Dark Kiss Of The Reaper

by Kristen Painter

  There was no good reason for it, but she felt safe with him. Feeling that way was crazy, just like everything else that concerned him. And she knew, as much as she knew anything, that no matter who he was, he wouldn’t hurt her. She sensed it. He was different, to say the least, but dangerous? She didn’t think so.

  Azrael reached between them, his hand brushing across her back. A moment later, he stretched his arm out. She tensed. In his hand he held the small silver scythe she’d seen hanging on his belt.

  The weapon gleamed with an unnatural light. He held it out from his body and it expanded in his grasp, lengthening and extending. Focusing on anything else but the wicked blade became impossible. He juggled the handle, adjusting his grip.

  A whimper reached her ears and she realized it had come from her own lips. He pressed close to her, his breath warming her neck.

  “Don’t be afraid.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Something dark moved beyond the edges of her vision. She whipped her head around. “What was that?”

  He looked in the same direction. “I don’t see anything.”

  Whatever had been there was gone.

  “Never mind,” she said. Probably a bird or piece of debris in the air. There was enough stuff flying past them to make anyone think they were seeing things.

  Pallidus brought them overtop a group of people running down the street. He kept pace with them easily. Azrael leaned off to the side, arching back his great scythe. His robe fell down to his elbow, revealing a forearm corded with muscle. She followed his sight line.

  He aimed for the people below.

  “What are you doing?” But she already knew. Or thought she did. When he twisted, she reached for his arm. She had to stop him.

  “My job, Sara. This is what I do.”

  “You’re going to kill them!”

  “Sara, look behind us.”

  She sat up, turning her head. A huge black storm wall yawned across the beach behind them. It spun like a giant top, swallowing trees, huts, cars, anything in its path.

  “Hurricane,” she whispered. She met Azrael’s patient gaze, tears blurring her vision. “They’re going to die anyway, aren’t they?”

  He nodded.

  She closed her eyes hard and took a deep breath. His arm tightened around her waist, a comfort, no matter how small. She pressed her forehead to the side of his neck to further block the sight of the hungry storm.

  Azrael stretched taut, and she knew what he was about to do. She opened her eyes, unable to keep herself from watching.

  The scythe flashed as it soundlessly sliced the air. It cut through the crowd and to her eyes, looked as though it passed through every person. She raised her head to see over his shoulder, between the calm valley of his wings.

  Six peopled crumpled to the ground. The remainder of the group kept running, didn’t even slow. That’s when she saw the dark object again. It dropped in behind them like a hellish bird of prey, all darkness and smoke. Another horse and rider with nothing but wind beneath them.

  Another reaper? She watched, transfixed. The black horse had fire in its eyes and sparks at its hooves. The rider’s black leather coat billowed out behind him, cracking the air. She couldn’t see his eyes through his dark glasses, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  Maybe he was some kind of demon. Or not.

  He raised a scythe the same size and shape as Azrael’s. Except the tarnished blade had a serrated edge caked with either rust or blood. She shivered uncontrollably. The dark reaper reached back, pulling the scythe through the air effortlessly, and brought it down toward the crowd. Azrael shifted, blocking her view.

  “There’s more than one of you,” she mumbled, her stomach churned. She was no longer sure if she was even still breathing. She was glad she hadn’t seen the second scythe cut through the crowd. Something told her that blade didn’t cut as clean as Azrael’s.

  Furrowing his brow, Azrael glanced behind. His head snapped back a moment later. His wings unfurled partially, further obstructing her backward view.

  “Don’t look at him. Look at me or Pallidus or the ground, whatever you have to, but don’t look at him.”

  “Why?”

  Before Azrael could answer, the dark reaper pulled along side them. He glanced at her, then Azrael. His mouth curled in a sneer. “You’re a fool to bring her. If you want to scare her to death, you should have left her to me.”

  Azrael pointed his scythe in the other reaper’s direction. “Leave her be, Kol.”

  Kol laughed. The sound reminded Sara of the laughter heard in haunted houses as a child, dark, maniacal and not at all happy. He pulled his glasses down, revealing the blackest eyes she’d ever seen.

  The world fell away. Dizziness swept through her as though she stood at the edge of a high cliff about to topple over. Her head swam with vertigo. The wind she hadn’t felt before suddenly buffeted her body. Rain stung her face. Her grip on Azrael loosened. She cried out, clutched at him, the sensation of falling too real. Her stomach knotted, unknotted, rolled and dropped. She was going to be sick.

  “I have you, you won’t fall.” Azrael shot out with his scythe, nearly striking the other reaper. Kol moved out of the way, shoved his glasses back into place and urged his horse on. The creature’s hooves rent the air with swirls of smoke and thunder.

  “He’s gone.” Azrael’s jaw hardened into stone.

  Her equilibrium returned. She shuddered. “What...who was that? Another reaper?”

  “Yes. In a sense.” The word was a growl. “Kol is my brother.”

  “Your brother?” That Azrael would claim such a being worried her. “He’s a...” What could she say? Your brother’s a real jerk? I think he tried to kill me?

  “He wouldn’t have hurt you. He was only being Kol. Testing you to see if you could see him as well. It will not happen again. I promise.”

  “Only being Kol? Testing me? Like that makes it all right?” Anger replaced fear. This whole excursion had just become some sort of bad Tim Burton movie and she was in no mood to become anyone’s Corpse Bride.

  “I’m not making excuses for him. There are none. He is unpleasant at best, but he is who he is.”

  The wind and rain disappeared. The protective bubble that enclosed Azrael and Pallidus included her once again. Feeling slightly mollified, Sara couldn’t help but probe further. “And that might be?”

  “Kol is a different kind of Reaper than I am. He’s a Thresher. He culls the souls that no longer deserve a mortal existence. Where I reap souls that are ready and deserving of a merciful death, he reaps souls that have misused their time.”

  Thresher. Thinking about what that meant made her stomach knot again. She swallowed. “I don’t like him.”

  The slightest curve bent Azrael’s mouth. “Neither do I, much of the time. But one cannot pick their family, can they?”

  She settled against the hard warmth of his chest, letting it relax her. “No, I guess they can’t.”

  “I have more work to do.” The statement had a questioning undertone, as if he was asking her how much more she could stand.

  “I know.” Working in the hospital made death somewhat easier to accept. And she wasn’t ready to leave him yet.

  “Does that mean you accept who I am?”

  “How can I not?” He was really and truly the Angel of Death. Considering everything that had happened in the last few moments that no longer seemed odd. So long as he wasn’t her for her, but that was a conversation she wasn’t ready to have.

  His lips brushed her temple so delicately she wondered if it had actually happened the second after. “You are the right woman, Sara Donovan.”

  She wanted to ask ‘the right woman for what’, but she was afraid of the answer. The day had held enough surprises, enough weird answers and bizarre happenings. Why warp it completely by finding out she was supposed to be some sort of human sacrifice or something like that? Right now, she just wanted to breathe and be happy she had the ability to d
raw the breath.

  And yet, there was so much she wanted to understand. How did he know which souls to reap? What determined which souls he took and which he didn’t? Where did the souls go? Had he always been the Angel of Death?

  Why could she see him when no one else could?

  They continued on in silence, him with his work, her with her observations. The people whose souls he took, she noticed, usually succumbed with a peaceful look on their faces. Kol’s victims—for she had come to think of them that way—did not. She couldn’t help but watch the other reaper. Thankfully, he ignored her. Even so, she was careful not to make eye contact with him again.

  She leaned forward, splaying her hands over Pallidus’ muscled shoulders. She needed to feel life, even if it wasn’t human.

  Azrael moved his arm from about her waist, placing his hand on her hip instead. She turned to look at him, this man—being, creature, whatever he was—who held the power of death in his hands. “I don’t know how you do this with such...such...sense of purpose...such calm.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked, then smoothed out. His eyes softened with...sadness? Longing? She couldn’t tell. He was a hard man to read. “It’s all I know.”

  That she understood. She’d felt that way herself once after a marriage gone bad and a life that seemed to have no purpose. But everything could be changed, couldn’t it? Hadn’t she proved that with her own life?

  “What would you rather do?”

  His eyes widened briefly, his lips parted. Then all was stone again. “Nothing,” was his answer.

  She didn’t believe him, but she let it drop. Men, whether they were anesthesiologists or Angels of Death, didn’t do emotion well it seemed. Not that she was lumping Azrael in with Ray. She wasn’t. Wouldn’t.

  Her mouth bent in a depreciating frown. Thinking of Azrael as a possibility was proof she’d really lost her mind. He wasn’t even human. Shaking her head, she let her chin drop to her chest and half shut her eyes. Being alone was better than being with Ray.

  Azrael’s hand tensed at her hip. “Are you all right, Sara?”

  Touched by the note of concern in his voice, she nodded and blinked. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

  He sighed, his breath teasing the back of her neck. “I understand this must be a great deal to comprehend. Perhaps I should not have brought you.”

  “No, no, not at all. You’re right that this is a lot to take in, but I’m glad you chose to share it with me. It’s amazing in its own weird way.” The ground beneath them faded as Pallidus rose. “I never would have thought something like this possible.”

  “There would be no way to explain it in words,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t have believed you anyway.”

  “I’m glad you came.” He held the scythe out from his body, spoke a word and the scythe shrank down to its original size. He tucked it back into his robe. “No human has ever seen what we do.”

  “And lived to tell about it?” She made a joke of it, but the answer hung between them like a hangman’s noose waiting to be tightened.

  “No.” His whispered acknowledgement didn’t frighten her. What was to be, would be.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Nor should you be. You’re in no danger, I swear it.” His free hand came to rest on her other hip, tripping sparks over her skin. “You are a most unusual woman.”

  She tipped her head to look at him. “You’re the most interesting man I’ve met in a long time.” She laughed, catching what she’d just said. “You’re not really a man, though, are you?”

  His grin held a hint of wickedness that spun heat deeper into her bones. “Oh, I am a man, Sara Donovan. Be very sure of that.”

  Chapter Five

  Never had Azrael wanted to harm Kol more than he did now. Sara had come through Kol’s “testing” without injury, but that didn’t lessen Azrael’s need to punish his brother. Somehow, somewhere, Kol would be made to understand his indiscretion.

  Azrael moved his head a few inches, burying his nose in her hair, and inhaled. She was perfection. Sweet, opinionated, unafraid.

  He no longer cared why the Fates allowed her to see him. All that mattered was that she did. And she wasn’t afraid of him.

  Not so far anyway.

  Pallidus descended. Azrael wrapped his arms tighter around Sara, knowing what lay below would not be pleasant.

  Puffs of black smoke drifted past. The faint tang of sulfur tinged the air. A sharp whistle to their left, then a bright flare of light and sound.

  The smoke cleared in patches, revealing the battlefield it hid. Rubble littered the streets. Bombed and blackened vehicles. Broken glass. A child’s shoe.

  Sara stiffened, but kept silent, pressing deeper into his embrace.

  Pallidus came to rest on a patch of unbroken street, his hooves clipping against the pavement.

  Sara’s fingers dug into his arm. “Why are we stopping here?”

  “To reap a soul.” He dismounted, then offered her his hand.

  She hesitated.

  “Are you afraid?”

  “No.”

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  Gunfire popped in the distance. She flinched. “Yes, I’m afraid. This is a war zone. I can tell that much.” A quick glance around and her gaze returned to him. Tentatively, she took his hand. “Nothing can happen to me, right?”

  He nodded, absorbed in the pleasure of her willing hand in his. “I promise.”

  She slid to the ground beside him, staying very close.

  A dark, fast-moving shadow swooped over them. She ducked, hugging tight against him. More hooves clattered on the pavement. “You said your brother was going to leave me alone.”

  “That isn’t Kol. See?” He gestured toward the smoky gray stallion. “His horse isn’t black.”

  She pulled back to look for herself. “Great. A new one. How many brothers do you have?”

  “Only two. Chronos is a Timekeeper.”

  “And that means?”

  “He reaps the souls of those who’ve reached their allotted end but have earned no special consideration or condemnation.”

  Ahead of them, Chronos dismounted and turned toward them. Sara sucked in a ragged breath, proof to Azrael that he wasn’t the only Reaper she could see in true form. At work, Chronos most resembled the human idea of a Reaper, a skeleton cloaked in dark robes. Beneath his voluminous hood, shadows concealed all but the bottom half of a skull. Neither Azrael nor Kol were capable of assuming that form, just as Chronos couldn’t assume the visceral forms unique to either of them.

  Her body became one solid line pressed to his. He eased an arm around her waist, hoping to soothe her fright. She rewarded him with an almost imperceptible softening.

  “Azrael.” Chronos moved in their direction.

  “Brother...” Azrael nodded to his brother then tipped his head at Sara, hoping to make Chronos understand the affect of his appearance.

  “Ah.” Flesh filled in over the bone. As he approached, he reached up and brushed his hood back, revealing his now human face.

  Sara exhaled. “Your brothers are so freaking weird,” she whispered.

  Azrael stifled a smile. She had no idea.

  Chronos stopped in front of them. He stared at Sara but spoke to Azrael. “This is the one? Interesting that you’ve chosen to bring her with you. Pretty, isn’t she?”

  “I can hear you, you know. And see you.” Sara stood a little taller.

  Chronos smiled and nodded to Azrael. “You’re right. The Fates have it out for you.”

  “She saw Kol, too,” Azrael added. “Saw his eyes.”

  Surprise registered briefly on Chronos’s face. “And she didn’t—”

  “I stepped in before it was too late.”

  A pair of spiders scuttled out from the cowl of Chronos’s hood to mend a frayed edge, then retreated. Sara muttered something under her breath he couldn’t quite make out.

  “Good that you did. I have
work.” Chronos pulled his hood back up, the flesh melting off his hands as he did. “Time waits for no one.”

  He strode off in the opposite direction of Azrael’s waiting soul.

  “That was completely bizarre,” Sara said. “Not to mention gross and creepy.”

  Azrael opened his arm toward the way they need to travel. “It must be very hard to understand all of this.”

  Sara shook her head. “Your brother is infested with bugs. What part don’t I get?”

  “Those creatures are part of him.”

  “Great. What’s your secret?” She lifted the edge of his robe. “I hate spiders, so if there’s anything under there I should know about, tell me now.”

  Azrael bit his tongue. This was neither the time nor the place for witty repartee. “Come. A soul needs me.”

  * * *

  The building they entered was dark enough that it took Sara’s eyes a moment to adjust. Worn rugs, woven of scraps, covered the cement floor. Two wooden chairs provided the only seating. A few faded magazine pages hung pinned to the wall. Through a slim opening, the edge of thin mattress was visible, pushed up against a back wall. Was this a home, then?

  Another explosion shook the walls. Bits of dust and a few chunks of debris rained down, but Sara didn’t feel a thing. The fragments seemed to pass right through her.

  Azrael gestured to the opening. She went ahead, watching as he came behind her. His wings folding tighter to his back as he passed through, but they still scraped the narrow passage. His eyes focused beyond her.

  Covered with a tattered blanket, a young man lay on the mattress, his eyes closed, hands crossed over his body. His shirt and vest were dirty and torn, his face unshaved for days. An older man crouched on the floor beside him, rocking back and forth, praying softly in an unknown tongue.

  “His father,” Azrael said, gesturing toward the older man with a tip of his head. “He won’t leave his son while he still lives, even though this area isn’t safe and his wife and younger son wait for him in another village.”

  “He can’t hear us or see us?” she whispered.