The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance))

by Marie Hall

  “He could no more control his actions than you could help being a witch. That is who he is. It is his function. Which he has done over a millennia. Do you know the pain he’s carried? Do you even care?”

  The exact words she’d thought earlier, now flung back in her face. “I’m the wounded party here, Lise.” She touched a finger to her chest directly over her heart. “He hurt me. He lied to me.”

  “Me. Me. Me.” Lise sneered. “You’re so self-centered.”

  She inhaled, deeply stung, never before had Lise turned her anger on her like this. It was inexcusable. Wrong. “I’ve done nothing...”

  “Spare me, Eve. You are listening with your heart, not your brain. You want to be hurt. You want someone to blame. Make him your scapegoat, everyone else does. The reapers are so easy to be held responsible for all of life’s woes. They do the job no one else will. Day in and day out. They die from the suffering they must endure. You were saving his soul, bit by bit, hour by hour.”

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to listen to Lise anymore, but unable to block out the deep truth of her words. It was a dull knife piercing her soul.

  “I blame myself.” The chosen one pounded her fist onto the table, the guise of frailty snapping irrevocably for Eve. This was an immortal, not a frail woman, not a friend. She would not baby Eve, and this time she wouldn’t be able to run away.

  “I did everything but tell him you were his chosen. He tried over and over to resist you. You want to know why...”

  Eve glanced up, burning tears slid down the corners of her eyes.

  “Because he didn’t want to lie to you. To make you feel as if he’d betrayed you.” She clenched her jaw, her eyes began to glow and her rage transferred to Eve, filling her with disgust and shame.

  “He’s Fae.” She didn’t know what made her say it. She felt herself grasping at straws, desperate to get Lise on her side and understand her pain. She succeeded only in whipping the immortal into a frenzy of fury.

  Lightning quick, Lise latched onto Eve’s hand squeezing it nearly to the point of crushing the bone. She hissed, tendrils of pain spiraling from the grip.

  “And that should matter why? Has he treated you with contempt? Spite? He worshipped you. Yes, Eve, he’s a Fae. He participated in the Great War,” her hold on Eve’s hands didn’t relent, “and not that this should matter, but he had no part in the treachery. He was little more than the clean-up crew. I thought you were smarter than this.”

  Lise threw her hand away in disgust. She brought the throbbing wrist to her chest and huddled over it protectively, for the first time truly knowing the power of Lise. Her heart hung in her throat. She tasted the fear on her tongue.

  “Do you remember that night two years ago at the club? The rogue witch’s blast?”

  She nodded.

  “You didn’t throw that shield up in time. Think on that.”

  What did she mean? What did that mean? Eve tried desperately to understand.

  The Chosen One sat back, her look of fury now replaced by a mask of calm. “To be sure that no one is blameless. But coming here and looking for my sympathy, you’ll have none. If you cannot see the fault that lies in you, then you do not deserve him.”

  Lise stood, her white gown rippled around her body like a living entity. She touched Eve’s cheek. Eve jerked in response, expecting Lise to slap the crap out of her this time.

  “Make peace with this, Eve, and with him. Sooner rather than later.” She reached into the air, a white slip of paper appearing in her hand from nowhere. “You might be able to reach him here.”

  Eve looked at the paper. A phone number was scrawled across it. The Chosen one nodded and walked away.

  The pain, the fear, the anger, and hurt, it all washed over her, drowning her in emotions. The connection she felt with Cian was more than lust or friendship. It had been magical, mystical. Meant to be. She’d been helpless to him from the moment their gazes had locked. Her soul had always craved her spiritual other, and as much as it felt like a betrayal to admit it, Michael hadn’t been it.

  She dropped her head to her hands, the paper crinkling in her tight grasp. A cloying wash of grief ripped through her. Not for Cian’s misdeeds, but her own. For her stupidity, and childish behavior. The words she’d flung at him. Pain ripped through her heart remembering the wounded expression in his eyes.

  All she could think of in that moment was to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her. To make him feel what it felt like.

  She clenched her jaw, an emptiness consuming her soul.

  What had Lise said? Make your peace with him.

  Hope, faint but there, shot through her. It might not be too late. Maybe he was still at her apartment.

  She shoved away from the table, uncaring that she resembled a slaughtered raccoon with mascara dripping black down her face. Her only thought was of Cian. His arms. His quiet, gentle manner. So much he’d endured, and the strength it had taken to come clean. She couldn’t imagine.

  There was probably no chance in hell that he was still there. Likely he was long gone. But she had to try. She had to make an attempt. He couldn’t leave thinking she hated him.

  Cian was broken. Shattered. He’d done his part and told the truth. He couldn’t say he honestly blamed Eve. Everything from the moment they’d met had been a lie, except his feelings for her. He’d never deceived her about that.

  He’d hoped. Goddess he’d hoped Eve would have accepted him. Understood he was a man that loved her, who also happened to be fae. That the race did not define him as a person.

  He swallowed hard. All that was water under the bridge now. There was nothing more for him to do here.

  Still he followed her, all the way to Lise’s. He had to make sure she was safe. Regardless that she didn’t trust him anymore. He couldn’t allow harm to come to her. Not a creature, or reaper, tried to stop her. Assured she was in good hands, he swiped his hand, opening the portal between the here and there.

  Steeling himself he walked through, landing back in Alcatraz Island.

  Rusted, ramshackle abandoned prison cells a perfect analogy to how he felt on the inside. Empty. Soulless. He walked toward the tree, covering himself in stealth so that none of the chattering, filming tourists would catch sight of him.

  He was never coming back. His time as reaper was over. His heart and soul were now irreparably bound to Eve’s. Despite that in the end she’d rejected him, he was lost. And he couldn’t fade knowing the Queen would stop at nothing to take her. So he went now to offer his life for hers. The death of an immortal would more than make right the balance to order and chaos, allowing Eve to live the life she was destined. That of marriage, kids, and many happy memories.

  That would be his penance.

  ***

  Eve flew through her door, throwing her purse on the ground and calling out his name. There was only silence. Hope died inside her. As she’d suspected he was gone, not a trace of him remained. Her nostrils flared and she ran to her phone. She might still be able to reach him.

  The thought crossed her mind to just go to his house, but if he’d seen who was at the door would he have answered? Probably not. At least with a phone call he was more likely to pick up.

  She closed her eyes. If he turned her away, or even refused to listen then it was all her fault and there would be no anger. The things he’d said, the malicious words he’d thrown had cut her to the quick, until Lise made her recognize her prejudices for what they were. Disgusting, awful truth.

  Fear of the unknown, a hatred for all things fae had kept her from listening with her heart and look where it had gotten her. Anxiety constricted her chest, twisting her stomach in on itself.

  “Damn it, Eve. Damn it.” She picked up the phone and walked to her kitchen table, sitting down and staring at the white headset like it would suddenly sprout fangs and snap her head off.

  What made her sick the most was that deep down she’d suspected he harbored a secret. Being so comfortable around food, no
t leaving her side until the very last moment--sun creeping over the horizon--and those gloves, it all added up. Those ever present gloves. If she’d opened her eyes instead of refusing to see the truth, she’d have known him not to be a vampire. But she’d pretended not to notice, imagined it wasn’t there and in so doing had made it all the harder for him to come clean.

  The things she’d said. She groaned. Words could never be taken back. The power of words was that they were always there, always a reminder in the back of your mind. You could forgive, but not forget.

  She didn’t mean it. It’d been the shock of finding out who he really was.

  You didn’t throw the shield up in time. She gasped, remembering now. Just minutes before she and Michael were knocked to the ground she’d seen him. Cian standing behind her in the mirror.

  Now she remembered the gorgeous man with great sadness in his eyes. That nagging feeling like she’d seen him once before had been right. Even then, married to Michael as she was, she’d been intrigued. Her heart instinctively reaching out to his.

  He’d been there to take her that night. Which could mean only one thing. He’d saved not just her, but Michael as well. And the next day, the car accident... she’d been in such a pain fogged haze she could remember very little of it. But for her to have survived the types of injuries she’d sustained. It had to have been him.

  She’d hurt him, cut him to the bone. Bile rose in her throat. She was nothing but a judgmental coward.

  Eve picked up the phone, staring at the numbers scrawled across the slip of paper Lise had given her. She ground her jaw and dialed.

  It rang once.

  Twice.

  After the fifth ring she finally admitted defeat. Either he wouldn’t pick up, or he was gone, back to his home in fairy. Numb, she sat the phone down, shame eating away at her as a huge lump formed in her throat. All of this was her fault. Every bit of it.

  A hollow void swept through her. Lise had called her a fool and she was. Hot tears gathered at the corners of her ears. She huffed at them, refusing to let them fall. She’d cried enough.

  “You make your bed, you lie in it,” her voice cracked. These were the consequences of her actions, and she was woman enough to accept that.

  Heaviness coiled around her heart, a tightening that left her breathless. The sadness of their parting left her bereft and in more pain than she’d ever known before. Anguish splintered her soul in two.

  One fat tear fell and then another and then another. She threw her head into her hands and wept hot, bitter tears. Great choking sobs wracked her lungs and she cried until there was nothing left.

  Like a pressure valve releasing its pent up energy, she felt drained. No longer was there an overwhelming despair so much as a sickening throb of a broken heart.

  Mouth tasting of cotton and head pounding like a rhino had stomped on it; she reached out and grabbed the only drink at hand. Not even aware of what she was grabbing, just knowing she needed to quench her parched throat.

  The tea she’d sat aside earlier.

  She chugged down the entire drink, grimacing at the bitter, slightly astringent taste it left on her tongue.

  Eve smacked her lips. They were beginning to go numb. What was this? She frowned and stared into the bottom of the cup. Tiny yellow flecks dotted the styrofoam’s rim. The numbness spread down her throat and her stomach gave a violent heave.

  Blinking in shock, she grabbed her gut and moaned.

  Fiery claws shred her apart from the inside. Panic spread its wings. Poison. She’d been poisoned. How? When?

  She gasped for breath, choking on the air itself. Fire filled her lungs as she fought desperately for breath. She opened her mouth in a soundless scream of agony.

  Veins burst inside her eyes with the fighting need for breath. Her body trembled and her muscles spasmed. Contracting as hard as a rock.

  She shot to her feet. Whimpering. Moaning. Limbs refusing to work right. She tripped over her chair, landing face first on the cold floor. The flesh of her chin ripped open on contact. Warm blood oozed from the wound.

  Then the convulsions started.

  Absolute fear swept down her spine. Aware and conscious of it all.

  Her body went rigid. No air in her lungs. Fire breathing down her skull. Heart beating out of control. Blackness sweeping in. Then a thought. In death she’d find solace from her despair.

  With one last pitiful gasp, her heart stopped.

  ***

  Cian passed his hand along the tree. The golden quickening surrounded him as he stepped through the entrance to the sithen.

  The sylph’s angelic voices greeted him. He inhaled the sharp nature infused winds of his lands. The inspiration he usually found from being on fae soil now gone. He shoved his hands into his pockets, heart and soul shattered. Red madness crept into his vision.

  His nostrils flared. The oppressive pain began to fill him. It was tangible, choking the air from his lungs.

  Find the Queen. Plead her case. End this misery. That was his mantra and he repeated it over and over, running faster and faster toward the Queen. Toward his death.

  It no longer mattered what the Queen chose to do to him. Strip him, flog him... none of it made a difference. Not anymore.

  Pressure built inside his skull, he winced, trying to ignore it. He licked his lips and scrambled over the knoll.

  He had time. Not much. But if he could reach the Queen before a reaper could orchestrate her death, then her fate could be averted. He had time. He ran faster.

  The twisted spiraling steeple of the Queen’s castle stood just over the next hill. So close.

  But the fragile control was ripped asunder as a flash of volcanic heat exploded inside his head. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. Pain licking at his flesh. Heart threatening to punch a hole his chest. Arcing back and throwing his arms out to his side he became engulfed by the inferno.

  Shards of jagged ice tore down his spine. Limbs turned numb and heavy. Then a flash of darkness and he fell forward.

  The scent of crushed grass wafted under his nose.

  “Eve,” he gasped, knowing it was her. The awareness of her death ripped through every inch of his body.

  A roar of anguish tore through the fabric of his soul and out his mouth. He shot to his feet. Nature went still. The sylph’s silent as the beast inside him came fully alive.

  Misery encased him like a shroud and he welcomed it, giving into the madness. She was dead... his beautiful witch.

  Huge green eyes peeked at him from around the bend of an oak. A tree elf shook like a sapling in the wind. Didn’t matter what it was. Morality. Right or wrong. Innocent or no. He lost all ability to reason. He wanted death. Something to hurt as bad as he did.

  He ran. Arms outstretched, ready to grab the elf by the neck and rip it in two.

  The elf screamed, long blond mane whipping behind her in her haste to run away.

  A violent clap of thunder rocked in his ears and lightning consumed him, blinding his vision. Something powerful, intangible, picked him up and when next he blinked he was within the royal throne room.

  Maniacal laughter filled the chamber with macabre echoes that chilled his blood. The sound prickled along his flesh. He twirled, disoriented and full of fury.

  Then he saw the Queen, lascivious smirk on her blood red lips. She stood from her throne and sashayed toward him. The black, strapless gown tapered to her body, glittering with the stars from the heavens. The shadowy fabric opened at the juncture between her breasts and formed a v all the way down to her navel.

  To her side stood Dagda, his anger whipped through the room like thorny barbs. His dark face set into a grim mask. Remorse and pity shone in his hawk like eyes.

  “What have you done?” Cian growled, taking a menacing step forward.

  She arched an obsidian brow, ivory perfection of her face twisting into a sneer. “Me! Nothing that shouldn’t have been done a long time ago. Ineptitude really disgusts me.”

&
nbsp; There was no remorse in her eyes. Just a smile of victory. She didn’t care. Eve had meant nothing to her.

  With a roar, he rushed her, footsteps echoing like gunfire. The Morrigan flicked her wrist and invisible chains pulled him to the ground, forcing him prostrate. All breath left on impact as he landed on the cold marble with a loud oomph. He struggled, howling and clawing to reach her. She stood mere inches from him, her gown swishing in front of his eyes. If he could just stretch a little bit farther.

  Fingers reached out and grabbed nothing but air. His futile attempt only brought on another bout of laughter from her.

  “You know,” The Morrigan knelt in front of him, light blue of her eyes sparkling, “it would seem you grew attached to this mortal. But of course that’s impossible, right?” She cocked her head, tapping her finger against her chin.

  He snarled and snapped. Wanting nothing more than to grab her by the neck and rip out the veins.

  “Oh ho!” Her eyes widened with delight. “You fell in love. How deliciously ironic. Touching, and strangely pathetic.” She grabbed his chin, her nails pushing down into the flesh.

  With one last wicked smirk she threw his head aside and faced her King. “Well what do you know, Dagda, I’ve won.” The Morrigan sighed as if she were talking of a schoolgirl crush, rather than the death of a mortal. To her it was all the same. He wanted to strangle the Goddess for her inhumanity.

  No wonder Eve feared the fae. How could she not when the majority felt and acted just like the Queen? A bloodthirsty and self-involved race.

  “Chaos,” Dagda snapped, “gloating does not become you.”

  “But you’re wrong there. I think I want to savor this moment.” With a satisfied smile she nodded. “Frenzy, to me”

  The same flash of lightning that had carted him to the Queen’s chamber flared through the room, bringing with it Frenzy.

  His eyes widened then narrowed. Hands fisting into balls by his side.

  This was a different Frenzy. He was in guise. His sea of red hair replaced by tight white curls. Ivory skin now a dark brown.