by Donna Grant
Wind howled outside as a storm lashed the east coast of Scotland. The Reapers had been in Inchmickery for a while now. He hated being so far from Ireland, but they had to keep ahead of their enemy.
He strode through the old, concrete compound that the humans had abandoned years ago. His six Reapers were in residence, as well. Few were up at the early hour, though. This was the time Cael took each morning to think about the day ahead and ruminate on anything that might have gone wrong the day before.
Cael walked through the door and came to stand outside beneath a protective overhang. Waves crashed violently against the rocks and concrete, sending water soaring. The wind drove the rain at an angle, drenching everything—including him. But he didn’t care.
“I suppose you’re going to stand there brooding all day.”
Cael drew in a breath at the sound of Fintan’s voice. Once one of the most feared—and infamous—assassins of the Fae, Fintan was an integral part of the Reapers.
A group Cael led.
“What is it?” Fintan asked over the sounds of the storm and the sea.
Cael waited until Fintan moved closer. “Do you remember when you became a Reaper?”
“I do. It’s not exactly something you forget.”
“I suppose not.”
Fintan crossed his arms over his chest, uncaring that the waves drenched him. “Spit it out, Cael. What’s bothering you?”
Cael had come outside to be alone. It seemed fitting that there was a storm raging since he’d felt one within himself for some time. He looked into Fintan’s red-rimmed, white eyes. “I dreamed of the day I became a Reaper.”
Fintan shoved his long, white hair from his face after a wave struck him. “So?” he asked, confusion marring his expression.
“Have you done that?”
“No.”
“Why did I?”
Fintan raised a brow. “You ask me things I can’t answer.”
“The dream meant something.”
“About Erith?”
Cael braced himself for the next wave before it hit. As leader of the Reapers, he knew how each of them had been betrayed. It was one of the many gifts given to him by Death.
Death. Erith.
Her.
He’d known her by all three names. The attraction he felt for her hadn’t dimmed when he discovered that she was Death. In fact, it increased.
Right on the heels of that was discovering that there could never be anything between them. However, not even the knowledge that he would spend eons near her but never actually have her could have made him refuse her offer.
Being a Reaper meant everything to Cael. He was doing more for the Fae now than he had when he lived among them.
“Cael?”
He swung his head to Fintan, only then realizing that he hadn’t answered. “I do think it was about Erith. It’s always been about her.”
“You’re referring to Bran,” Fintan said, his lips peeled back in a sneer.
Bran. The Reaper who had defied Death and not only fell in love but also told the female Fae who he was. Both offenses were grave. Cael still believed that Erith would have ignored Bran falling in love, despite her rule that there be no relationships, but Bran had broken the first rule of being a Reaper: no Fae could know who they were.
Death had had no choice but to carry out her punishment and end the Light Fae’s life. Bran had gone mad with grief over the loss. He split the Reapers, forcing them to fight each other.
Cael had been the newest member of the group at the time. He and Eoghan had bonded quickly, both of them looking up to their leader, Theo. So, when Bran and the other Reapers killed Theo, there was no other option for Cael and Eoghan than to fight Bran.
Before either Cael or Eoghan could slay Bran, Erith stepped in and tossed Bran into a realm she’d created just for his punishment.
Who could have guessed that thousands of years later, someone would let Bran loose? Or that Bran would somehow learn how to syphon Death’s power and life force?
“We need to end him,” Cael said.
Fintan snorted. “That’s not something you need to convince any of us to do. We’re all ready.”
“There’s something you don’t know. I saw Death recently. She returned to the O’Byrne land.”
Fintan’s brow furrowed deeply. “Are you telling me she got the black sword that Ettie used? The one Bran hunted for?”
Cael nodded. “She called for it. It belongs to her. More than that, I saw her clothes change for just a moment into leather and chainmail.”
“Fek me,” Fintan murmured as he ran a hand down his face. “She’s the Mistress of War, isn’t she?”
Cael thought back to the day he’d seen her fight. The day he died and was reborn a Reaper. He’d known she was special before learning she was Death. “I think so.”
“Why did she stop?” Fintan’s surprise gave way to anger. “And why the fek hasn’t she gone after Bran before now? Why did she wait? If she’s the Mistress of War, there’s nothing more powerful than her. She could wipe Bran out with a thought.”
“Perhaps at one time, but not now,” Cael reminded his friend. “Bran has taken too much of her power.”
Fintan turned his back to a wave that slammed into him. “But she has the sword.”
“Which means, she’s going after Bran.”
“Not alone,” Fintan stated.
Cael grinned. “No, she won’t be alone. Whether she agrees or not, we’ll be there with her.”
“Have you told her that?”
“Not yet.”
Fintan crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you know where she’s at? She did refuse to answer any of us for quite some time.”
“I’m not going to look for her. I’m going to look for Bran. He wants to fight me anyway, right?”
Fintan’s smile was slow. “Oh, I like this. Shall I tell the others?”
“Aye. We need to come up with a plan.”
“What about Eoghan and his Reapers?”
“We’re going to need them, as well.” Cael still couldn’t believe that Eoghan had returned and that there were more Reapers, but he was glad of it. “So far, Bran doesn’t know about them. Let’s make certain it stays that way until it’s time.”
Fintan slapped Cael on the back. “Don’t worry, brother. Bran’s days are numbered.”
Cael waited until Fintan had returned inside before he let out a sigh. He hoped they were able to move fast enough to destroy Bran before Erith was past the point of no return.
Because a life without her wasn’t a life worth living.
Cael said Eoghan’s name and waited for his friend to arrive. It was time they had a talk.
Chapter Two
The crippling weight of eons of decisions rested awkwardly on her shoulders. Erith stood amid the flowers on her realm, hoping to find the calm they usually brought her. Ever since she’d retrieved her sword from Killarney, memories of her time as Mistress of War repeatedly assaulted her.
Like the sword wished to remind her of all the destruction and harm she’d caused around the universe.
As if she could ever forget.
It didn’t matter how much good she did, it would never make up for the horrors she’d committed during that dreadful time. And the life she swore to never return to was now her only option if she wanted to save the Reapers.
She didn’t care about herself. It was Cael and the others that mattered. Because if she died, Bran would become Death, and he wouldn’t hesitate to wipe out the Reapers as sadistically and callously as he could.
The Reapers were her responsibility. She’d given them power and returned their lives to them. No matter how strong they were—and the Reapers were exceedingly powerful—they would never be able to stand against Bran, who now had almost all of her power.
When Erith realized that Bran was taking her magic and that the Reapers wouldn’t be able to fight him on their own, Cael and Eoghan wanted a battle. She understood their need a
fter everything they had experienced, but Bran was too strong now. The Reapers could weaken him, but Bran had taken too much of her magic and life force for them to do any real damage.
Which left her to handle him.
She wasn’t afraid to face Bran. What he knew was merely a thimbleful of what she had experienced. Yet he had the upper hand after draining her magic.
If only she knew how he’d done it. If only she could stop him before he took it all. Her fear had stopped her from retrieving the sword until now. And it was that same apprehension that would be the end of her.
Erith slid her gaze to where the weapon lay upon a gnarled tree branch that dipped to the ground. The sword itself was truly a work of art. Created of magic in the Fires of Erwar, it was . . . epic. One of the greatest things she’d ever conceived.
From the moment she formed it, she had heard its call. Even when it lay buried beneath miles of earth, she’d always known exactly where it was. There was a connection between them. Because the sword held a part of her.
She looked down at her palm. She could still feel the weight of the weapon, even after holding it for only a few minutes. Her fingers itched to wrap around the pommel and lift the blade, to feel the heft of it.
And to sink it into a body.
No. Not just anybody. Bran.
The second the Fae doorway opened to her world, Erith felt it. No one was supposed to enter, but Cael defied her orders and ventured there at times. Was it him?
Please, no.
She wasn’t ready to face him yet. Especially not after realizing that he’d seen her retrieve the sword. He would have questions, and she didn’t want to answer them.
With her eyes closed, she listened for the sound of footsteps. It took her but a heartbeat to grasp that it wasn’t Cael. The stride was wrong. The only other one who knew where to locate her was Eoghan.
Erith turned as the leader of the second Reaper group emerged from the foliage. Eoghan’s long, black hair was loose and hanging down his back. His liquid silver eyes were trained on her.
Eoghan had always been destined to lead, but his wife’s betrayal had broken him in ways Erith worried might never be healed. It had never hindered him being a Reaper, however.
When Eoghan was enveloped in a storm of magic to save Cael, no one had known what happened to him. Even Erith had searched for him, to no avail. It was a Halfling and her violin that somehow called Eoghan home. And when he returned, more than just his eyes had changed.
That’s when Erith realized that he was ready to take over the second group. And just as she’d always known, he was doing a wonderful job. His team, which had never quite come together before—because they never had a reason to—was becoming a cohesive unit.
Eoghan’s gaze moved from Erith to the sword. His chest expanded as he took a breath. “So, it’s true.”
She didn’t need to ask how he knew. There was only one answer—Cael. Erith merely stared at Eoghan, waiting for his next question.
His head turned back to her. “You knew the sword was with Ettie and her sisters all along.”
“I did.”
“Because you put it there.”
She nodded.
There was a long pause, broken only by the songs of the birds around them. Then, Eoghan said, “Cael is worried about you. We all are.”
“You don’t think I know what I’m doing?”
“We don’t know anything,” he said with a frown. “You’ve not told me or Cael anything.”
“You don’t need to know.”
Eoghan’s lips flattened as his look turned hard. “That’s bloody nonsense. If you don’t want to tell me, at least notify Cael.”
“Why?”
Eoghan snorted loudly. “You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
The Reaper leaned his head to the side as he regarded her for a long minute. “Is it that you really don’t know? Or that you just don’t want to admit it?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I’m Death, Eoghan. I don’t need to remind you that I brought all of you back from the dead and gave you added powers. I can take that all away.”
“I’m aware.”
She took a step toward him. “I make my own decisions. I’ve never gone to any of you before. I won’t do it now.”
He inhaled deeply. “Each of us knows exactly how strong you are. You don’t need us. You could easily handle everything on your own.”
Her heart missed a beat. He was right. So very right. She’d longed for company, which was one of the reasons she’d created the Reapers. But she soon came to comprehend that they meant more to her. So she had made sure to keep distance between herself and them.
All these centuries, Erith believed that she was keeping herself separate from the Reapers. And all the while, they had seen right through the walls she’d attempted to erect.
For so long, she had hidden the fact that she’d created the Reapers because she didn’t want to be alone. And all the time, they had known.
“You don’t have to do this on your own,” Eoghan said. “In fact, you shouldn’t. We’re your army.”
She shook her head. “You can’t defeat Bran.”
“Do you really think it’ll just be the two of you fighting? You know he’ll have the Dark he’s been recruiting with him. You can’t afford to divide your attention between him and the Dark. For you to win, you need to be focused entirely on him.”
“And let you and the other Reapers fight his army?”
“Damn right. And, if the opportunity arises, you know both Cael and I will take a shot at Bran. He didn’t just betray you. He betrayed us, as well.”
She turned and walked a few steps away. “I think you have a valid point.”
“It was Cael’s idea.”
Erith spun around to Eoghan. “Then why didn’t he come?”
“He didn’t think you’d see him.”
She had blocked Cael and all others from entering her realm for a while. Not to mention, she had ignored his repeated calls for her. She hadn’t wanted any of the Reapers—but especially Cael—to see her weakened state.
“Your bond with Cael was always strong,” Eoghan continued. “You need to repair what’s been damaged.”
“Perhaps it’s better this way.”
“That’s shite.”
She raised a brow in annoyance. “Careful.”
“I’m merely stating what needs to be said.”
“I’ve kept my distance from all of you.”
“But mostly Cael. Why is that, I wonder?”
It took a Herculean effort for Erith to keep the worry from her face. Had Eoghan seen something? In his vow of silence, had he noticed something that she had accidentally let show?
The longer she looked at him, the more she saw that he had, in fact, seen quite a lot.
Eoghan’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Others tend to forget I’m there when I don’t speak. It makes it easy to read between their words. Or see stolen glances that others missed in conversations.”
Erith looked away, unsure how to reply.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Eoghan told her. “I kept it for the last several thousand years, so you don’t have to worry that I’ll let anything slip now.”
She blew out a breath and returned her gaze to him. “Why haven’t you said anything before now?”
“I knew why you kept it a secret. It was rather easy to figure out. I also hoped that you might give in and tell him.”
“I can’t. I won’t.”
Eoghan smiled sadly. “I know. Can I ask why you changed the rules and allowed the Reapers to fall in love?”
“I never stopped any of you from finding love. I simply knew that when it came down to it, you would follow your heart before you followed the other Reapers.”
“Which is why you put in the rule. I’d have done the same in your place.”
She put her hand on the bark of a tree, feeling the rough texture scrape against her palm.
It always helped for her to touch the plants—almost as if a little magic were exchanged between them.
“I knew after Bran that the odds of one of you falling in love again were great. It was simply a matter of time. And then it happened with Baylon. Except I saw a way for it to work. Jordyn was a Halfling, but more than that, she went out of her way to help the Reapers.”
“And by her being half human, she could know of us without having to be killed.”
Erith nodded. “I’m glad those of you who have found love are happy. You deserve it.”
“And you don’t?”
She didn’t answer, because she wasn’t sure she could.
Eoghan ran a hand down his face. “There’s a whole part of your life we don’t know about, isn’t there?”
“You know very little about me at all.”
“You’ve made sure of that. Yet, before Cael joined us, you spent much more time with the Reapers. That’s when I first noticed you treated Cael differently. You kept him at more of a distance, but you were always the first to congratulate him on his successes.”
She swallowed, not liking the sinking feeling within her. “I was that transparent?”
“Only to me.”
At least, there was that. Erith didn’t want to think about what might happen if Cael ever found out. If he didn’t return her affection, she’d likely never recover.
And if he did . . . that was a road she couldn’t allow herself to go down.
Ever.
“Don’t shut him out,” Eoghan cautioned. He glanced at the sword. “I don’t care who you once were. I know who you are now. I know what you’ve done—for us and thousands of other Fae. That’s what matters.”
His words touched her deeply. “Thank you.”
“We need to go after Bran together. We need you. Be the force we know you to be.”
Erith watched him as he turned and walked away, his words lingering long after he was gone. She couldn’t stop thinking about Cael. She should’ve known that he would come up with the perfect plan. Not that any of the other Reapers weren’t capable, but Cael’s mind worked differently than the others’. He saw strategies others never even thought of.
Eoghan was right. They did need to work together. It meant that she would have to be around Cael. In her weakened state, the feelings she tamped down and ignored kept returning, stronger each time.