitterness in his voice giving her pause. “Trust. Insignificance. You aren’t the only one who forgot until now. Sometimes I forget how human you are.”
“I haven’t been human since the night we met.”
He laughed, the bastard. “You’re confusing me with your guardian mentor, but let’s put that aside for a moment. You have such capacity for understanding, empathy, and for antipathy and cruelty, the struggle to balance them making you very, very human. But your human nature, your youth, and your stubbornness blind you from the truth.”
Her tears fell freely now, and she didn’t bother to hide them. Mustering the last of her strength, she met his gaze and, to her surprise, found him smiling, his eyes red and blazing with emotion she hadn’t thought he had the capacity to experience.
“I don’t understand.”
He smil
ed. “I gave you exactly what you asked of me. And I found it…uncomfortable. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve had such a human reaction. I must apologize, faulting you for yours.”
A fresh spark of hope ignited within her. He wasn’t sending her away, he wasn’t hiding. He’d given her…she still wasn’t sure, but it had been something. Something that she’d asked for, but she couldn’t quite piece it together.
He pulled her down and spread the covers over their bodies, spooning her, her back to his belly. Then, just as sleep claimed her, he whispered, “You said you’d like to see what I looked like before, in my first life.”
“Mmm,” she sighed, his words barely registering.
“I showed you.”
Chapter Eighteen
True to his word, Briggs trained Vivian and the other newer recruits hard. B was a crack shot, mastering spirit firepower on the first full day. Cop skills must’ve helped. Even better, B was generous with his time and shared his skills. Not that Gutierrez needed it. She marched onto the training ground, pushed her way to the front of the line, bumping the rednecks who’d hassled her when we first met, and proceeded to hit every single target in a rapid succession of light bursts.
Then she hit them all in reverse. With her other hand.
“You little hustler,” Vivian said, impressed and more than a little scared.
Gutierrez smirked. “You don’t give all your secrets away the first week. Always have something in your back pocket. Now, Bedford, what you got?”
Vivian grinned. What she lacked in fancy finger work and showmanship, she made up for in power and range. She suspected the reaper had fed her some of his power, but much of it was her own. She’d spent time with the new recruits and the old guard, serving as an ear to bend while collecting emotional burdens that she converted into spirit light.
Unfortunately, none of those folks were the traitor based on the flavor of their burdens or their memories. And all of them worried about having enough spirit light for the battle to come, which wouldn’t be an issue for a traitor with a secret stash of spirit light. Darkmore hadn’t had any luck in his surreptitious readings, either.
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