Reaper Unveiled (Deadside Reapers Book 4)

by Debbie Cassidy

  She opens the door and morphs back into the guard. “Follow me.” Her voice remains female.

  I have no idea what she is, but she certainly isn’t Conari. She can manipulate the glamour set into the amulet but not the voice. Those questions will have to wait for later, though.

  We step into the hallway outside the room. There’s a door in front of us, a corridor to the left that leads to an arch, and darkness beyond. Another arch sits to our right that leads to what looks like a kitchen and an open back door. That must be how the tavern woman got in. There’s no sign of any of the guards, but voices drift through the door opposite us.

  It must be a lounge or something.

  The tavern woman leads me right, toward the kitchen. We’re almost at the back door when a door to our left neither of us has noticed opens. A large demon male steps out, buttoning his pants.

  The whoosh of a toilet flushing is the only sound in the kitchen as the guard who stabbed me stares at the tavern wench. His eyes are wide and uncomprehending at seeing his doppelganger standing in front of him, and then he lets out a bellow.

  The blade of my scythe cuts off his summons, but not quick enough. The door behind us explodes open, and the rest of the guards descend on us. I shove the tavern wench out the door, slam it shut, and turn to face the tide.

  Euphoria fills me. The white-hot heat of justice about to be served supernova-style.

  Fee

  The barn door slammed open, and Nirma stood on the threshold, panting. “They saw us. He’s fighting.”

  There was no need to say more. I was out the door and racing toward the house with Mal right behind me. There was a crash as a window exploded outward, and a body landed on the lawn. One of the guards.

  His face was bloody. He didn’t get back up.

  Good.

  I leaped through the window, barely registering the slash of glass across my skin, and landed in the kitchen to find Conah backed up against the wall by three guards as his scythe kept them at bay. More bastards carrying muskets ran down a narrow corridor toward the room. Mal hadn’t seen them, he was focused on Conah. If the others got into this room, we were fucked.

  A growl erupted from my throat, and then my scythe settled in my palm. I swung it at the first demon to reach the threshold of the kitchen. A boom ripped the air as his musket hit the ground and discharged with his hand still attached to it. Wood splintered at ground level, and the demon crumpled, keening in pain and clutching the bloody stump where his hand had been.

  His comrades faltered, momentarily stunned. Enough time for me to leap over him and attack them. But scythes need room to swing, and I realized too late how narrow the corridor was.

  Fuck this shit.

  Scythe down, obsidian daggers out. I ducked to avoid the blast of a gun, coughing as gun powder peppered the air and debris stung my cheek, and then I fell into stab mode. Armpit, under the ribs, the neck, the groin—the vulnerable spots that would take a demon down hard and have him bleed out in seconds. I caught a blow to my shoulder. The butt of a musket to the forehead. Yeah, it was too crowded to aim and fire, not if they wanted to risk each other’s lives. And then there was little ol’ me, weaving between the big lumbering bastards, daggers flashing like lethal shadows as they sliced and stabbed. Yes, this could work in my favor.

  Azazel’s voice was in my head, bloodlust coursing through my veins as I cut them down. I counted four then five, and then I was clear. If you could call standing amidst bleeding bodies, chest heaving, hands slick with demon blood, clear.

  My scalp prickled in warning.

  “Hey, bitch!”

  I looked up at a broad face contorted in a sneer and down the barrel of a rifle pointed at my head.

  A loud crack ripped the air and shock punched a fist into my chest. The bullet headed toward me, but it was as if it were moving in slow motion. I leaned to the side as it passed, tearing a path of fire across my cheekbone. My vision blurred, then cleared on a blink, and then Mal was behind the demon, drawing a bloody line across the enemy’s throat with his dagger.

  The demon gurgled and dropped his weapon.

  I stared at Mal. Had he seen it? Had he seen me dodge a fucking bullet? What was this Neo bullshit?

  His emerald eyes were dark, his face too pale as he shoved the demon to the ground and strode over to me. I backed up, cowed by the violence etched across his face. But then I was in his arms, pressed to his taut chest, unable to breathe as he squeezed so hard I thought my ribs would crack. I gripped his shoulders, turning my face to the side to take a breath. To breathe him in. I was alive. I’d dodged a fucking bullet aimed for my head, and Mal was holding me like he never wanted to let go.

  “Fucking hell, Fee.” Mal’s words were an expulsion of air against my ear. “Fucking hell.” He gripped my nape and squeezed lightly.

  The pressure was a reassurance, a reminder that I was alive and feeling, but then the silence registered—deep as a tomb—a vacuum after the cacophony of a moment ago. It was shattered by male expletives and the thud of fist meeting face.

  “Let me go, you fucking bastard. Let go,” the fake guard said.

  “Not until you tell me who the fuck sent you after me,” Conah growled.

  “I’m not telling you anything.”

  Mal released me and lightly touched my cheek. His touch burned, and I winced.

  “It’s healing,” he said.

  “I dodged a bullet.” My voice was a rasp.

  His throat bobbed. “I know.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.” Confusion was written all over his face. “But we can look into it once we get home.”

  I nodded.

  “Mal!” Conah called out. “You fancy a little torture and interrogation?”

  Mal tore his gaze from my face and looked over my head, his jaw hardening and the warmth bleeding out of his eyes. “I get the fingernails. I fucking love peeling those off.”

  “Fuck this,” the demon spat, but you could see the fear in his eyes. “I wasn’t paid to be tortured. I’ll tell you what you want, and you let me go.”

  Conah opened his mouth, probably to seal the deal, but I stepped forward, cutting him off. I’d made a deal with the seraphim in the barn to bring him Ivor. But all the guards were dead, and if this one wasn’t Ivor I’d have broken my word.

  I took a deep breath. “What’s your name?”

  He glared at me.

  “Name.”

  “Ivor.” His lip curled.

  I exhaled. “Okay, Ivor, here’s the deal. Tell us what you know, and we won’t kill you.”

  “Your word,” he said, looking to Conah. “Your word as a Dominus that you or your companions won’t harm me.”

  Conah crossed his arms over his chest. “Fee?”

  I nodded, urging him to make the deal.

  “You have my word.”

  Secure that he was going to live, Ivor sat back on his haunches. “We were contacted by phoenix a week ago. The letter had a royal seal. No name. Just instructions and a very large sum for payment if we took the job.”

  “How much?” Mal asked.

  “Ten thousand ichons,” he said. “We accepted, and five thousand was deposited in my bank account in Karzik; the rest was supposed to go in once the job was complete.”

  “And what was the job, exactly,” Conah asked, his voice low and lethal.

  “To keep you away from Imperium until after the wedding.”

  “No instructions to kill?” Mal pressed.

  Ivor shook his head. “No. We were told death was a last resort. They sent a vial of toxin to use on our blades and in food to disable you.”

  The drug made in Imperium, plus the royal seal, coupled with the fact they were told not to kill unless absolutely necessary, all pointed to Lilith. But why? Why would she want war?

  Conah stepped back and leaned against the counter, absorbing it all. He looked wiped. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut. He looked betrayed.

  M
al grabbed Ivor by the collar and hauled him up. “Is that everything?”

  Ivor clenched his jaw. “Yes. That’s everything. Now let me go.”

  I stepped into his line of sight. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  He blinked in surprise, and then his lip curled. “Your Dominus gave his word you wouldn’t kill me.”

  “And we won’t.”

  I grabbed him by his nape and shoved him toward the door. “But there’s someone else who might.”

  Ivor started to twist and buck when he realized where we were headed, but my grip was firm and my conviction that this fucker had done something awful to the seraphim grew with each step until I was dragging him across the ground.

  “No. Where are you taking me. No.” He dug in his heels and earned a blow to the back of his head from Mal.

  The barn door swung open to reveal Nirma. She jumped out of the way as I shoved Ivor inside. He hit the wooden floor and then slowly looked up at the seraphim.

  The seraphim’s crimson eyes glowed with an inner fire. “Ask him for the key,” he said.

  With pleasure. “Where’s the key to the shackles?”

  “No.” Ivor shook his head. “Fuck you.”

  Mal grabbed the demon and began patting him down.

  He swatted Mal. “Get off me. Off!”

  “Found it.” Mal tugged a leather strap from around the demon’s throat. There was a silver key dangling off it. “I think this is it.”

  “Don’t,” Ivor protested. “That thing is dangerous. You can’t let it free.”

  Mal looked to me, and I nodded. “Do it.”

  Mal pressed the key to each shackle, and they fell off with a chink. He touched the silver ropes binding the seraphim’s wings next, and they unraveled and spilled to the ground, landing silently.

  The seraphim exhaled through his nose and pawed the ground a couple of times as if testing his feet. He stretched his wings, and my breath caught at the wingspan and the raw power in those appendages. They gleamed black in the lantern light. They were tough like a bat’s wing, thick and muscled, but there were long obsidian feathers growing at the tips of each wing.

  He was magnificent.

  “Thank you,” the seraphim said, and then he turned his attention on a cowering Ivor.

  The smell of piss permeated the air.

  “Aw, fuck, he wet himself,” Mal said in disgust.

  Sure enough, Ivor’s crotch was wet, his limbs trembling. “Please…” He scrambled back across the floor.

  The seraphim advanced, his huge body casting a shadow over the demon. Mal and Conah stepped out of the way. They both glanced at me, but neither asked any questions. They trusted me, and I trusted this magnificent creature.

  “Where is she?” the seraphim demanded. “Where did you take my offspring?”

  Ivor was hyperventilating, staring at the growling beast hovering over him with terror.

  It took a moment to remember that Ivor had no clue what the seraphim was saying. “He wants to know what you did with his offspring.”

  Mal sucked in a sharp breath.

  Ivor flicked a glance my way, too afraid to take his eyes off the seraphim for more than a split second.

  “How…how do you know what it wants?” he asked.

  Anger flickered to life in my chest. “It’s a he, and he wants an answer to his fucking question.”

  I walked over to stand beside the seraphim and look down at Ivor.

  Ivor shook his head.

  “What did you do with my daughter? Tell me!” the seraphim demanded.

  Ivor’s squeal was covered by the seraphim’s roar.

  I kicked Ivor’s boot. “Answer him!”

  “We ate the foal,” he blurted. “Drake youngling meat is a delicacy.”

  The seraphim’s body had gone very still.

  My heart beat hollowly in my chest. “He’s not a drake, you fucking bastard, and you just told him you ate his daughter.”

  The seraphim didn’t speak, but a lone tear gathered at the corner of his eye, silver like mercury, before tracking down his cheek. I felt his sorrow and his fury, and I knew what needed to be done.

  I looked down at the cowering demon. “I hope it hurts.” And then I strode from the barn, taking the others with me.

  Ivor’s screams filtered through the barn door. They went on for several minutes, and neither Conah, Mal, nor Nirma said a word. Good, because if they had, I’d have lost it.

  “Hey! You!” Several figures came running toward us from across the moonlit lawn—a portly male demon and three females.

  I’d forgotten about the family who lived here.

  The portly man had to catch his breath when he came to a stop. “You kept your word.”

  He was looking at Conah.

  “With help,” Conah said. “Your family is free.”

  “What’s going on?” one of the younger women said. “What were you doing in the barn with Bunty?”

  Bunty? “You named the seraphim Bunty?”

  She looked down her nose at me. “Bunty is a rare drake, and he’s mine.”

  Her tone, her posture, all of it screamed spoiled, rich bitch. Unlike her mother, sister, and father, who were dressed in tatty, dirty clothes, her gown looked new and freshly pressed.

  “Get out of the way,” she snapped. “I want to see him.”

  “Clemine!” her father admonished.

  But she ignored him and strode toward us, confident we’d get out of the way. This was one bitch used to getting what she wanted. But not with me. Not today. I grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

  “Ow, how dare you?” She looked genuinely shocked.

  Rage simmered beneath my skin, wanting out. My palm itched to slap her face. “Did you eat the foal?”

  She glared at me. “The drake foal?”

  There was no point in correcting her. “Yes. Bunty’s foal?”

  She made a sound of irritation. “Yes, so what? Our guests wanted a fancy meal, and foal is a delicacy.”

  “Drakes are intelligent creatures,” Nirma said. “Highly intelligent, and not to be consumed. It’s Underealm law.”

  “They’re animals,” Clemine snapped. “Just animals and lots of people do it.”

  “It was your idea,” Conah said, realization dawning on his handsome face. “You suggested it.”

  She looked at him, raking him over. Fucking bitch was totally checking him out, and yep, there it was, her sneer melting into a pretty smile.

  “I was merely trying to keep them happy so they wouldn’t hurt us.” She fluttered her lashes. “You saved us, and I’m in your debt.”

  And I’ll pay it with pussy was the unsaid part. Fucking ho. But the fact that Conah was looking at her like he thought she was a crazy bitch calmed me down a little. She must have realized that there’d be no support forthcoming from Conah because she twisted, trying to break free of my hold.

  “Let go of me,” she demanded. “I have a right. The drake is mine.”

  I shoved her. “He’s not a drake, you stupid bitch, he’s a seraphim, and you murdered his daughter.”

  The barn door splintered and cracked as the seraphim burst into the night. The mangled, partially burned body of Ivor was visible behind him.

  Clemine’s gaze shot to it, and she let out a strangled scream, but the seraphim was bearing down on her, his nostrils flaring with each furious breath.

  “You did this. You took her. You did this,” the seraphim said.

  His belly began to glow white, and the glow spread upward to his chest, headed for his throat. It was as if a celestial fire was brewing inside him. Shit. He was about to blast her with fire.

  “Please!” The old man threw himself in front of his daughter. “Please don’t take her from me. Please don’t hurt my daughter.”

  The seraphim fixed his gaze on the man, staring at him as if he was reading his soul, and then the fire in his belly went out, and his head dipped in defeat.

  He turned away from the family.
“I cannot bring myself to take a daughter from a father.” His eyes gleamed with the silver sheen of tears.

  I touched his shoulder lightly. “I’m so sorry.”

  He turned his head and nudged me slightly. “I am in your debt.”

  “No, you’re not. We helped each other. We’re even.”

  The seraphim curled his wing inward and turned his head to pluck a feather from it. It wasn’t one of the huge ones, but a smaller one from the underside about the size of my palm. “If you should ever need me, burn this, and I will come,” the seraphim said.

  “Thank you…I don’t know your name?”

  “Esmael.”

  “Esmael, my name is Seraphina, but everyone calls me Fee.”

  “I will remember you, Fee.” He backed up a few steps, wings stretching out.

  I took a step toward him, suddenly worried. He was grieving. He shouldn’t be alone right now. What if he got captured again. “Will you be all right? Where will you go?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  He launched himself upwards, wings beating the air, ready to shoot off.

  “You can’t do this,” Clemine cried. “He’s mine.”

  But Esmael was already in the air, rising higher and higher.

  Clemine let out a wail and her father grabbed her and shook her. “Enough. You’ve done enough.” He looked at us. “Go in peace. I give you my word that we will not speak of what happened here this night.” He turned and dragged his daughter toward the house.

  They vanished around the side of the building, and I turned to the guys. “I don’t think it’s safe for us to take the drakes and carriage we brought. The person who sent the mercenaries after us knows the route we’re supposed to take.”

  “We can take an alternate route,” Mal said. “We can head over the River Enmity and into Hankarin, Asmodeus’s region. He’ll help us. We can stop at his estate and borrow a carriage for the rest of the journey.”

  “You’re sure he can be trusted?” Conah asked.

  “I was his protégé for a decade,” Mal said. “I know him. He hates politics. Besides, the seal on the letter was royal…”