The Reaping Season (The Reaper Chronicles Book 3)

by Apryl Baker

  No one agrees, but I think Dad and Eli are on the same page here. They will force it down our throats.

  I am a little worried about openly talking like this where they can hear us. What if they wonder how we know so much? And Eli did say Gramps’ name.

  “So, Eli, how does your grandfather know so much about this?” Dad puts his glass of milk down. Mom insists that at dinner we drink milk, no matter what. Our daily dose of calcium when we were little, and I guess we never fell out of the habit.

  “Like I told you before, Gramps was a hunter before he retired here. The people here accept him because he only ever went after creatures who were hurting others. Unlike what you and your team does, Major.” There’s no hiding the contempt this time around.

  Dad must have been thinking the same thing I was. Hunters are strictly human. At least to my knowledge. The Army will have no reason to go after Gramps if they think he’s human.

  “No more of this talk,” Mom cuts in. “We keep your father’s work out of the house and away from the dinner table. I, for one, wish I’d remained in the dark about the nature of his assignment, but after the attack on Ella, there was no hiding it from us anymore.”

  “Of course, dear.” Dad doesn’t look up, but I know he’s thinking about where the cameras and microphones might be. I hate that I’m constantly watched in my own home, but there’s no getting around it.

  The rest of dinner is spent talking about nonsense and Eli’s upcoming game. The bus will drop them off at the high school tomorrow night, and it’s another worry on my mind. This thing attacks at night, and he’ll be by himself. They all will until they get home.

  The next two weeks, or at least until we stop this thing, are going to be a living nightmare.

  But there’s not a lot I can do about it tonight.

  Chapter Nine

  John Aimes

  Day 2

  10 p.m.

  The moon is up, but barely visible as John Aimes stumbles off the path behind Baker’s Tavern and into the woods. His eyes are watering, and his harsh breaths reeks of cheap alcohol. The short man cradles his bottle of whiskey to his chest like one would a baby as he tries to keep upright. His balding head glints in the moonlight as he staggers through the trees. Soon, he grows tired and settles himself up against the trunk of an aging, hollowed out husk of a tree.

  He shifts as he tries to get comfortable. It’s a little chilly. The cool whisper of fall is already starting to take over the nights, even though its only late August. He pulls his old, ratty coat around him. It’s as thin as he is and offers little protection against the elements.

  John’s eyes grow heavy as clouds move in to cover the moon’s light. The shadows grow deeper, and the darkness wraps around him like a velvety blanket. He’s so tired, but the more he tries to doze, the more he starts to grow uncomfortable. An uneasy sense of being watched creeps along his skin, and he stares into the darkness, looking for something he cannot see.

  He shivers and sits up, holding his bottle of booze tighter. There’s a fear that lives in all of us, a fear that never really goes away. The deep fear of the dark that affects us all as children starts to seep into John’s alcoholic haze, and he searches the woods, nervous and slightly shaky.

  “I should have asked Madge to let me sleep in the back of the tavern. Gettin’ to be too old to be sleepin’ outside.”

  The clouds become darker and cover the moon completely, plunging John into a darkness so deep, he can barely make out his own hands. Even the shadows have disappeared.

  John cocks his head and listens, aware of the sudden stillness as more of the drunken haze around his mind starts to clear.

  “Now, that’s strange. Where are the crickets and such?”

  Only silence greets him. All the woodland animals are unusually quiet. Why didn’t he notice this before? It’s as if they too are afraid, hiding from whatever is here, watching him. He’s convinced he’s being watched. He can feel their eyes on him. Maybe the animals have it right, and he shouldn’t be here.

  John stands on shaky legs. It’s time to go.

  “Johnny.”

  The voice is whisper soft, smooth like fine cognac. It is a low, deep voice, and close. So very close.

  John looks around, but it’s too dark to make anything out.

  “Who’s there?” he calls out boldly.

  “Don’t you remember me, Johnny? I remember you and Billy when you ran from me all those years ago. You aren’t so young anymore, are you? You won’t escape this time.”

  Fear claws at his throat, and he starts to shake. He does recognize that voice. It’s one that has haunted his deepest, darkest nightmares since he was ten years old. He and his best friend, Billy Marshall, had snuck out of the house to see the new movie down at the theater. They’d cut through the woods on the way home, and something had chased them. They’d barely managed to get away, and neither of them had spoken of it again.

  The Reaping Season.

  John knows he won’t get away this time. He isn’t an old man, but the drink has aged him. He’s drunk and out of shape.

  But he has to try, so he does the only thing he can—he runs.

  The voice laughs softly, inviting him in, inviting him to stop and rest. John wants to turn around and run to that voice, but his fear and the knowledge of what lays behind that soft laugh keeps his feet running in the opposite direction.

  “Why do you run, Johnny?” The silken, beautiful voice caresses him. “You know you won’t get away.”

  It sounds like the thing is whispering right into his ear. He hears it behind him, creeping closer and closer. The soft crunching of the fallen leaves drives terror into his heart, and he pushes his legs to move faster, trying to get away.

  Fingers graze his cheek.

  John screams, and his legs give out.

  Short of breath, he sits and sways as he careens his head in every direction, looking for the monster. Only the deepest of blackness meets his gaze. He can see nothing.

  He forces his legs to work, and he pushes up off the ground, forgetting his bottle of whiskey when it rolls down the path, and starts to run again. He looks over his shoulder, but there is nothing. He turns right, hoping to find the path again that will take him back to the tavern.

  Breath tickles the nape of his neck, and another scream rips out of his parched mouth. He stumbles on a rock lying in his path and pitches forward right into the waiting arms of the monster from his childhood. It cradles him like a loved child, much as he had the whiskey bottle earlier.

  It smiles, and his eyes fill with horror. A sharp pain pulls another cry from him. He can do nothing but lie there, listening to the soft suckling sounds of his life draining away.

  The only witnesses to his death are the trees surrounding them. And they’ll never tell their secrets.

  Chapter Ten

  Sheriff Ethan McReynolds

  Day 3

  8:45 a.m.

  Another body.

  Another lie.

  Another truth swept under the rug of the forest floor.

  He’d had to go tell John’s wife, Amanda, they’d found him early this morning. A college student, running through the woods, came upon it and called 911.

  She grew up here in town and understood what had taken her husband of ten years from her. Not that she expected any less. John had turned to drink when he lost his job five years ago and never got on the wagon again. She said she’d have lost him to the drink soon enough anyway. He didn’t understand how she accepted it so easily. If it had been his significant other, he’d have lost his mind. Humans made no sense to him sometimes.

  And the one walking through the police station door just then makes even less sense to him, especially since her smell drives him crazy. Caroline Hunter is a small bit of fluff, in his opinion, but she is the only woman who pushes his buttons and makes him lose his temper. Not that he’d ever hurt her. It goes against everything he is to harm a woman. He usually leaves her yelling at him and r
uns in the woods. It helps him work off not only any lingering anger, but the frustration she causes him with those laughing blue eyes and that honey-colored hair that always swings from her high ponytail. He understands why she creates this reaction in him. He just isn’t ready to act on it yet.

  “Sheriff McReynolds.” She hands him a coffee from Mountaineer Press, her newspaper. Strangely enough, the coffee there is better than anywhere else. You can’t buy it, but if an employee brings you a cup, you count yourself lucky. It’s rumored the owners use some sort of magic beans. That is only a rumor, though. Never proven.

  “Miss Hunter.” I nod my thanks for the coffee. “What brings you by today?”

  “Don’t be dense, Ethan.” She gives me a scalding glare. “You know perfectly well why I’m here.”

  “Then, no comment.”

  Her frown deepens. “This is serious, Sheriff. If there’s a wild animal on the loose, people need to know.”

  “The sheriff’s office has already issued a warning to the general public and put in place a curfew until it’s found.”

  “Tell me, then, what wild animal drains its victim of blood with just a single bite and leaves no other marks on the body?”

  How the heck does she know that?

  “No comment.”

  “Is there anything you can say, Sheriff McReynolds?”

  “Only that people need to be careful. No going into the woods alone. I’d prefer people stay out of the woods altogether until this is over.”

  “Until what’s over?” she asks softly.

  “Until the animal is found and put down, of course.”

  “You never miss a beat, do you, Sheriff? You always have an answer for everything.”

  “It’s my job, Miss Hunter. I’m supposed to have the answers.”

  “Another question.”

  I shrug. She knows I’m not going to comment on an ongoing investigation.

  “Why is it every thirty years, for a two-week period, the same type of deaths occur? Victims drained of blood with no visible wounds except for a single bite mark.”

  She’s done her research. All you have to do is look at the old newspaper files in the library to discover the information, but you’d have to specifically be looking for it. How would she know to look for it? Are people talking to outsiders? There’s a reason we call them foreigners…they might as well have been born in a foreign country if they’re not born in these mountains or this town.

  She flips her hair over her shoulder, and the scent of warm apples and cinnamon hits my nose. It’s her natural scent, one only I can smell, because it’s what calls to me most, what reminds me of home. No other shifter will smell that. I know because I’ve asked. Caroline is mine, but claiming her has its own problems. Ones I’m not ready to face yet.

  Clearing my throat, I repeat the two words I know she hates with all her heart. “No comment.”

  “Why hasn’t there been a bigger police force out at night if you’re so worried about this animal attack?”

  Because it’s something we’ve ignored for more than a hundred and fifty years. Something the town would have my head for if they knew I was actually out there hunting the monster that’s plagued our town since its conception.

  “The safety of my officers is just as important as the safety of the citizens. We have to be careful. I have patrols out, deputies paired up, which means we can’t cover as much ground, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. You can report that the police are doing everything we can to ensure the safety of the citizens, and we hope to catch the animal soon. And that, Miss Hunter, is all I am going to say on the matter.”

  Her lips purse, but she nods. “Thank you for that much, at least.”

  “You’re most welcome.”

  She mutters something I don’t quite catch despite my advanced hearing. Maybe even for her it was a jumbled murmur of sounds.

  “Can I ask something unrelated to the deaths?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ve lived here all your life, and you should know most of the people who reside here?”

  “I know quite a few of them, but not everyone. It’s a large town, Miss Hunter. Why do you ask?”

  “Do you know Andy Wilcox?”

  “I do. Again, why do you ask?”

  “I’m not from around here, and I…”

  “And you what?” I prompt when she doesn’t say anything else.

  “He’s asked me out twice now, and I don’t know him that well. He seems like a nice enough guy, but if there’s a side to him I’m not seeing, I’d like to know. I don’t have the greatest track record with guys, and my last relationship was abusive. I thought if he has a history of violence or domestic abuse, you’d know.”

  I’ve just been gut punched. She wants to date someone?

  She can’t.

  She’s mine.

  “Sheriff?”

  I blink and focus on what she asked. “No, he’s never been arrested, but I don’t know him that well. He works at the bank and has caused no trouble that I know of.”

  “That’s a relief. He wants to have dinner, and it’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to even think about dating.”

  “You said your last relationship was abusive?”

  “My ex-husband. I’m lucky I got away when I did.”

  “Was he physically abusive?” I can’t imagine this tiny woman being harmed by anyone, let alone someone who was supposed to love and care for her.

  “Physically, emotionally, mentally, you name it, Allen did it. He cut me off from my friends and family and had me convinced I wasn’t worth much of anything. If it hadn’t been for my sister never giving up on me, I might be dead today.”

  “How did you get away?”

  “Allen was at work, and Kristy came over. She saw the bruises and forced me out of the house. She took me to her friend Stephanie’s house, and that last little bit of self-worth I had kicked in, and I went to see an attorney who specialized in cases like mine. I got away from him and came here. I even changed my last name so he can’t find me.”

  “What was your last name?”

  “I used to be Caroline Elsy, and then I was Caroline Dean when I was married. I use my grandfather’s last name on my mother’s side now.”

  “Can I see your phone?”

  She hands it over, and I put my number into it. “If he ever shows up, you call or text me. You’re safe here, Caroline.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” She gives me a hesitant smile. “And thanks for the information on Andy. I feel much better now that I know he’s not violent.”

  I feel sick. She starts to turn and walk out of my office, and my wolf rises up, demanding I stop this right now. She’s ours. She belongs to us, not Andy Wilcox.

  “Caroline?”

  “Yes?” She turns back, that same gentle smile on her face.

  “Don’t go out with him.”

  “Why not? You just said he wasn’t a bad man.”

  “I…”

  “You what, Ethan?”

  My hands start to shake, and I stand, unable to bear sitting and letting her walk away and into the arms of another man.

  “Go to dinner with me.”

  It’s her turn to blink. “You want to go out with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I…”

  Instead of letting her come up with an excuse to say no, I lean in and kiss her, putting everything I am into that kiss. I want her to understand she belongs to us, to me and to my wolf.

  When we both come up for air, she’s shaky herself and slips into the chair in front of my desk. “My ex was a police detective in Los Angeles.”

  “I’m not him, Caroline. I won’t hurt you. I’ve never laid a hand on a woman in my life. My father would beat the living daylights of me if I ever did.”

  “I know that. For all your arrogance, you’re a kind and gentle man, Ethan. You care about this town and its people very deeply. I’ve seen that in you.”

  “Can
you get past my job and go out with me?”

  She wets her lips, and I want to kiss her again, but I hold back. Given her past, I can’t push her. She needs patience and a gentle kindness she’s never experienced.

  “How about we start with lunch? I’ll even bring it back here since I know you’re busy, and the Coffee Shoppe is crowded since school started back. College kids are out in full force.”

  “Tomorrow? I can’t today since I have to go see the coroner.”

  “That’s good.”

  “No more thoughts about dating Wilcox?”

  “No more thoughts as long as you promise not to push so hard. Dating another cop goes against everything I overcame, but I know you’re not Allen. I’m willing to try because I think you’re honestly a good person, Sheriff McReynolds.”

  She stands on shaky legs and makes her way to the door.

  “Caroline?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Promise me you won’t go out after dark.”

  “Why?”

  “This thing seems to attack at night, and I don’t want you to get hurt. Stay inside and keep the doors locked.”

  “I have no intention of ending up on an animal’s dinner menu.”

  “Good.”

  Somehow, I’m not put at ease with that statement, but it’s all she’ll give me. I make a mental note to drive by her house to make sure she’s inside tonight.

  Just to keep her safe.

  Uh-huh. Even my wolf laughs at that particular lie.

  We both know who she is to us and why we drive by her house every single night to make sure she’s inside and safe.

  And even if she rejects me, I’ll still drive by her house every single night to make sure she’s safe.

  Thus is the curse and the blessing of the mate bond.

  Sighing, I take my gun out of the drawer, holster it, and head out. Time to talk to the coroner.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ella