Dire (Reaper's Redemption Book 2)

by Thea Atkinson

  "Come to me," it said. "It's been too long."

  I was almost there. One more step and I could feel its breath on my face, feed it my own, give it everything it needed because that was what I needed.

  Then everything went dark as a cool dry palm clamped itself down over my eyes. Someone else was in the room beside the incubus. Not Callum. I knew his smell. This was different. Someone different. Someone who wanted to keep me from the incubus who smelled of caramel and warm chocolate.

  I struggled as I realized whoever it was had pressed himself against my back. Lips against my ear. I smelled candy floss and summer afternoons with cumulus clouds drifting across the sky. I thought I heard the incubus whimper.

  "Don't move," those lips whispered against my earlobe.

  Not Callum. Azrael. Right behind me. Azrael. Relief and anxiety flooded through me all at the same time.

  My mind cleared with the same kind of speed of an ice cream headache struck my sinuses after one bite. I remembered the feel of the incubus's talons ripping into my flesh. I remembered seeing the shadow of its beak pulling psychic energy like rags from Callum's body. I remembered that I wanted to kill the thing for what it had done to him, the haunted way he looked now, too dazed to know it had been draining him. I wanted to make sure it didn't ever do that to anyone ever again.

  My heart was thrashing in my ears and I could feel it doing time with Azrael's as it beat against my back.

  His other hand snaked around my waist, this time a hot and firm touch that made the lingering desire for the creature a confusing mash. I found my hands seeking his waist for support and the hairs on my arms tingled as they strained for his touch.

  His lips were on my throat and as he whispered, his breath tingled along my collarbone.

  "Just back away with me. Easy now. "

  Back away. I leaned against him instead, aware that my breathing was just a little too quick. Just a little too ragged.

  "That's it," he said. "Let it go. Let me have you."

  It was those last words that blasted through my mind like an ice water cascade over hot skin. He couldn't have me. Not now. Not for that long eternity of nothingness in the top of his cane.

  Didn't matter how magnificent he was. How powerful. He was the Angel of Death. And he was the reason I was in this mess.

  "I don't think so," I said, trying to wrench free.

  "So stubborn. Always so stubborn," he said and that electric touch running across my skin fizzled to nothing. I felt spun and as I made a 180, I wrenched free and nearly fell because as I did, I realized I was actually alone in the room with the incubus. I was left to stare into my bedroom mirror, watching the thing as it cowered into the corner.

  The incubus. Its reflection appeared to be recovering from some unexpected shock, and even as I eyed it from the mirror, I could see it growing even more solid until it was standing there again whole and physical. I swallowed. I should do something. Spin around and tear at it or something. Scream for help. Anything.

  It gave me a curious look, as though it only just realized that there was absolutely no reason to be afraid. It advanced another inch, tentative, wary. It craned its neck this way and that as it moved, trying to look around me as though he thought something was behind me. That hazy feeling started to envelop me again. I couldn't have been more greased with longing than if I'd been plunged into a bath of warm oil.

  It was just inches away from me now. I could watch its advance through the reflection in the mirror but it didn't seem to realize I could see it at all.

  I could smell licorice and chocolate and sweet heaven, if it didn't emit the barest aroma of Callum's soap and musk. My throat went tight as the ache of recognizing that scent went all the way along my jawline. My chin lifted of its own accord as though it was giving access to a roaming mouth.

  I thought I could make out someone whispering. The buzzing in my ears even seemed to hush as though they wanted to let the sound through. I froze, all of my focus going to that noise.

  "Is he gone?" it said.

  Gone. Even looking at it in the mirror, I was having a hard time working out what the question meant. I knew I should scream but I couldn't. I knew that if I opened my mouth to answer, it would be to beg that thing to come closer.

  "Are we alone?" That throaty rasp again like burning sugar. My knees felt like beanbags at the sound of its voice, but at least I didn't feel so drugged. The mirror, I realized. It had to be the mirror.

  But even if the mirror buffered some of the allure, I knew things weren't quite right. I just couldn't fix it. I couldn't turn around to face the thing because I couldn't take my eyes off its reflection. I was too entangled in whatever energy had wrapped around me. I felt lethargic and heavy-limbed. I couldn't even remember why we were in the room in the first place. This was my mother's room. It wasn't mine. My room was at the other end of the hall. But none of that mattered. I was supposed to be here. With this thing. Give myself to this thing.

  I could feel my mind fogging up again. I could've sworn I heard the thing purring. I wanted terribly to lift my hand to its cheek and let my fingers trail down to its jaw, rub behind its ear, let it rub its forehead against mine.

  The incubus stood waiting for me, its arms outstretched, next to the poster of the Stone Temple Pilots. The light from the streetlamps streamed into the window, cascading over it.

  It looked beautiful in that moment. Not just an androgynous looking thing, but a work of beauty with silver skin that glittered and black almond-shaped eyes with lush lashes. I felt my heart ache just looking at it. No wings. No fierce beak. No talons. Just a gorgeous silver-skinned man.

  "What do you want?" I heard myself saying.

  "You," it said. "Only you."

  The response was enough to make my bladder twitch even as some deep part of me went hot with a rush of acceptance. Validation. It felt like a blessing and I almost didn't catch the sob that escaped my lips.

  "Snap out of it," Azrael said from behind me.

  I managed to stagger backward, the shock of his voice in my ear clearing the fog for an instant. I swayed with arms outstretched, trying to balance myself on tottering legs. Azrael's voice, yes, but no Angel of Death lurked in the corners or hovered in the shadows. I was still alone with it. Wanting it. Wanting something. Even my skin ached to be touched. The hairs on my arms rose in anticipation.

  I felt my heart like a ragged thing trying to contain a heartbeat too thunderous for it, lungs too small to contain their air. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My hair was stuck out everywhere like flames from a log, as wild looking as my eyes.

  There was a sharp edge to my chin that I hadn't noticed before. The light, I thought. The streetlights streaming in from the window made hard edges of everything except for the incubus. Even in the mirror, the light just sort of softened its edges. But there was something else that showed in the reflection that I wouldn't have noticed looking at it head on.

  The incubus wasn't as solid as it seemed. It wasn't as corporeal as it would have me believe. Illusion. That's what it was. The ghost of thought sent by something that could invade my dreams as well as my space. Strengthened into physical form by feeding on my fear, longing and even acceptance of it. It gained strength with each moment I let it in. Maybe that's what it had been all along. The personification of things I desired and couldn't have. The creature had invaded my home that way. Not through those pottery vessels buried in the yard. Whatever they were, it had nothing to do with this thing.

  "I see you," I whispered.

  It edged closer, cocked its head. Confused, I thought. It shivered, wavering in the light like a rainbow about to disappear. When it caught sight of the mirror beside me, it stepped closer to it, flickering like a burned down candle. It looked from me to the mirror, reached out for one of us. The incubus wavered again, a kaleidoscope weaving in and out of shape, blurring in and out of focus. It lifted long fingers toward the mirror and swung its gaze to me again. Bewilderment furrowed its sm
ooth brow. For a moment, I thought the incubus would simply disappear.

  "Don't go," I blurted out. I had no intention of playing nice with the thing, but I wasn't about to let it disappear and take us by surprise again another night. It was here now. It was time for it to end now.

  A slow, but sly smile spread across the incubus's face. It thought it had me. It thought I was enthralled by it, by the mask of beauty it had decided to pull over itself in order to lure me into a false sense of safety.

  But I had its number. I took my cue from Azrael's earlier shielding of my eyes and squeezed them closed. I brought to mind how I felt that night I'd seen the incubus draining Callum of all his energy. I willed myself to feel the pain in my shoulder that was left over from the sharp bite of its talons. I knew that thing. I could see it in my mind. It was ugly and it was vicious and I was going to send it back to whatever side of eternity it had come from.

  My hands were shaking and I had to clench them into fists and jam them against my thighs to keep them from pummelling the wall. I wanted to pummel that thing. I wanted to feel its bones give way beneath my fists and hear its cries of pain. I felt strong, ridiculously strong. That thing had come here to hurt me. To harm my loved ones. It wasn't getting out of there alive.

  I fully expected it to transform then and to feel the harsh brush of its wing as it threw me against the wall. I didn't care. Let it come. Callum had been wrong. It was very easy to stand your ground when you were in the throes of righteous anger.

  Every snippet of sound in the room came at me like thunder. My heartbeat. The ringing in my ears. The sound of its breathing warring with my own. But what was it waiting for? Something was holding it back.

  "Do it already," I said. I wanted it to come. I wanted to jam my thumbs up into the soft spot beneath its beak and take it with me to the floor when it drove those talons into my throat.

  "It's not time," came a voice through the murk of sound. Candy floss painted the air. A feathery touch ran down my hair, sliding down my neck and smoothing the wild, static ends.

  Azrael.

  I gasped out a lungful of breath. Fingers swept across my eyes with a touch so light it could have been a breeze. A benediction, almost, that touch.

  I opened them to see sky blue eyes peering back into mine. Never the same, those eyes. Over his shoulder, I could see the incubus cowering against the wall, its eyes wide. Scared. Good. It should be scared.

  "Leave him," Azrael said again. "He's not on my list,"

  "I don't care about your list," I said. "I'm going to kill it. It hurt me. It hurt Callum."

  "The Nephilim?" Azrael said with a dry note in his voice, one that made me feel small and naive. "That's unlikely. He wouldn't bother with a male."

  My chest hurt from all the hard breathing. "It is so likely. I was right there when it did."

  I stared at the incubus as it cowered against the wall. It wanted me to believe it vulnerable and love-lorn, a creature with immeasurable grief and longing. I knew better. I imagined it as the great birdlike thing again perched atop Callum's chest. I imagined its nasty jealousy as it sent the searing kiss of talons into my skin as punishment.

  It seemed to be waiting for something. No doubt for me to recognize its allure again. I saw its gaze flick to Azrael and that infuriated me more.

  "Don't look to him for support," I growled. "He won't help you."

  It peered at me, aghast, shocked even that I would dare thwart it.

  "It's not what you think," Azrael said. "Stay calm."

  Calm. I'd remained calm for too long. Look what it got me. Look what it got Callum. For some reason, I felt even more betrayed because Azrael wasn't encouraging me to end the creature. He seemed to be on its side rather than mine.

  "You have no idea what it did to me," I said, my throat tight with emotion. "You're just letting it stand there, all hurt and innocent looking."

  "It's not innocent, Ayla," Azrael said, patient as a mentor, almost infuriatingly so. "I know it isn't, but--"

  I yelled, cutting off whatever he was saying. I'd had enough. Enough pain. Enough betrayal. I lunged for the incubus. It didn't have time to react.

  My hands flew to its throat and I squeezed. It felt so good to take the power. So good to feel myself at the helm. I revelled in its pain. I felt it flow through me where my skin touched it. Grief. Loss. Fear. All rolled into one so acutely, I had to grit my teeth against the pain of it. I told myself it was ambrosia. The taste of my blood as I bit down was the savour of retribution.

  "Rowan," it rasped out again, but this time it sounded desperate.

  I had it. I knew its weakness. Illusion. Driven by a longing and fed by acceptance. Well, I didn't want it here anymore. I wanted it dead.

  It struggled beneath my grasp. I could feel its throat working to resist my force. I thought I could hear it choking.

  "I don't want you," I said, conjuring some sense of otherworldly power from within me. The energy of an angel ran in my veins, I could do this. Every brand on my body came alive with electricity. My hands felt strong.

  The buzzing in my ears hummed louder. Nausea bit through my stomach. But I could do this. I would reap this unholy unwanted creature and be done with this madness.

  A soft, almost sizzling sort of hiss snaked around me and then a bright sounding pop rent the air. I blinked. My hands gripped empty space.

  I searched for it, panned my gaze sideways and up and down. There was nothing. Not corpse. No pile of ash.

  "Congratulations, Ayla," Azrael said from behind me but he sounded resigned, not pleased. "It's gone."

  I expected a sense of victory from him, not this resignation. I spun around, my throat nothing but a dry wasteland that made my voice box rattle.

  "One more fare for your collection," I said, feeling empty and weak. "Take it. I'm done here."

  I staggered to the bureau and had to lay a trembling hand on the edge to keep my balance.

  Azrael tugged down the sleeves of his suit jacket and shrugged into his shoulders.

  "I'd like to say well done," he said. "But that stubborn streak..."

  He shook his head and black hair swept across his eyes. He ran his hand over it impatiently, shearing it to a buzz cut in mere seconds, revealing his full features cleanly. His eyes shifted color from blue to black. My breath caught on a hitch of inhale as I watched it all, knowing full well that whatever desire I felt was a leftover from the incubus.

  "Well," he said. Let's just say it gets in your way."

  "What do you mean?" I said, feeling disappointed that he didn't seem impressed. "I collected that thing for you. I did my duty. You should be happy."

  "There's power in your hands," he said. "That's for sure. Enough to make me think you'll be a good reaper when something truly heinous comes your way."

  I pulled down my T-shirt to expose the bandage on my collarbone. "It nearly killed me. Me and Callum. It deserved to die." My voice caught on that last word, and I straightened my spine so he'd be too distracted by my defiance to notice how weak I sounded.

  His eye lingered a little too long on my shoulder but when it lifted to my face again, his expression was deadpan. He had noticed all right, but wouldn't comment on it.

  I sank onto the bed, the adrenaline abandoning me in waves that made me dizzy.

  "Xantho did deserve it," he said in a soothing voice. "And I would have taken him eventually myself for hurting you, but it wasn't his time."

  "You would have taken him?" I said, weariness clouding everything he said. "You know what he did to me?"

  "Yes," he whispered, but there was a fierceness in his tone I didn't understand. "I know what he did. I would have made him pay for it, but not now. Now wasn't the right time, Ayla."

  I wasn't sure why I felt so drained and uncomfortable, or why I felt as though I'd done something shameful. The incubus had been draining me. It hurt Callum. Azrael should be pleased it was gone.

  "I don't understand," I said. "I just did what you told me I was bor
n to do. Unless what you really wanted was for me to let it finish off Callum for you"

  "This isn't about your boy-toy, the Nephilim."

  "No one uses that term anymore," I said in gasps. I thought I might be hyperventilating. A paper bag moved across my vision. Azrael. Summoning it no doubt from whatever realm he had dominion over and passing it to me. I gripped the edge and put it to my mouth. He gently lifted it to include my nose.

  "Breathe." He had a note of impatience in his voice. "Human frailty. I don't see why you enjoy it."

  I eyed him over the expanding paper, annoyed that he was purposely ignoring the point.

  "You know incubi only attack when their lover is alone," he murmured, smoothing the rest of my hair down. "Oh yes," he said when he saw the look of distaste that was no doubt riding my brow. "He considered you a lover. He would have wanted to keep you safe, not attack you."

  I crumpled the bag and dropped it to the floor. I hadn't expected such a declaration. Surely, things like that didn't feel love.

  He sighed and looked like he wanted to reach out to touch my face but settled on a piece of hair that had slipped over my shoulder. He inspected the long lock of hair and tucked it behind my ear. Something in the way he did it, with a quick almost imperceptible caress of the back of my earlobe sent a tingle down my spine. I felt myself leaning toward him slightly despite my impatience.

  A black brow quirked at me. Perfectly arched and sweeping up at the ends like a raven's wing. Looking at it brought to mind the feather from the cathedral on the night maniac attacked me. I touched my forehead where the tip of the feather had stroked across my skin. I'd not known it then, that I was being anointed, but seeing those black eyebrows reminded me how far I had come since that night. From a terrified girl reeling from shock in the face of the Angel of Death to a killer who saw his terrible presence as an interference. No doubt he still wanted me to be that terrified girl.

  I suspected it annoyed him to have me lean on him as though he were that spritely old gent in Birkenstocks instead of the mighty Angel of Death.