Reaper's Dark Kiss

by Ryssa Edwards

“You want Sky to end up with Vandar for years?” Viper gave Julian a rough shove. “Move. Time’s real fucking short.”

  Julian let out an agonized cry. His own voice mingled with his beast’s scream of rage and terror.

  Racing into his room, Julian saw that Marek had been busy. A waist-high wooden platform stood next to the bed. Two empty IV packs hung from a thin metal stand.

  Laying Sky on his bed, Julian ignored the look on Marek’s face and said, “Harli thinks Vandar is on his way.”

  Marek’s carefully expressionless face didn’t change. “He is welcome on neutral ground,” he said.

  “He’s here to get Sky,” Julian snapped. “You think he came to see the gardens?”

  His gaze on Sky, Marek said, “You will awaken her. She was wrongfully put into the dream sleep. If there are any more infractions, brother, as your king, I will not allow the ritual to continue.”

  Vandar was heading for Night Crypt. Marek was talking about stopping the ritual. The haeze roared through Julian, rocked him like crashing waves on twenty-foot seas. He was beyond ready to fight. “If you—”

  “Shut up.” Viper dealt Julian a vicious blow to the back of his head. “Wake Sky. Time’s running out.”

  Julian looked down at Sky’s helpless body. Sanity blasted through him like a brutal Arctic storm front. He knelt beside his bed and whispered her name until she woke up.

  She opened her eyes and turned her head toward Julian. “Am I poison yet?”

  “Not yet,” Julian said and couldn’t go on. What was he doing? He couldn’t ask Sky to do this. He couldn’t.

  “My brother must ask you one final time,” Marek said, smoothly overriding Julian’s panicked silence. “But as king, I may ask in his place.”

  Sky looked at Marek. “I already said yes.”

  “And you must say it yet again, young SkyLynne,” Marek said gently. “Do you consent to yield your mortal life, to join the Shadow World and live as one of us?”

  Sky pushed herself up on her elbows so she could meet Marek’s eyes. “For a king you’re not too bright. How many different ways do I have to tell you?”

  Viper snickered.

  Julian fell in love all over again.

  “Can I live without Julian?” Sky went on. “Yes. But I’d be dead inside. Let me use one-syllable words for you. Do what you have to.” She let herself fall back.

  “It is enough.” Marek bowed his head, honoring a warrior who’d bested him. “Let us proceed,” he said.

  Julian knew what he had to do next, but he found he couldn’t make his fangs descend. “Gods, Sky—”

  “I’m scared,” she said, and it sounded like a plea. She laid her head to one side, baring her neck to him. “Don’t make me wait anymore.”

  The only mercy he could give her now was the Dark Kiss, Julian realized. He bent to Sky’s neck, ran his fangs over the vein. He nudged Sky into sleep before he let himself slip into the need that always lived in him: to drink, to feed. That it was Sky made it that much sweeter. He fell away into the sweetness, and there was only him and Sky’s warmth flowing through him.

  “That’s enough.”

  Viper. Why was he interrupting when this felt so good? His voice was far away, unimportant. Then it came back. Viper was the listener. Sky’s heartbeat must have stopped. She was in the death lands. Julian made himself pull away and stood, unsure for the first time how to fight a battle that felt lost.

  “Get moving,” Viper said, grabbing Julian’s arm. “I’ve been trying to get you off her for almost a minute.”

  Julian let Viper hustle him to the wooden platform, lay back, and held his arm out to Marek, who was ready with a needle.

  Turning his head, Julian saw Viper bent over Sky. Death’s pallor glowed horrible and dull in the hollows of her cheeks.

  “She’s not breathing,” Julian said, trying to come up on his elbows.

  “Neither are you,” Viper said, sliding a needle into Sky’s vein. “And we still let you play. Lie down. Let us work.”

  “Lie back, brother.” Marek pushed him down with a firm hand to his chest and slid a needle into the vein of Julian’s right arm. The IV bag above him began to fill with blood, a rich red tide rising fast, drowning Death, forcing him to pull back.

  As soon as Marek nodded to Viper, he moved with a flicker, and in seconds, the IV line in Sky’s arm was hooked to the IV bag that held Julian’s blood. What could have killed a mortal brought color to Sky’s cheeks. She took a few stuttering breaths, then settled into even breathing.

  I’m winning.

  Marek moved to Julian’s left side, working fast to get another needle ready. “Harlique, is the giver here?”

  “Yes, sir. Outside.”

  As soon as Julian had been drained for Sky, there had to be a giver for him to feed on. That made him pause. This would be the last time he would drink from a revenant that wasn’t Sky.

  Something swirled at the edge of Julian’s memory. Blood loss made it hard to think. “Harli,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

  In a bare a second, Harli was there, standing at the foot of the table. “Yeah, Julian?”

  “The Dark Kiss,” Julian said, wincing as Marek slid a needle into his left arm and secured it with tape. “How long till my blood in Sky turns her poison? What do the scrolls say?”

  “I’ve told you that, brother,” Marek began. “It—”

  “No,” Julian said. “Harli reads different scrolls in Montana, not history.” Julian’s head was floating in the sun’s orbit, millions of miles away. He watched the second bag fill up for a while, then remembered he was talking to Harli. “How long?”

  Harli’s voice was subdued, too quiet. “Right after they drink from the Furie who gave them blood.”

  “Enough, Harlique,” Marek said. “Bring the giver.”

  “You don’t go anywhere, Harli,” Julian said, reaching a hand out to him. “Tell me how long.”

  Harli’s worried face pulsed in and out of Julian’s fading vision. He should know something. He did know something, but it was bobbing in the tide of his draining blood, near and far, near and far.

  “They have to grow fangs,” Harli whispered.

  As he swirled down to sleep, Julian thought of the risen rites he’d witnessed. It could take minutes or hours for a new revenant to grow fangs. Or it could take days. How could he have forgotten that? The contract gave Vandar the right to claim Sky for five years, even if she was bonded to Julian. If she couldn’t drink from him, if her blood didn’t turn poison, there would be nothing to stop Vandar taking her.

  A warm throat pressed against his lips. Julian drank greedily. He’d won Sky back from Death. But was his victory enough?

  He struggled to stay awake, but exhaustion from blood loss weighed him down. He lost the battle with consciousness and found himself in a bleak place. Snow trailed through the cold air. A midnight sun, whose rays would soon kill him, shed remorseless light.

  He cast no shadow.

  He was alone in a white world, without Sky, with no heartbeat, with no reason to go on.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Midnight?

  No.

  Noon.

  Sky’s thoughts whirled in a confusion of clocks, and if she could set the alarm, she could wake up. Couldn’t she?

  “I’ll summon him to hell.”

  Julian’s voice from far away.

  More talking, this time mutters she couldn’t make out, then Viper’s voice. “We have to wait. The transfusion’s one thing. But—”

  “I know. Without her fangs my blood would just float around in her. Vandar could drink from her and be fine.”

  Then Sky was flying, but her wings were made of wax. She was too close to the sun, and she was burning, but the fire was inside her and—

  Strong arms, cradling her head.

  “Julian?” God, it hurt to talk.

  “It’s the transfusion,” his voice said. “You’re fine.”

  Confusion? Yeah. Sky wa
s confused. She tried to open her eyes, but she was inside glaring sunlight, and there was no ground. “I’m falling.” Talking made her feel like glass shards were grinding in her dry, dry throat. “Thirsty in here.”

  A cool cup was pressed to her lips. Sky tried to drink, but the water made the burning inside her worse. Her throat flared with pain. She batted the cup away. Then she was plummeting into a burning, scorching sun.

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  Julian again.

  It was years later. It had to be, because Sky had been sleeping for decades. “Julian?”

  A soothing hand on her forehead. “Open your eyes, Sky.”

  She tried. She wanted to see Julian. But there was so much light. “Too bright,” she managed to say from her impossibly sore throat.

  “Viper,” Julian said. “The torches.”

  Darkness fell. Sky risked squinting into the sudden night. Julian was there, but he was different. She touched his face. “What happened?”

  “Reaper’s mark,” Julian said. “It’s always been there. You couldn’t see it as a mortal.”

  Whorls of black ink ran down the left side of Julian’s face in jagged tribal lines.

  Insistent hands held up Sky’s head. A glass was pressed to her lips. “Drink,” Julian said. “Just a little.”

  The water smelled slimy and rotten, like runoff from diseased dead plants. She turned her head away.

  “Listen, Sky.” And now Julian sounded worried. “You’re dehydrated. Try. Just a sip.”

  She let the water flow over her lips. The shards of glass in her throat got sharper, dug into her already raw flesh. Sky thought she would vomit from the pain. She spit out the water. She wanted something else. But what?

  A couple of years ago Sky had tried wine that had been aged for a century. She remembered a rich deepness flowing all through her, like she could taste it with her whole body. Julian smelled like he’d taste like that. She wanted a drink, just a sip of—oh God—his blood.

  It came back to her in a rush. Marek. The bond. Julian’s kiss. The weird feel of his blood flowing through her like a rushing river. It would taste good, so good to drink from him, better than any wine she’d ever had. But she was missing something. A straw? No. She slid her tongue along her teeth, her very even, very dull teeth.

  “Julian?”

  “Right here.”

  “Your blood,” she whispered around the pain in her throat, “smells good.” Sky found this ridiculously funny. She laughed in little breathless gasps. “But left my fangs at home.” This made her go off into laughter again.

  “Viper?” Julian sounded even more worried.

  “I don’t know. Haven’t seen a Dark Kiss rite since before the war.” Viper was nearby. He smelled good too. But nothing near as good as Julian.

  “The scrolls say it happens to some mortals.” The two-hundred-year-old college jock. Harli. “It’s like they get drunk after the Dark Kiss.”

  “Not drunk,” Sky managed to say from her pained throat. “Thirsty.”

  “I know.” Julian smoothed Sky’s hair back again. “We have to wait.”

  Slowly, very slowly, because the world kept tilting, Sky pushed herself up. She was on Julian’s bed. A candle on his desk was lit. Sky looked away. The light was painful. “Eyes?” she whispered, meaning to ask what was wrong with them.

  “It’s like that for a while,” Harli said. “Light hurts. It goes away.”

  Even though only one candle was lit, the room was incredibly bright to Sky. Viper was on the other side of the room, but Sky could still see that the teeth on his zipper were dull, wearing out. “Everything’s bright.” She wanted to say more, but it was torture to talk.

  “Let me see your teeth,” Julian said.

  Sky shook her head. “No straws yet.” She went off into hiccupping laughter.

  A dim smile flitted across Julian’s face. “Open your mouth for me.”

  Julian carefully ran a finger along Sky’s upper and lower teeth.

  “Anything?” Viper asked.

  “Nothing,” Julian said.

  “We’ve got time,” Harli said.

  But to Sky it sounded like time was the last thing they had. Her ears worked differently now too. Harli’s voice was jagged, raw somehow. With her new eyesight, she saw tiny beads of pink on Harli’s temples. Sweat. He was scared.

  “Contract’s coming down on us like vengeance,” Viper said into Harli’s ear, but Sky heard him as if he’d shouted.

  She couldn’t stand this much longer. There had to be a way to force fangs to grow. But she knew there wasn’t. Julian would tell her. Sky let herself drop back. She was tired. And thirsty. More thirsty than she’d ever been in her life. She whispered, “Noon. How long?”

  There was no answer.

  She closed her eyes. Somewhere, a clock was ticking.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  In thirty-seven minutes, Marek would execute the contract, Kraeyl would witness the signature, and SkyLynne would belong to Vandar. And the draining would stop, for a time. Never mind that Marek had an uncanny habit of molding victory from defeat. Never mind that Marek’s face revealed nothing but calm confidence in the flicker of too few candles. Never mind that Vandar was tormented with the certainty that the red gold in SkyLynne’s veins was a phantom, one that would elude his grasp.

  The chairs before Marek’s desk were placed so that the two parties facing him couldn’t quite see each other. A glance to his right told Vandar that Maggie was sitting perfectly still. Resentment for Marek radiated off her. Kraeyl, standing with his back to the door, his hands at his sides, had his eyes on the antique clock above Marek’s head. Had the clock been a live thing, Kraeyl’s murderous glare would have hurried the hands along.

  From the other side of his desk, Marek faced them with smooth calm.

  The audience chamber felt painfully small to Vandar, which was part of how Marek worked. Like Oracle, he left no weakness untouched. He knew Vandar hated cramped spaces. A too-low ceiling, too few candles in stone niches, too-close walls, all of it was already grating on Vandar, eating away at his ragged nerves.

  Beyond the door stood the three sentinels who had met Vandar and his party and escorted them to Marek.

  On Marek’s desk lay what Vandar had come for. He didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want Marek to see desperation in his eyes. The contract, stacked neatly with the signature page on top, was within arm’s length. A fountain pen and inkwell stood by, ready to be called into service.

  After Marek’s men had herded them into his audience chamber, the brothers had exchanged what passed for pleasantries. This consisted of them asking after one another’s health while tacitly agreeing not to kill one another quite yet. Now, Marek spoke to Maggie. “Have you been a guest of Night Crypt? You would be most welcome.”

  Before tonight, Maggie had heard of Marek but never seen him. From his uncompromising eyes to his body, packed tight with muscle, the young vampire had taken him in with a single dismissive look.

  “It’s my first time,” she said, breaking her sulky silence.

  “Maggie,” Vandar said, letting a warning edge creep into his voice. “You will behave with respect.”

  Grudgingly Maggie said, “It’s my first time, sir.”

  “Perhaps another day, under better circumstances, you would give me the honor of showing you the gardens,” Marek said.

  The gardens of Night Crypt were a wonder talked about among the young. It was a place where they could walk in sunlight. But none of his younglings had ever seen them. Among younglings, it was known that Vandar would be displeased with any careless enough to be caught outside so near dawn they were forced to shelter in Night Crypt. It was officially neutral ground, but it was friendly to Creed.

  At Marek’s invitation to see the gardens, Maggie grew more resentful. “You’re not the only ones who have sunlight that doesn’t burn us up. Lord Vandar has it in his rooms.” She slid a glance at Vandar. “Sir.”

&n
bsp; Even though Vandar had the loyalty of many, he was foolishly pleased at Maggie’s show of loyalty and bravery, daring to speak to Marek as she had.

  “You must allow into your heart that which you deem impossible.”

  The words of a dreamer.

  Maggie’s behavior couldn’t be tolerated. It gave the impression Vandar wasn’t in control of those who followed him. “Another show of disrespect, Margaret, and I will be forced to discipline you.” His usual punishment for a minor infraction was depriving the young of blood. As little as two nights without feeding meant agony. “Am I understood, young one?” Even though he hadn’t meant to, Vandar’s voice softened with the last two words.

  “Forgive me, Lord Marek.” Maggie bobbed her head in cursory insincere apology. “If I offended, I’m sorry.”

  The antique clock chimed out the half hour.

  Thirty minutes.

  Vandar stood. Kraeyl came a step closer. Maggie rose. Marek stayed where he was, which irritated Vandar.

  “It’s time you requested our brother’s presence and prepare to give me what I’ve come for,” Vandar said.

  “Of course.” Marek pulled a slim phone from his pocket, tapped the screen, and waited. “Julian,” he said, “Vandar has arrived in my audience chamber. He asks that I summon you and SkyLynne.”

  I’ll summon him to hell.

  To Vandar’s ears, the voice on the phone was that of a reaper ready to claw out his enemy’s entrails and litter them over his body.

  Marek ended the call and laid the phone on his desk. “It seems he’s delayed. He’ll be with us shortly.” He looked into Vandar’s eyes, gambling, daring him.

  To call Marek a liar would mean a blood fight between them. It would be Marek’s right to defend a blow against his honor as a Creed warrior. Such a fight took long nights of negotiation. The proper ground had to be chosen. Both sides had to agree to a time. Weapons had to be chosen. Endless details could be argued over. But most important to Vandar, once a blood fight was called for, no contract could be signed until a victor had been declared.

  Vandar sat down stiffly. After a confused moment, Maggie took her seat again.

  “In twenty-four-and-one-half minutes, precisely at noon,” Kraeyl said, as though pronouncing a new law into being, “you will execute the contract, Marek. I will witness it. And you will call on your sentinels to bring Lord Vandar his slave.”