Reap Not the Dragon: (An Urban Fantasy Series) (Age of the Hybrid Book 2)

by Debra Kristi

  Kyra fidgeted, stirring her coffee. She spoke in a metered tone. “He’s nice and I enjoy his company, but I don’t feel like he’s letting me discover who I am more than trying to direct me. He got me a job at the bank where his buddy works so I’d stop complaining about being bored. I’m busy now so I’m not bored, and his buddy Chet keeps a close eye on me, even though he tries to pass it off as just being friendly.” She rolled her eyes. “We never talk about my past, and when I bring it up, he shuts down.” She abandoned her spoon on the table and looked up, meeting Sebastian’s return stare.

  “What can I do to help?”

  She fidgeted in her seat, looking uncomfortable. Nervous. “The funny thing is…I think you already are.”

  Sebastian laid his arm on the table across the front of him and leaned closer. “I’m sorry. I’m not following.”

  Kyra tilted her head back. The folds of her sage sweater flopped to the side, exposing the long gold necklace she wore. It slipped down over her white blouse. No hint of the tooth pendant Talia had told him to look for. Sebastian’s jaw clenched, sending a tightened pain along the bone.

  Kyra was frustrated, he could see that, but she didn’t need to be. He was going to help her. When she looked at him again, her eyes sparked with what he took for determination. Her hand sprang forward, her fingers seeking his. Like a vine, her index finger twined around his, and her gaze melted into his return stare. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it.”

  Sebastian glanced down at their hands, the way her pinkie wrapped around his, and a churn of warmth spread through his gut. Before seeing her, he’d begun to lose hope. Now pleasure, excitement, elation rushed him, tingled his senses, twitching and curving the edge of his lips to the heavens. Of course, he tried to play it off, mask it as an it’s-all-cool grin. He looked back up to meet Kyra’s gaze. “I’m good with that.”

  “I’ve been having dreams, and I think they’re trying to tell me something. I think I’m trying to remember. In the dreams, it’s always hot, and I’m always in distress, but every time you’re there, and that gives me hope.” Her fingers tightened on his. “Since that first day you showed up at my door, I’ve been determined to find you.”

  Sebastian knew exactly what memory she was describing. It made sense that if she remembered anything, she would remember that. It would have made a strong impression, a lasting memory. Purgatory was meant to dig deep into one’s soul. The fact that she remembered him trying to save her… His chest was lighter than air. He could fly if he had to.

  “Hey, Ky. I thought that looked like you.”

  Beside their table stood a medium-built guy. Dirty blond hair, brown eyes. Sebastian immediately disliked him. Maybe it was the way he placed his hand on Kyra’s shoulder, or the way he shortened her name. He reminded Sebastian of Marcus. Kyra pulled her hand away from Sebastian and back into her lap.

  “See you across the street in a few?” the guy asked.

  Kyra twisted in her seat to take in the man standing at her side. “Good morning, Chet. It’s nice to see you. Don’t worry, I’ll be there.” She smiled, and it was the kind of smile you plastered on your face to show you had manners, when you really wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Sebastian was familiar with this look of hers. He held back a chuckle and watched her as the man continued to stand in silence at her side. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll see you there, Chet.” Her voice was short and decisive. No one could argue the message sent.

  Chet lowered his head, making it impossible to see his expression. “Right. See you there. Watching the clock, Ky.” He tapped his phone three times sharp, turned with an abrupt pivot, and walked away.

  Sebastian sat back in his seat and stretched his legs out once again. “So…you go by Ky now?”

  She shook her head. “It’s just what Marcus and his friends call me.” She looked at the time on her phone. Sebastian made note: she now carried a phone. No doubt so Marcus could get ahold of her whenever he wanted. “I have to get to work soon.”

  “Yeah, you have checking accounts to open and bills to count. Things like that?”

  Kyra shot him a hurt scowl.

  He felt the blow as if the car on the Kamikaze ride had slammed full force into his gut. “I’m sorry. That was a shit thing to say.”

  “I get it. I’m not the person you remember.” She paused, glanced at her hands. “I want to remember who she was, I really do.” She looked up, straight into his soul. “Will you meet me here again? Say, tomorrow morning?” Her hand wrapped around his once more, this time with more strength than she’d shown previously. It felt like a plea.

  Tension tightened Sebastian’s back and shoulders. It wasn’t the request that got to him. It was the sound of her voice, the anxious need. “Better yet, why don’t you ditch work? Come with me now. I can take you somewhere that might just be exactly what you need—” Without warning, Sebastian’s jaw locked up, his every muscle froze, and he couldn’t move. What in fuckin’ Hell is going on? his inner voice yelled, and his eyes darted left and right.

  “Sebastian?” Kyra inquired. “You were saying?”

  He couldn’t respond. Couldn’t will his mouth to work or voice to answer. But his gaze narrowed in on the culprit, standing not-so-inconspicuously by the creamer station. Tall, gray suit with hat pulled down to shield his facial features, and a cheesy name tag tacked to his chest, probably his father’s lame idea. All part of the everyone-get-to-know-Sebastian movement. Except, all the names were fake. So what was the point? The Reaper across the room was no more named Mr. Johnson than his father was Mr. Smith.

  Damn Reapers. Now Sebastian had a tail because his father didn’t trust him on his own. His gaze shifted to Kyra.

  “Sebastian?” Kyra’s eyes bored into him, large and wide.

  He knew the answer. Knew what it would take to escape the Reaper’s grasp. His chest heaved, eyes closed, and he gave up the desire to whisk Kyra away. At least, for the moment. His father could have this one, but Sebastian would win in the end, Hell be damned.

  The lock on his body released, sending him stumbling back into the cushion of his chair. Quick to recover, his hand raked through the hair across the top of his crown. “Sorry,” he said. “Lost my thought.”

  “Tomorrow?” Kyra reminded him. “Can you meet me here?”

  If the Reapers weren’t going to let him have this moment with her, maybe he could get tomorrow. He discarded the cool act and let her see the raw side of himself. All the muscles in his face loosened as earnestness took up camp in his eyes. He sat up straight. “I can probably manage that.”

  “Only probably?”

  He squeezed her hand back. “I’ll be here, Kyra.”

  “Good.” She stood to leave. Sebastian also stood. “Don’t stand on my account.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Unsure of what to do, he held out his hand. She stared down at it for a second before taking it in her own. The shake felt awkward and out of place.

  She turned to leave, paused, then spun around. Without warning, she threw herself forward, clasping her arms around his shoulders, pressing her soft body against his in a tight, warm hug. Even without her dragon, she burned like fire. Her heat embraced him, traveled through him, marrying them into one. All the time lost was forgotten. He didn’t care about Marcus; she was with him now, in his arms where he’d always wanted her to be. He closed his eyes and buried his nose in her hair.

  “You smell…” He paused, unsure of the word he wanted to use. “Different.”

  Kyra took a small step back. “I do?”

  “Sunflowers,” Sebastian said, tilting his head forward.

  Understanding bloomed over her features. “You can smell them on me?”

  “I can.”

  She bit her lip and her eyes sparkled, hinting to the wild gold they turned before she lost half herself. “I can’t seem to get warm enough lately, so I’ve been filling the apartment with sunflowers
to trick my mind. They are such a warm flower, don’t you think?”

  Sebastian nodded in agreement, but inwardly found her confession more than curious. Was she cold without her dragon to warm her?

  Kyra looked around, then leaned into Sebastian once more. In his ear, she whispered, “Were we close?”

  Her tone asked if they had been more than friends. He didn’t know how to answer. He only knew how he had felt, and no longer knew how she had felt. Not after the kiss. The kiss loomed out there like an enormous unanswered question now that she didn’t have her memory to tell him what it’d meant. From what he’d seen, she’d chosen Marcus over him. “I knew you well, but I only knew what you chose to share. As for close…I think you can answer that yourself, can’t you? You are with Marcus, are you not?”

  She stepped back, slowly letting her hand fall away. “Yes. Marcus.” Her gaze lingered on Sebastian’s. It burned a desire in him he feared no amount of reaping or lust fulfillment would ever quench. He wanted to know what thoughts ran through her head. The want built with fierce intensity into untethered need.

  “Tomorrow, then.” She walked from him straight out the door. Once on the street, she spared him a glance through the large picture window. He watched each step of her trek across the street until she disappeared into the bank.

  “Infraction 183. Failure to comply with a superior Grim.” Mr. Johnson stood at Sebastian’s side. “This is your first warning. You only get—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Sebastian sat with such force the chair scooted a few inches across the floor. He didn’t care what Mr. Johnson had to say. Kyra, here. And now tomorrow. His mind buzzed with new thoughts and images. Possibilities. She had opened up new prospects. Prospects he was eager to explore.

  He downed his coffee and smashed the cup flat on the table. Adrenaline pumped through his veins like the Four Horsemen racing into the Apocalypse. He stood and turned toward the nearest trashcan. Mr. Johnson was gone, his job done, the warning delivered. But something else at the front of the shop flashed, catching his attention. All too quickly it vanished.

  What had he seen? He pushed at the tiny memory, hand pressed to the side of his skull. Someone had been watching him from the front window. Dropping his trash on the table, Sebastian bolted for the front of the shop. The street beyond was alive with the usual morning hustle. Cars zipped this way and that. People moved along the sidewalks with purpose, shops and businesses their likely destinations. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, yet his penetrating gaze searched all directions and came up empty. Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe he had imagined the whole thing.

  He pushed the suspicion from his mind and headed down the street toward Sophie’s parents’ place. Walked past shops and businesses to the narrow alleyway with a side door into their apartment building. Tall buildings on either side pressed in, trying to reclaim the ground, creating a dark and tight squeeze of a space. A single sound bounced off the stark brick walls confining the area. So narrow was the passage and so tall the sidewalls that little to no sunlight reached the asphalt. Not that it was dark enough to worry about losing one’s way, only dark enough to hide distinguishing features.

  An old, emerald Impala was now parked in the path, and the building’s side door sat slightly ajar. There was no evidence of people nearby—no voices or conversations lingered in the air—yet Sebastian received a steady stream of memories. Thoughts and memories that made little to no sense to him. Were the owners all soon to be among the dead? If so, where were they? That was how Sebastian’s gift usually worked. The dead and near-dead, whether they knew it or not, transmitted their thoughts and memories like a homing beacon for Reapers.

  Sebastian stood at the entrance of the alley, perfectly still, alert, attuned to every click and scuff and echo bouncing off the cold, hard stone.

  “Sebastian.”

  His name slithered along the cracks in the block walls, across the paved ground, unfurling like the tongue of a reptilian predator. Sebastian straightened and tilted his head to the sound, following the echo as it moved through the arena. Because that’s what he saw this soon becoming—a field of combat. Three steps into the alley, the sound changed, morphed, became haunting. Hauntingly beautiful.

  “I know you’re here. Show yourself,” Sebastian called out. He continued to move deeper into the tight space, closer to the apartment building’s entrance. Muscles taut and jaw rigid, he prepared for what lay in wait. He considered himself ready for anything. The inner buzz from one of his mother’s kind was unexpected. He’d not been in the presence of a Mara since his mother had abandoned him as a child. He’d been left alone to stumble through his learning, and despised her for it. Despised his Mara half. Besides, Maras were not to be trusted. “Mother?” he whispered, taking another step into the shadows.

  The car was hidden in the dark, a few feet up ahead. It rattled and creaked, bouncing twice on its hind springs. Expecting to find his mother working her sorcery on some willing schmuck in the backseat, Sebastian approached with caution. He peered through the Impala’s side window. No one was inside. The car was empty. Any hint reminding him of his mother was gone. But something else caught his attention: movement around the front edge, near the headlight. A shuffle and scamper unlike the grace of any Mara. The muscle at the side of his eye twitched. Somebody was playing games, and he had never been one for games.

  Mr. Johnson stood near the entrance of the alleyway, his silhouette highlighted by the light of day bright on the street beyond. He whipped out a notepad and started taking notes.

  Hell’s fire! Damn Reapers, thought Sebastian. Is this a test?

  Metal groaned and a green block popped up in his peripheral view. It was the Impala’s trunk lid pointing to the sky. From the open space spilled a couple of quick, dark figures. Sebastian tensed, then threw his arms out defensively. Whatever they were, they had him flanked. He glanced at the building entrance. Could he make it without a fight? Did he even want to? Any kind of weapon would come in handy about now. Even one of those sickles he’d seen in so many silly images portraying Reapers.

  He darted for the door. A blur shot straight at him, and pain splintered through his ribs. He felt the blow before he saw the crowbar. Fire spread through his side, sharp at the center and dulling as it spread outward. Ignoring instinct telling him to protect his ribs, Sebastian moved forward, pushing into the attackers.

  Something caught him before he saw it, the weight knocking him to the ground. Metal netting had been dumped over the top of him. Everywhere the binding touched his skin stung, the links reeking of a bittersweet aroma. He scrunched his nose to block out the smell. It reminded him of caramel syrup, too sugary. He felt dizzy and the images before him swayed. It wasn’t going to stop him, though. He shoved up off the asphalt, dragging the heavy curtain draped over him. Muscles ached in ways they never had before. Sebastian stumbled and fell into one of his attackers. A man blending in with the shadows.

  A snort came from behind.

  More hoots and chortles from the rear. Whoever they were, they had cast the net over him. Snuck up on him while he’d been engaged with the two who’d jumped out of the trunk— decoys.

  “Can you believe this guy?” someone at his right said. “Look at him still fighting. Even wrapped in the Mara Web.”

  The what? No!

  Sebastian tried to steady his breath, even as his heart attempted to hammer its way through his chest. He didn’t believe it. Mara Webs didn’t exist. They were a myth created to make humans feel better. Feel safe from the nightmare of monsters.

  He struggled. With each move he made, the net tightened, hugged closer to his body. It wasn’t a myth. He could feel the net working, turning his own power against him. It plucked his nightmares from his head and played them back, remaking his reality. Only he knew better. He knew he was still struggling in metal mesh, on the ground of a tight, dark alley. He knew the pictures he saw of himself, of Kyra, were only an illusion and nothing more.

  An
d yet, they didn’t keep him from struggling. He didn’t want to see. Wasn’t sure he could stomach his worst nightmares. And the more he struggled, the more he felt his life force drain from his body. Could he die? He’d never asked that question of his father. Right now he really wanted to know.

  Slowly, methodically, his hands reached out for the edge of the net. It took all his concentration and it felt like an eternity to accomplish the task. Sweat trickled down his temple and he was instantly on the boardwalk watching Chow Lien paint—the moment he had learned to harness his inner strength, use it as a shield. That was what he needed to do now. Needed to stay on point, to remember. His hands wrapped around the chain’s edge and began to lift.

  “You see that?” A voice on his left.

  Sebastian felt a blunt hit to the shoulder blade and he wavered. His eyes fluttered shut, open, shut, then open again.

  He collapsed to a sitting position. Watched their feet gather around him. There were five of them. It was embarrassing, a Reaper taken down by five lesser beings. Be them demon or men, he did not know. Although he didn’t really care much now.

  Sebastian turned his face up to his captors. It was hard to discern between the truth and the images placed in his mind by the net, but what he thought he saw were demons disguised as men. They had to be Marcus’s men. Demons and Marcus, seemed like a logical association. “I let her be. What more does Marcus want from me?” he bellowed, and felt his body burn with emotion he couldn’t express.

  One set of boots stepped closer. Close enough to see the scuff across the center of the right tip and the threads starting to show. “Think you got it all wrong, bud,” the owner of the boots said and kicked Sebastian hard to the gut. It felt like a sledgehammer wielded by the carnival’s strongman. Sebastian coughed, splattering blood across the cracked asphalt. “I.” He kicked Sebastian again. “Honestly.” And again. “Don’t.” And again. “Care.” Then he leaned down, closer to Sebastian’s eye level. “None of us care what you did or didn’t do. Thing is, Boss wants you. That means I gotta bag ya.”