by Crymsyn Hart
“What is he?” Rory asked.
“Werewolf.” Darria peeled back his shirt, which had a hole in the chest, and saw the black threads of poison moving into his veins. She pointed them out to Rory. “Look. If you feel the wound, you can see that it’s still warm from the silver dissolving into his veins. It hit his heart, so he’s dead anyway, and he’s trapped. Choose a needle, and get the silver thread.” She leaned over and pressed her lips to the werewolf’s head. “Rest well.”
She felt Omar’s questions looming in her mind through their connection, but she didn’t answer them. This one must have slighted someone, but she didn’t sense any evil within him, and to end up on her table was a travesty. Darria stepped back. Rory cut the silver thread and threaded a needle. He pursed the lips together and sewed them up with small, delicate stitches, doing even better than she thought he would. As he cut the thread and tied it, she observed the tiniest quiver in his hand. He took out two of the coins and placed them on the werewolf’s eyes. On the second one, he dropped the coin. She picked it up and handed it to him. Rory looked up, and tears slid down his cheeks. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” she said to him. “You did well.”
He stepped back and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “How can you do this without being affected by them?”
“You can hear them?” Darria asked.
“I’m not sure. I can feel the souls. It’s not so much that I hear them, but I can feel them,” Rory said.
“Then that means you are the right one for the job,” Oliver said.
Darria saw her harvester dressed in his garb. By his side was the large, stone gargoyle that Gabbie had turned into. He patted her head, and the stone broke away; she became the original gargoyle she had been. As she shook off the stone, her eyes brightened. She bounded over, put her paws on Darria’s shoulders, and licked her face.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Darria said.
“You, too,” Gabbie said.
“How?” Darria scratched behind her ears until Gabbie’s foot pounded on the ground.
“A little bit of magic and calling in a couple of favors,” Oliver replied. “I thought you’d enjoy having her back.”
Darria nodded. “Thank you.” She brushed her lips over the death angel’s head and felt him respond in a slight kiss.
“Later,” he whispered within her thoughts.
He glided over the floor until he leaned over and pressed his lips to the werewolf’s. He drew back a few inches. A fine, silver thread came out from between the stitches. Once he had sucked up the soul, he winked out but not before she felt the subtle brush of his wings along her face. It reassured her and warmed her heart. Oliver loved her, and she loved him. Her gaze swept across the room, observing her new family.
A mummified hand, a shrunken head, a teenage geek for an assistant, a gargoyle the size of a lion, and a harvester who loved her. After everything that had happened, they were going to be there for her until she decided to step away and maybe even after that. Omar did one of his flying leaps and landed on her shoulder. Gabbie jumped up to the table, grabbed ahold of the werewolf’s foot, and pulled him off the table, dragging him off into the corner where her bed was so she could munch on him for dinner.
Darria closed her eyes and thought about the thread woven into her, feeling it strum. She gazed forward. At least in the near future, all she saw was business as usual and all things tranquil.
The End
About the Author
Crymsyn Hart is a national bestselling author of over seventy paranormal romance and horror novels. Her experiences as a psychic have given her a lot of material to use in her books. She currently resides in Charlotte, NC with her hubby and her two dogs. If she’s not writing, she’s curled up with the dogs watching a good horror movie or off with friends.
Website: www.crymsynhart.com
PURPLE SWORD PUBLICATIONS
www.purplesword.com