Destined to Reap (Reaping Fate Book 3)

by Kinsley Burke

  A fetish I hadn’t realized I’d had until now. Now, while I was at home, after making certain one nineteen-year-old dead woman hadn’t followed me in her dreamy excitement over my evening plans. I’d wind up wearing a hoop skirt and a button-up blouse if Miss Prim got her way. Except the gown the ghost had swiped for the charity gala had been a far cry from proper that night.

  A dress I wouldn’t have minded borrowing if not for my concern that I’d end up in handcuffs once I was spotted wearing the sleek garment—the kind of restraints that didn’t come with a naked Wilcox hovering over my body while he did oh-so many wonderful things that made me squirm. Nope, it’d be the kind of handcuffs that directed me to a dingy cell I would share with a robust woman who went by the name Kitty.

  Because one prim and proper ghost still hadn’t confessed to how she’d obtained the gown. Evasiveness was Miss Prim’s go-to method whenever she was in the wrong, and that confirmed my initial conclusion. Stolen goods.

  Which left me stuck with the contents of my closet. Sure, I had cute skirts and flirty dresses… all three seasons past fashionable and purchased from seriously marked down sales racks, or made out of cheap fabric from big box stores.

  In other words, I had nothing. Nada. I was to meet Wilcox in one hour, after he left work, and I stood in front of my mirror clothed only in a bra and panties—nice lingerie thanks to my aunt’s last Christmas gift, I might add. Black lace. Sexy. Expensive. I could always count on Aunt Kate to be thinking about my sex life.

  Which was weird, so I dismissed the thought while pulling out a halter style dress with a flared skirt from my bleak selection. Decisions were required for which direction I wanted to go. Flirty or sophisticated? I had no idea. The current look I wore was most definitely the former… but perhaps sleek was the route to making Wilcox’s eyes light? Generate the heat? Make me squirm under his intense…

  My eyes caught movement in the mirror, and it wasn’t my image that had shifted. Dark hair and determined eyes stared at me through the reflection. Evilness etched on angular features. With heart pounding, I whipped around to face… nothing. Absolutely nothing. My bedroom stood empty of one Damon Reed.

  I turned back to face the glass, and there he was. A smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he faded from my sight. His haughty smirk the last of him to dim from view. Holy shit. Could he do that? Could he watch me through a mirror?

  Not possible. I stared hard at the glass. My image was the only reflection back, yet a cold shudder ran through me. I had been standing in front of the mirror wearing only my underwear moments before. The thought left me feeling exposed. My arms crossed my body as a shield, despite that I was now dressed.

  Surely the image of Damon had been nothing more than my imagination. The stress of wondering when Mr. Evil would pop up once again. He’d yet to make an appearance, which was odd for a man so insistent on controlling me.

  Still… goosebumps pricked down my arms. It had looked so real. I took a step back from the mirror. Then another. And another… until I was no longer reflected in the glass.

  A crash from outside my apartment had my hands flying up to cover the scream escaping my mouth. Skittish nerves morphed into fury, and anger pulsed in my veins. I was tired of feeling scared, and now I was just plain pissed. The past few minutes replayed in my thoughts.

  Spying on me while I was changing? Freakin’ creeper. I had zero problems with sending a vile Warlock to his final destination, and I didn’t give a damn about Satan’s thoughts on the matter.

  My sword was firmly clutched in my hand as I stomped toward the front door. Leaning close, I took a peek through the peephole. Darkness surrounded the faint outline of a human eye peering back.

  “Kiara Blake, I demand to know how many men you have inside there today.”

  The loud voice hadn’t finished yelling before I yanked open the door and stared down at the old biddy.

  “Mrs. Tidwell, you’re trying my patience.”

  Quite proud of myself was I for the calmness reflected in my steady tone of voice. The urge was strong to lean down into the old woman’s face and scream. Thanks to her lunatic ways, I was beginning to develop an appreciation for bandana-wearing men. I’d invite them all over at once and throw a hallway keg party while continuously screaming Come and meet your bandana-wearing man, Mrs. Tidwell over and over. But then that’d make me the psychotic one… yet some days, with having the woman as a neighbor, I didn’t think it’d be much of a stretch to achieve that status.

  “It is my right, as a respectable woman, to know what sort of men a hussy…” Mrs. Tidwell’s gaze drifted down to rest on my hand. Her small round eyes widened. She looked up with fear lurking in their depths. “You-you have a weapon.”

  “I’m holding a sword, not a weapon.”

  “You’re trying to kill me.” The old woman took a cautious step back. “You want to slash me up, bury my body, and then use my home to house all of your… men.”

  What the… “I have no such plans, Mrs. Tidwell.”

  My words fell on deaf ears… or, rather, a closed door. One that Mrs. Tidwell was tucked behind. Safely in her mind. Unnecessarily in mine. But what could have been a ten-minute tirade had only lasted as a two-minute conversation.

  Note to self: Always answer the door with sword in hand.

  I met up with Wilcox at a quiet bistro near my apartment. A location I was able to walk to—not that my feet thanked me for the effort. But Feet would have to get over themselves because the heels I wore looked fabulous with the dress I’d finally selected. Fingers were crossed that Wilcox wouldn’t be the wiser that it had been at least two years since this style had last graced the pages of a fashion magazine.

  The heat from the soft kiss he brushed against my cheek in greeting sent shivers down my spine and made me forget all about the stress of the day. So cliché, but as I checked out the intensity of the gaze deepening his dark eyes, I felt beautiful.

  Lights were dimmed as we entered the establishment. A single candle adorned each table. Seated in the corner, it seemed as if Wilcox and I had our own private dining area. Absolutely perfect, and the evening had only begun. It was as the wine was being poured that Wilcox’s phone chirped for attention.

  “Uh huh?” His gaze raised to meet mine while he listened to the person on the other end of the call.

  Taking a sip of my merlot, I ignored the detective because he had that look on his face. And, quite frankly, I didn’t want to know whatever it was he thought I’d done. I was determined tonight would be the most perfect date ever. It was long overdue. Wilcox could fuss at me later. Much, much later. Like perhaps the next morning later. But apparently, the man never received my telepathic memo because as soon as he clicked off the call, he set his phone down and stared at me with his classic exasperated look. His exasperated look was only one eye twitch away from his irritated look. His irritated look was only one frown line away from his annoyed look. Even though the man appeared nonchalant to those who didn’t know him, I received all three of his expressions on a regular enough basis to know which one I was being dealt at that precise moment.

  “Kiara?”

  I took another sip—okay, gulp—of my wine. “Yes?”

  “Why did Mrs. Tidwell call the police station and report that you threatened to cut out her heart and feed it to the birds?”

  “Heart? Huh. That wasn’t what she accused me of at the time.”

  Wilcox leaned back in his chair with arms crossed. “What was the original accusation?”

  “Something about me cutting her up into pieces and burying the body so I could turn her apartment into my harem.”

  “Harem?”

  “I don’t recall her using that particular word, but she referenced my men—as in plural—so same thing. Right?”

  His eyebrows rose. “How many are we speaking of?”

  “Oh, well, I think I’ve lost count. Let’s see…”

  With eyes narrowed, Wilcox leaned forward. I grinned. �
��All right… I have exactly one man in my life at the moment, and he’s a complete handful.”

  “But charming no doubt.”

  “Like a porcupine.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Prickly.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Easily irritated, like right now.” My grin widened.

  Wilcox slumped back with a sigh. Picking up his glass, he took a sip. “Most likely due to my girlfriend and her hazardous job.”

  I warmed at his words. “So we are…”

  “Are what?”

  “Exclusive?”

  He set his glass down. “What did you think?”

  “Well, we haven’t exactly discussed it. This is technically our first date, after all.”

  “Kiara, it’s my duty to protect you.”

  Excuse me… “What does that have to do with us dating?”

  “Bread, Mademoiselle,” a passing server said, placing a small basket on our table.

  “Thank you,” I replied without a glance, my attention on the man seated across from me. The same man threatening to ruin my perfect date with the first man I’d been interested in for almost a year. Except right then I wasn’t certain how interested I was. Because Detective Wilcox needed to clarify his previous statement. Pronto. Right after I figured out why his exasperated look had changed into that of dumbfounded. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “A basket of bread set itself on our table. Did you not notice?”

  My gaze flew up to the aisle of the restaurant. I could still see the back of the passing server. One wearing a fedora. It couldn’t be…

  “What happened to the bread?” a woman seated at a nearby table asked. “Henry, did you eat all the bread? You know you aren’t supposed to eat bread. The doctor specifically said no bread.”

  “I haven’t touched your bread,” the man protested.

  “Well, then. Where did it go?”

  I turned back to my table and stared at the basket of bread in question. “Should I take the bread back to them?”

  “How exactly will you explain it?” Wilcox asked.

  I gauged the distance. “I have about five steps to figure out an answer.”

  “Would you care for some…”

  I looked up at our server—our actual server—holding a basket of bread while staring at the basket already placed. I nodded toward the still bickering couple. “I think the table to the left needs some. Theirs went missing.”

  The waiter looked once again at the basket sitting untouched on our table, and then his gaze drifted up to me. Finally, with a shrug, he turned and walked over to the complaining woman who really wanted her bread.

  “Now”—I refocused on Wilcox—“what the hell does you protecting me have anything to do with us dating? How exactly do you plan to protect me?”

  Wilcox’s jaw tightened. “You are constantly putting yourself in danger, Kiara.”

  “How so?”

  “How…” Wilcox squeezed his lips into a tight line and then lowered his voice when he next spoke. “It’s only been a week since you walked into the precinct looking like you were fed through a shredder.”

  “I didn’t look that bad. I only fell about twenty feet and landed on some kind of foam. It really wasn’t very soft. I would think foam should be soft, wouldn’t you?”

  His eyes closed briefly. “Kiara, I know this is your job, and I realize it’s not one you have any say about, but you don’t have to put yourself in such drastic situations. You don’t have to be so…”

  “Impulsive?”

  “Exactly.” Wilcox took a breath. “You were prophesied to fulfill a destiny. And it’s my duty to protect you and ensure that you do.”

  I shoved my glass of wine away. I didn’t feel hunger, and I didn’t feel thirst. Only a cold numbness. “So you’re only interested in me because it’s your job to protect me?”

  “What? No, that’s not what I’m—”

  “I ask again, how will you protect me? What powers do you have?”

  Wilcox opened his mouth and then shut it.

  If I had my guess, that was the root of our problem. Wilcox didn’t need some passed down family legend telling him to protect me. His ego was already large enough to demand that task. Except with my strength, I was more capable of protecting him than him me. That most certainly didn’t mesh well with said ego.

  “Would you care for another slice of bread, Monsieur?”

  I glanced over at the fedora-wearing ghost serving at the nearby table, wondering why he was speaking with an atrocious fake French accent… Why he was at the same restaurant as me? Why had I kept running into my marks when I wasn’t carrying my sword?

  With a wink in my direction, Mr. Persistent walked off, leaving me gripping the edge of my chair to prevent myself from taking off after him.

  “Henry, why do you have more bread?” Bread Woman asked.

  “I don’t.”

  “You do. It’s on your plate. Look at your plate.”

  “I didn’t put that there.”

  “Stop lying, Henry.

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Ugh.” I buried my face in my hands. Oh, God. Would that be Wilcox and me in our old age if we were still together? Except Wilcox would most definitely be the older lady. No, he wouldn’t, because he was only dating me to keep an eye on the prophecy from somehow winding up dead before said foretelling could be fulfilled. Biting my lip, I attempted to formulate my next words. But nothing came. This relationship wasn’t going to work, especially when I was the only half of the couple who thought we had one… or a budding one, at least. It sucked when the other half considered me nothing more than an obligation.

  Wilcox’s cell phone rang. Convenient. The bitter side of me wondered if while I wasn’t looking he’d texted someone to call.

  “I have to take this.” Wilcox picked up the phone and answered. His expression turned grim before he clicked off and reached for his wallet in a back pocket. Throwing some cash onto the table, he stood. “Kiara, I’m sorry, but that was Andrew. It’s work. I have to go… but later… Later we need to talk.”

  You think?

  I plastered a forced smile on my face. “Go.”

  Well, that was the most un-perfect date I’d ever had. I watched him walk away. The man didn’t even bother to glance back. Even the dates with Chia Pet Guy had turned out better. Dog Park incident not included.

  No boyfriend. No best friend. I was seconds away from no job. Tears burned. Jaw clenched. Nope, not crying. The one thing I’d learned since taking on this Praedator job was that I was tougher than that. I stood and turned. Mr. Persistent greeted my line of sight. I watched as he followed a server, picking up a cocktail glass off one table and dropping it off at the next. What the hell was he doing?

  “Oh, Praedator? Have you thought more about preparing for your destiny?”

  The ghost was on the other side of the room. My jaw had to be clenched, my teeth clamped and my lip bitten in order to mute my response. I had zero desire to have management call the police and report public intoxication from my three measly sips of wine—okay, two sips and one gulp. But the cops would be called despite my glass still being half-full if the entire restaurant observed me speaking to thin-air. Grabbing my purse, I turned toward the door.

  Mr. Persistent materialized in front of me. “Fancy seeing you here, Mademoiselle. What, did your date leave early? How sad.”

  Air puffed out of my nose, the irritated huff putting any irate bull to shame.

  “What, cat caught your tongue?” The ghost grinned. “So sorry your dinner concluded prior to the appetizers. Do you need to talk about it? I have a rather comfy shoulder you could cry on.”

  I strode toward the exit, taking joy in shoving Mr. Persistent in the referenced shoulder as I passed. My erratic pulse, pumped by anger, would have calmed down… if the fedora-wearing menace hadn’t poofed back into my path, bringing me to another halt in my planned departure.

  “Oh,
I know that look, Praedator. It’s the one where you pull your sword and stab me… wait? What did you do with your sword? A Praedator without her sword? Now that’s rich. Wait until I tell the others.”

  The thrumming anger pulsating through my veins invaded my vision, and I saw red. Bright, bright red. That blasted ghost was going to Hell even if I had to light a skewer on fire in the kitchen to pierce his trouble-making heart.

  “Do you want something from me?” he asked.

  Damn right, I did. First I’d get my mother’s pendant, and then I’d drag that infuriating ghost’s ass back to my apartment where I could collect my not-with-me sword and send him to the pits that he so obviously desired.

  “Well, Praedator.” His smile faded, and the lines on his ashen face turned harsh. “I guess you’re going to have to come and get it.”

  Mr. Persistent made headway toward the front doors to the restaurant before I even comprehended his words. Come and get it? The pendant? Had he read my thoughts? With walking as his mode of transportation, I knew that was my cue to follow. What game he played, I didn’t know. Nor did I care.

  By the time I’d stepped out onto the street, I’d lost sight of the ghost. It was already dark, and the street lamps were lit. Both laughter and lighting poured out from the adjacent establishments.

  “Lost already, Praedator?”

  Damn annoying voice, it called out to me above the surrounding chatter of passing pedestrians. Each mark was becoming more irritating than the next. If this particular one didn’t have my pendant, I’d let Psycho Praedator have at him. I was done. Except there was no out clause in the Hell-sanctioned contract I’d never signed but was bound to anyway. Damn. I turned and spotted Mr. Persistent standing under a streetlight to my right. He began walking as I stepped toward him. Thankfully, walking was all that commenced. There would be no running in these shoes. Unless I wanted to face-plant on concrete, that was. And I didn’t.