Reaper Academy: A Dark Forbidden Romance

by Allison West

  "What's going on?" Ophelia's bottom lip trembled. Never in her life had there been a breach within the castle walls. It wasn't possible that someone could be invading, could it? Her parents had forced her to learn the art of being silent. It wasn't easy for a young child to master, even harder for an infant. She'd struggled with her laughter during the practice sessions. Ophelia was confident this wasn't a game. She'd never been asked to protect little Mara.

  "Don't come out until I tell you to, all right?" Guards rushed through the hallway. Boots pounded on the floor, causing a slight rumble. "Hurry."

  Ophelia quickly fell to the floor and slid under the mattress.

  Her mother bent down, sliding the sleeping infant beside her sister. "Keep her quiet, Ophelia. These men, they're no good."

  Ophelia held her breath, cradled the child, and didn't move an inch. How was it Mara could sleep through the invasion of her home? Chewing her bottom lip raw, Ophelia wished she could sleep as soundly as her sister. Through wide eyes, she watched the door creak open. From beneath the mattress, she cringed as brown boots covered in dirt walked into the bedroom.

  "Philip!" her mother screamed at the top of her lungs, calling for her husband, the king. Would he save them?

  Ophelia didn't move, hiding in the darkness beneath the bed, cradling the tiny bundle in her arms. She tried not to shake, afraid it might wake her sister and cause them both to be seen.

  "Your children, they will be all right. I promise you that much, my queen. I am so terribly sorry there isn't more I can do. Hide behind the screen. Perhaps it will keep you safe."

  "Who are you?" Her mother's voice shook with nerves.

  Ophelia did not move. She could hear the soft patter of footsteps as her mother took his advice and hid.

  The man turned and walked out, the click of the door following him as he exited the princesses' bedroom. Ophelia opened her lips, about to ask if it was safe to come out.

  A moment later, two sets of black boots stormed the bedroom, the door flung open in haste. "In here!" called a gruff voice. "This is the princesses' room!"

  "Please." Her mother's voice quivered as she revealed herself to the intruders. "Do not touch my daughters. You can have me."

  Ophelia shut her eyes, but it didn't diminish the putrid stench of the men or the sound of their heavy breathing. The sound of a latched buckle unclasped and one man's drawers hit the floor.

  Her stomach turned. Where was her father? Where were the guards? Someone had to come soon, didn't they? When would it end?

  "Where are your daughters?" the man asked. Ophelia felt queasy. She recognized the voice; it was one of the newly assigned east wing guards. He'd been unkind to her earlier that afternoon, leering at her as she had asked politely for pastels to color with.

  "You'll never touch her!"

  "Please, no." Her mother's soft cries erupted from above the squeak of the mattress.

  With Mara asleep at her side, Ophelia covered her own ears but opened her eyes to see her mother's dead body fall unceremoniously to the floor, staring blankly back at her. She opened her mouth, wanting to scream, but the words and sound did not come. It was probably for the best or the men would have murdered her next. There was a thirst for royal blood.

  Ophelia swallowed the memory and the feeling of anxiety rising in her chest. "Can we please talk about something else tonight?" She didn't want to fight with him.

  "Of course, Leila. Let me buy you a drink."

  "That would be great, thank you." She had only been given wine at home for meals where they were hosting company. Indulging in alcohol for any other reason had been forbidden by her father. Ophelia had not understood his reason, except perhaps he worried about his daughter's wellbeing.

  Larkin shuffled over toward the bar. She watched with fascination, smiling as she found herself unable to tear her gaze away, remembering the summer before when they'd met on the bridge.

  "Is this seat taken?" the young man asked her.

  Ophelia sat on the stone bridge, her feet dangling from the side. "It's all yours," she said. She wore a beige dress and dark blue cloak, letting it cover the top of her head. It wasn't a cold evening, but she was trying to be inconspicuous.

  "Do I know you?" he asked, trying to get a look at her face as he sat down beside her. He let his legs hang from the side of the bridge also.

  "I doubt it." Hesitantly, she turned slightly to face him and was surprised by his looks. As children, they were taught that beauty was only in royal blood, but Ophelia was questioning much of her upbringing. He was quite handsome. She felt lost in his eyes of liquid amber, unable to pull her gaze away. She couldn't let him know who she was. Her mother had told her they'd once considered naming her Leila, but Ophelia was a stronger name for a queen. "Leila." She held out her hand. The lie had easily spilled from her lips. She considered it more of a half-truth.

  "Larkin." He smiled, and his eyes twinkled. Perhaps it was the reflection of the sun setting and the water down below. "I swear you're familiar."

  "I doubt it." Ophelia couldn't let him know who she was. She'd sworn to herself that she wouldn't tell anyone, for fear that she'd be kidnapped. It wouldn't be the first time that greedy men kidnapped a princess for ransom. She'd heard the tales growing up, and they scared her. It had been why she was required to take a guard with her when she left the castle grounds.

  Larkin stared at her and then turned to face the last few rays of the sun as it dipped below the horizon. The pink and purple haze danced across his jaw and up his cheek line. Ophelia tried not to stare, but it was impossible. "I know where I've seen you before."

  "You do?" She swallowed, a knot forming in the back of her throat. He couldn't know who she was; she'd be in a whole lot of trouble if anyone found out.

  Larkin nodded, sure of his response. "Yes, the market. I'm positive I've seen you there. Buying produce or fish, something." He grinned. "Am I right?"

  A princess had no reason to procure food when the kitchen staff was responsible for tending to her meals. She had gone on occasion with her sister and the guards when they had desired time away from the palace. "Maybe." Ophelia smiled coyly, her fingers tangling in her red tresses as she played with the strands of her hair. Surely, he would have known she was the princess with her entourage following her around. He had a way of making her nervous, the anxious feeling gripping her stomach as her hands trembled slightly. Expelling a nervous breath, she tried to contain her worries. He seemed harmless enough and friendly. "Why didn't you speak to me sooner?"

  Larkin shrugged, frowning. "You were with someone, probably?"

  "My family." Ophelia nodded, building on the lies she'd already told. "I'm sure I was with my father." Anxiously, she swung her legs back and forth, the shoe on her right foot slipping off and splashing into the stream. "Shit!" Her words may have been far from ladylike, but if she lost the shoe there'd be hell to pay.

  "It's just a shoe."

  Ophelia was about to open her mouth to protest, when Larkin stood and walked toward the edge of the stone bridge. The shoe had sunk beneath the murky surface. He climbed down the side of the bank between stone and grass, jumping in as he reached the edge. "Be careful!"

  Larkin dove down, while Ophelia watched from above. She held her breath, waiting for him to reappear. Becoming lightheaded, she opened her lips, exhaling, and let the air fill her lungs again. "Larkin?" Her voice trembled. Had something dragged him under?

  He caused quite a splash, breaking up through the water. "Is this it?" he asked, soaking from head to toe. The river may not have been wide, but it was deep.

  "Yes! Thank you." It may have just been a shoe, but she'd borrowed it from Sophia, the girls' maid, without her knowledge. The princess might have had tons of nice clothes, but commoner clothes were harder to come by. She couldn't exactly ask her father for such a wardrobe; there would be questions.

  Larkin swam to the edge of the bank and climbed out. A few minutes later, he joined her back on the bridge. The star
s had come out and peppered the night sky. "For you." He handed her the wet shoe.

  "Thank you."

  "You can thank me with a drink at the tavern and a dance."

  Ophelia raised an eyebrow. Was he serious? She was to marry Prince Astin Stafford. Of course, Larkin had no idea, because he thought she was Leila. The buzzing in her stomach started up again. He made her anxious, but it did not dispel her desire to see him, either. What harm could one night out cause? "You expect me to buy?"

  "I did save your shoe." Larkin grinned. "I'm kidding. It's my treat." He offered his hand, helping Ophelia to her feet.

  Chapter 2

  On most days, Wynter didn't mind his job. Today wasn't one of those days. Without a doubt, he could sense trouble was brewing. The fact that his reap was a princess, no less, didn't make him feel the slightest bit better. He'd been watching her since she was a child, protecting her any way that he could. A part of him felt responsible for her mother's death, not that he could have done anything to prevent it. He was no dark angel.

  Stepping foot into the tavern, the warmth of the patrons and the hearth in the corner heated the room quite nicely. Even so, he didn't remove his scarf, knowing his time inside would not be long.

  He had yet to lay eyes on the princess, but he could feel her presence, knew she was close as he was drawn toward her. From the distance, he caught sight of her red, fiery hair. She was beautiful, her thick locks of red and her pale blue eyes. She looked like her mother, and as she grew into her splendor, the resemblance became uncanny. Years ago, he'd stepped foot in the palace and been forced to visit Queen Marie upon her death. Wynter had not known the task of being a grim reaper would extend so far as the royal family of Casmerelda. Perhaps he should have known, as no one was above death. That fateful night, he'd trotted into the palace, slipped as far as the girls' bedroom, and assured the queen her children would be safe. He'd kissed her and taken her soul, freeing her from the world she lived in.

  Not even now, could he change what was to become of Ophelia Dacre. The scroll sizzled at his side and he didn't have to unravel it to know that she would be no ordinary reap. Unlike the thick black legible cursive that etched to the parchment, her name had been a sparkling shade of purple, glimmering and shining under the sun. Wynter had not quite known what that meant, having never witnessed such an action on the scroll that signified who was destined for death. He himself had been human once, many years ago. With a sigh, he tried not to think of the life he'd lost, the people who were now gone and how the memory of him had faded like the wind.

  Wynter approached the table, taking the opportunity while the gentleman who was with her had disappeared to the bar to get them both drinks.

  "Handsome fellow you got there." Approaching a stranger was always the hardest part of the reap. He'd been doing it for decades, and it never felt any easier.

  She turned her head upward, smiling weakly at him. "Larkin?" she asked and glanced back at the bar. "Yeah, he's pretty amazing. He's also taken, if you're asking."

  Wynter studied her for a long moment and laughed. "Not my type. He looks remarkably like a friend of my brother." He had a knack for lying when he reaped. Telling stories made it easier to get acquainted with the soul he was to take. Besides, he had to kiss her in order to bring death, and most girls he would lean in and plant his lips on would pull away and pummel him first.

  Being a grim reaper was no easy task.

  He ran a hand through his thick black hair, his gaze unwavering as he watched the princess closely. She dressed as a commoner and quite clearly pretended to be one in her rags. Wynter thought it best not to press her on the obvious conversation, the one that would upset her, by asking what she was doing without any guards.

  "What's your brother's name? Perhaps Larkin and he are well acquainted," the princess said.

  "Jasper," Wynter said. The name spilled quite easily from his lips and perhaps because Jasper was like a brother to him, a fellow grim reaper, it made the lie that much easier.

  "We shall ask him when he returns," Ophelia said as she smiled warmly at the stranger sitting across from her. She showed no hint of fear, no frightened glances for the door.

  However she was going to die, it seemed she wouldn't see it coming. Wynter had learned that much as a grim reaper. His eyes landed on Larkin and he watched as her boyfriend began to approach the table.

  Without wanting to cause any further trouble, Wynter reached for her hand, half-expecting her to pull back. Perhaps she was used to such a gesture as a princess. He gently pressed his lips to the skin on the top of her hand, warming her digits.

  He held his breath momentarily, feeling the warmth and heat spread through his body, the tingling sensation of life and death merging to create a pounding in his chest and a tightening sensation in his crotch. It wasn't unusual for the passing sensation to be satisfying, but there was a longer, more pronounced arousal that coursed through his veins as he kissed her skin.

  "I shall be on my way," Wynter said, standing up. He nodded politely, as if preparing to bow before royalty but not quite leaning all the way forward.

  Ophelia's eyes widened, perhaps afraid that Wynter was going to reveal her secret.

  He had no such plans.

  "It was lovely meeting you," Wynter said.

  "Enjoy your night." Ophelia smiled politely, watching as he disappeared into the crowd.

  Chapter 3

  "Who was that?" Larkin asked.

  "I have no idea. He thought he recognized you, that perhaps his brother and you were friends, but he left before I could ask you."

  Larkin laughed. "Maybe next time, I shouldn't leave you alone to buy drinks."

  "Jealous?" she asked, smiling warmly up at him. Leila wanted to ignore the nagging feeling that something was amiss. What could she do about it, though? He hadn't called her by name. There was no way he knew she was Princess Ophelia. She would be fine. She reached across the table and grabbed her beer, taking a swig. The bubbles tingled her lips and warmed her cheeks. At the very least, it would take her mind off the concerns she felt. "We should do this more often."

  "You mean sneaking out twice a week isn't enough for you? I told you, I'm happy to meet your father. Clear the air and let him know we're courting."

  Leila sipped her beer and choked on his words, putting the glass down on the table. "I'm not ready for that yet." She would never be ready to tell her father that she loved Larkin. King Philip would have him beheaded. He wouldn't care that Larkin hadn't known she was the princess, not even his innocence could save him.

  "Well, please let me know when you are ready." Larkin sipped his beer, the froth leaving a slight mustache on his upper lip.

  Leila grinned and leaned forward, wiping it away with her thumb before leaning in. She brushed her lips over his, the heat intensifying between them as her fingers tangled in his thick dark hair. "I will." Panting hard, she pulled back, staring into his gaze. Her cheeks were red and her skin most certainly was flushed. He had a way with making her antsy for more than just a few intimate kisses. Doing something quite so intimate would be frowned upon in public. She contemplated going back to his place, but that hadn't yet happened. Even after a year of courting, she'd discovered her sister had done far more with Aurora than she had with Larkin.

  She looked away with a nervous laugh. "I need to, uh, use the latrine." She excused herself, scooting back from the table. Perhaps getting some fresh air and clearing her head would help. Her cunny throbbed to be touched. She could not risk getting pregnant, so sex was completely off the table. Her father would have him executed if she ended up with a child.

  "Do you want an escort?"

  "No sense in both of us freezing to death." She could find her way out back of the tavern. It hadn't been the first time she'd been forced to use the facilities after a few drinks.

  Leila waded through the crowd, bumping into a handful of patrons on her way out the door. She stepped outside into the cold night air, pulling her cloak ti
ghter around her chest. She was freezing. She shivered as she walked toward the outhouse. It was dark and difficult to see. Usually, a lantern hung from the back porch, giving off a fair amount of light, but it was extinguished tonight. "Hello?"

  Something felt strangely off, but Leila couldn't place it. She walked blindly toward the latrine, feeling around the trees for the wooden door to the outhouse. Locating it, her hand grasped the cold metal handle as a heavy hand covered her lips, preventing her from screaming.

  Leila opened her mouth and bit down hard on the man's hand. She gasped for breath and shrieked, hoping someone would hear her. With an elbow, she jabbed the perpetrator's stomach, attempting to loosen his grasp. Rushing forward, she slammed her hand into the wooden outhouse, feeling a splinter pierce her skin. It was nothing compared to the horror of being attacked. Her pulse raced, and sweat beaded her brow. She couldn't think, only react. Her feet slipped on the dried crinkled leaves as she punched the man in the throat; he grunted and kicked her feet out from under her. Leila fell face first in the dirt. She felt his dark presence above her.

  "Please, no! I'm the princess! I have money; I can give you whatever you need." Had the stranger known who she was, would he have attacked her? A jagged knife sliced across her throat. In an instant, Ophelia Dacre was dead.

  Ophelia took two steps back away from her corpse, her chest heaving. "What the hell just happened?" The darkened figure took off in the opposite direction. "Get back here!" she shouted and found herself unable to catch her breath. She hyperventilated. This could not be happening. It wasn't real. She pinched her arm but didn't wake up.

  "Hell of a way for a princess to die." The dark-haired, blue-eyed gentleman stepped out from the shadows, his feet crunching on leaves. He was the same man from inside the tavern, the one who had sat across from her while Larkin had been getting them drinks.