Dire (Reaper's Redemption Book 2)

by Thea Atkinson

  Contents

  Title Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9:

  CHAPTER 10:

  CHAPTER 11:

  CHAPTER 12:

  CHAPTER 13:

  CHAPTER 14:

  CHAPTER 15:

  CHAPTER 16:

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  Chapter 21

  Bio

  Reaper's Redemption

  Dire

  Copyright 2017 Thea Atkinson

  Published by Thea Atkinson

  Edited by Laura Kingsley

  Cover art by gwendolyn1.deviantart.com

  Stock photography/art for the series from:

  tinalouiseuk.deviantart.com

  aledjonesstocknart.deviantart.com

  goblinstock.deviantart.com

  castock.deviantart.com

  shelldevil.deviantart.com

  cinnamoncandy-stock.deviantart.com

  frankandcarystock.deviantart.com

  aledjonesstocknart.deviantart.com

  Typography by Thea Atkinson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  THANKS FOR CHECKING ME OUT

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  CHAPTER 1

  It was no game I was playing at as Callum came at me with a bat. It was a hard-boiled, full-on test I knew meant life or death if I failed. I had known he was going to chase me with it, but when I saw him charging across Gramp's backyard directly at me with the weapon lifted high over his shoulder, I ran. Without meaning to, I let go a shriek and dodged to the left, heading for the gnarled oak tree in the back corner of the yard. It was instinct that moved my feet and not rational thought, but I supposed the deeply ingrained desire for self-preservation meant I had failed the test.

  Again.

  Sure enough, I heard him shouting at me in disappointment.

  I halted mid way to the oak tree and spun around. He strolled toward me with the bat lying against the hollow of his shoulder. He ran his hand through that black hair of his with the impatient gesture I had come to expect after three tries already.

  "The whole point of the lesson was for you to stand there," he said.

  "Could you just stand there when somebody is shrieking at you like a banshee and running at you with a club?"

  "It's not a club," he said. "It's a bat, and whether or not I could, isn't the question. You said you wanted to train."

  Callum was a local fireman, three years older than me and hot as all get out. He'd saved me from a burning church three weeks earlier, given me a stern lecture about setting fires, and then offered his help when my foster sister needed it. He was also a nasty taskmaster.

  We had been going through what he called training for two weeks, and it seemed as though my survival instincts were far greater than my desire to become a bad ass warrior.

  I kicked at the pile of leaves nearby I had raked up earlier that morning in preparation for the session. They lifted to the breeze and scattered all over the yard again. Didn't matter. For good measure, I tromped through them, kicking the pile loose and watching the leaves skittering across the dried and browning grass.

  I dragged in a crisp breath of fall air. Tainted with the faint smell of smoke from a nearby chimney, it also carried the unmistakable aroma of burning leaves and detritus. Many folks in the area still used wood heat to warm their houses and every fall since I'd come to live with my grandfather, that distinct smell heralded in the beginning of winter. Soon enough, the townsfolk would be blanketed in layers of snow until it felt as though we lived on the tundra. Fishermen would be going out seeking their catch in a few weeks time, replenishing the town's coffers until the tourists could return in the spring.

  Even though that chilliness was still at least a month away, the air was crisp. When we'd first come out to the backyard to train, I'd complained that it was too cold to be running. Callum had just laughed and stripped off his sweater down to a white tank top as though to prove a point. It left me gawking at his arms like a foolish schoolgirl. I'd known he was buff but knowing and seeing were two different things. The guy had mad muscles, all tight and round and thick. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice my overt stares.

  I imagined he thought I was no more than a kid. All he did was jerk his chin at me, unconcerned with my reaction to each flex of his biceps as he hefted the bat.

  "If you're smart," he'd said, "you'll take off that sweater too. You'll be hot soon enough."

  I hadn't taken off the sweater, and it turned out I didn't need to. I hadn't done nearly as much physical activity as he had. All I had done was run for the nearest shelter, namely the big oak tree at the back of the yard or behind the huge herb garden. He was getting frustrated with me.

  "You have to master your own instincts," he said coming up next to me. I was suddenly awash in soap, musk and a hint of sweat. "If you want to be able to make crucial decisions at the right times, you need to be able to make your body react to your will. Use your brain and not adrenaline. You have to make a choice to stand."

  "Easy for you to say," I said. "My brain is still stuck on animal instinct."

  He crossed his arms over his chest, pulling the handle of the bat in close to that tank top he wore. I tried not to look at him too long, but it was difficult to tear my gaze away from those flexing biceps. Just one more thing to shift my focus from the things he thought I should be doing. Namely, standing my ground.

  I pulled up the elastic band of my yoga pants, checking to make sure they weren't slipping down and showing too much skin. They were the three-quarter length kind that flared out at the calf and I'd picked them because I thought they looked cute and I wanted him to see me looking normal for a change, but I had yet to take off my jacket. The T-shirt I wore underneath had a spaghetti stain on it and it sagged a bit in the front from over washing. Not exactly the most flattering thing I could've put on but it was the most comfortable thing I owned and I didn't figure he would see it anyway.

  "Instincts are good for many things," he said, "but not if they send you headlong in a panic with no rational plan past hoofing it the hell out of there."

  "But what if my women's intuition tells me that running is the best plan?"

  "Intuition is a different thing than instinct." He swung the bat as though for practice. I took a long look at him as he planted the butt handle of the bat on the ground at his feet and placed his hands over the top. For a moment, the image reminded me why I was there in the first place. I had to shake off the image of another man with his hands planted on the top of a cane. No, Not a man at all, I corrected it myself. Azrael, the Angel of Death. Magnificent, heady, terrifying Azrael. If I thought about him too much, I'd lose focus, and I needed to focus. He was the real reason I was out here in the chilly air in the first place.

  "Let's try again," I said.

  Callum shook his head. "We're not getting anywhere," he said. "I've come at you
with a bat, with a rock, and with nothing but my bare hands." He lifted the bat again to lean against his shoulder and regarded me. "I don't think you're trainable."

  That stung. I certainly was trainable. Sarah, my best friend, had spent plenty of time in the foster home jabbing me in the face until I had learned to block her and then finally to jab back in defence. While Callum had begrudgingly accepted the fact that there were strange things in our town, and that I was a reaper that collected supernatural entities, he didn't really know the truth of why I wanted to learn how to fight.

  He had no idea that one of the last things Azrael had told me was that something awful was coming, and it would put all of us at risk. Him, Sarah, my grandfather. Me. I supposed I would have to tell them all in time, but I wanted to wait until things settled down to something that resembled normalcy before I did. The longer I waited, the less likely it seemed. I almost managed to put it out of my mind for three quarters of the day.

  "You're just not doing it the right way," I complained. "What is it with all this charging at me anyway?" I said. "I mean, don't the martial arts disciplines start with forms? All you've been doing this afternoon is running at me."

  I fell to a cross legged position on the grass and plucked at a few dead leaves. It wasn't as though I didn't want to learn. I did. Just three weeks earlier, he and I had been attacked by a doppelgänger. Both of us had nearly died. As strong as he was, as agile and skilled as he was, that little discussion I'd had with Azrael afterwards had indicated I was the key to keeping my family safe from harm.

  I had no idea what was out there, ready to attack me or the people I cared about; I just knew that when we had rescued Sarah from the doppelgänger trying to use her energy to become corporeal, we had also unleashed something far more menacing. Azrael had yet to tell me what that was, and I saw his absence as a reprieve and an opportunity to build on my skills.

  I didn't want to think about the other things he said. That the power that pulsed in Callum's veins without him even knowing it was an incredible lure. That he was Nephilim, and that his very blood was a source of power to all sorts of supernatural creatures because it could fuel their energies. It made of him a large neon sign of a cocktail with a red cherry blinking on top.

  There truly was a possibility that with a druid for a grandfather and a necromancer for a foster sister, doodoo would hit the fan eventually. Add in the fact that Sarah's family had been looking for her for years and that the town of Dyre was a cornucopia of energy and power due to some angel-fall eons ago, the ratio of possibility grew to probability.

  Don't even get me started on the Angel of Death who visited me and informed me of this doleful news. I had mixed feelings about that one.

  The simple truth was that all of those things added together were the reason why I'd asked Callum to teach me to fight. So far fighting had been nothing but a lot of running around.

  We had found some sort of routine over the weeks. Each day before I went to school and he went to work, we found one hour to do some training. It'd been my idea, not his. I didn't want to ever be caught feeling powerless again. Although the little bit of fight training Sarah had given me in foster care had left me with some skills, they were nowhere near what I knew I would need.

  Nathelium, that's what Sarah had called me. I never questioned whether it was an accurate term she used to describe me. Truth be told, we'd not discussed anything remotely magical during her three weeks here. While every now and then, she sort of zoned out on me, indicating that she was still struggling with coming to terms with being in a safe place after years on the run, she hadn't done anything to make anyone believe she was anything more than just a normal girl. Except stay within the boundaries of the property. That wasn't exactly normal.

  Callum plopped down next to me on the grass and laid the bat at his feet.

  "You could just give up," he said. "We beat that thing, didn't we?" "I mean, Sarah is safe here with you. Whatever it was that attacked her is gone."

  I knew I really didn't want to burst his bubble. At least not yet. I stared off over at the herb garden, considering his words. Some of Gramp's plants were withering, but many of them were evergreen. The sage bush looked peaked and leggy, but otherwise full of leaves.

  I stretched my legs out, twirling the tips of my toes to release the tension in my calves.

  "What's that?" he said, pointing to my calf where a black brand marked my skin.

  I pulled my legs up and crossed them again to hid the mark, self-conscious and insecure about it. I had a similar one on my rib cage, and another one on the sole of my left foot. I had forgotten Callum didn't know about the brands I received each time I reaped a supernatural creature. So far, they were in inconspicuous places on my body and I could hide them without having to talk about them. I knew that if I kept up collecting supernatural things for the Angel of Death, I'd eventually be covered in those black symbols, branded into my skin like a wood-burning.

  The maniac who had cornered me in the town's abandoned cathedral and set this whole thing in motion, had been covered in them. From his eyelids to the middle of his palms, he wore enough brands that the sheer number of creatures he had reaped terrified me.

  All three of the marks so far had been incredibly painful. I didn't want to think about them. Callum, on the other hand, seemed enamoured of the darn thing.

  He reached out to touch it and I found myself thinking about the kiss we'd shared in the hospital, how I'd acted like a foolish kid, how his mouth was hot and sweet. I enjoyed the feel of his fingers on my skin, a little tingle I now knew cried out to some spark inside of me, even if it he had no idea what his touch was doing to me.

  "Is it a tattoo?" he said, pulling up his shirttail and starting to roll it up towards his nipple. "I have one too," he said. "See?" He pointed to a badly coloured flash tattoo of Winnie the Pooh below his last rib.

  I tried not to stare, but I had the feeling that the way his revoltingly taut six-pack was mesmerizing me, I might have to be physically jolted to tear my gaze away. Sure enough, he prodded me with his foot and I realized he was saying something to me.

  "God awful tattoo," I said, stammering like a fool because he'd caught me off guard.

  He smirked at me as though he knew exactly how I felt about seeing any part of his skin, never mind the ridiculous things that came out of my mouth.

  "You say that as though you actually saw it," he said and dared me to meet his gaze.

  Looking into his eyes was like remembering spring. Those eyes of his were so green, they could have been chunks of jade. I could get lost in them. I almost let my mind slip down the rabbit hole of what might have been if I hadn't been such an idiot all those days ago. He might eventually love me, according to Azrael. But he had yet to say anything of the sort. The one kiss we had shared had ended up a botched event because I had panicked and insulted his prowess.

  It was all just too humiliating to remember. I pushed myself to my feet and looked down at him.

  "One more time," I said.

  He sighed. "I don't know why you're so determined."

  "Because I don't ever want to feel helpless again," I said. "Now get up."

  He used the bat to leverage himself to his feet and swung those green eyes to mine.

  "Okay," he said. "One more time. Remember: when something is charging at you, the instinct is to run. You have to resist that instinct. Hold your ground. Unless there's a safe place nearby to run to, then holding your ground will help you get ready for what's coming."

  "Got it," I said impatient. "You've told me that before."

  "And yet you don't seem to have been listening."

  He eyed me intently. I thought perhaps his gaze dropped to my mouth, but I couldn't be sure. I was too busy staring at the bat.

  "Are you ready?" he said.

  I nodded.

  Without warning, he shoved me backward. I staggered to keep my footing. In one more second, he swung around with the bat level, creating an arc. I duck
ed just in time to miss it striking me.

  "No fair," I yelled, but even as I was trying to regain my footing, his face went dark and angry. He growled at me for heaven's sake. Cursed.

  "Hey," I said. "This wasn't part of the agreement."

  He advanced on me. The bat swung back and forth as he came at me, his face deadpan and hard eyed. For a second, I imagined another man coming at me with the same sort of dogged advance. Not again, my mind whispered as it reeled back to a night in a dark church with a maniac intent on murdering me. I tried to tell myself this was Callum, but for some reason, I knew he wasn't playing. Everything in his posture was different. He looked mean. This wasn't the same thing we've been doing all afternoon. I shuffled back a step, holding my hands up in surrender. He ignored them. Took another step.

  "I'm going to mess you up," he said.

  CHAPTER 2

  In an instant, an image flashed through my mind of a maniac chasing me in a church and my muscles decided for me what would happen next. I spun around on my heel and sprinted toward the herb garden. My breath rasped in my own ears and clawed at my lungs. He was a heartbeat behind me. Yelling at me. What was wrong with him? I tried to look over my shoulder, checking to see if he was still there.

  I tripped over something and sprawled face first into the herbs. My cheek skidded against the cold earth. A clump of debris leapt into my mouth. I sputtered, tasting mould and dirt and catching grit against my tongue.

  I tried to roll over, but he was on top of me. I freaked out. My legs and arms flailed in every direction and did nothing useful. He had me subdued in seconds. Shouting at me to stop kicking him because it hurt and he was going to have to slap me silly. So. I had landed a kick after all.

  "It's me, Ayla," he yelled. "Quit it."

  His voice was the thing that pulled rational thought back out into the realm of reality. I laid there on my back, staring up at him as he pinned my wrists beside my head.