by Ryvr Jones
He got up, not offering any help to her. She didn’t need it, but she gritted her teeth at his lack of courtesy. She stood, trying to convey her displeasure with an icy gaze. “What’s happening is not my fault. At least, I don’t think it is.”
“I don’t care about what you think,” he barked. “Let’s go. And for fuck’s sake, close that damn coat!”
She planted her palms on his chest, got on her toes and showed him she also knew how to bark. “I understand you’re not happy. But you don’t know anything more than I do. Until we figure out who I am and why I’m here, you’ll have to work on your manners, Rejan-Ashen.”
“Don’t.” He stepped back and she lost her balance, almost falling head first to the ground. He turned away from her. “Don’t you ever call me that again. If you do, I will end you, and I won’t care what happens afterwards. I suggest you don’t test me on this.” He started to walk between the graves, evidently expecting her to go along.
Fine. Stubborn man. She closed the coat and followed him closely behind, keeping her gaze on her toes. The path was full of loose stones that could hurt her bare feet.
Her brows slammed together. Why wasn’t she wearing shoes—or clothes, for that matter? Why couldn’t she remember anything? Her only memory from before waking up in the cemetery was the face of the woman who sent her to…He doesn’t want me to call him that. “What should I call you, then?”
“What?” He kept walking.
“If I can’t use your name, what shall I call you?”
He stopped abruptly and she slammed into his back. She clung to his shirt to avoid falling. He stood still as a stone while she righted herself, cursing all the stars and the moon for being the one…The one what? The answer hovered at the edge of her consciousness, just beyond her grasp.
Frustration washed over her. She knew she’d been sent to find him. But why? And how? She didn’t know anything about herself, not even her name. What happened to me?
“People call me Rhys.” His voice was full of rust and gravel, and she shuddered. “You can call me ‘Thank you for not killing me on sight’. I don’t care. Keep your mouth shut for five minutes, please.”
Please. That’s progress.
He cleared his throat. “Are you going to let go of me any time soon?”
Crap. She was still gripping his shirt. She let go and he resumed walking. Letting out a sigh, she trailed behind. Mouth shut as requested, Rhys.
Rhys. She liked it. She also liked the way his wet shirt clung to him, revealing a nicely muscled back. His body exuded strength and determination, his steps quiet and measured. No doubt he could kill if he wanted, and she was glad there was no reason for him to kill her. At least, she didn’t think there was.
Way to reassure yourself, Tamerah.
She stopped short. “Tamerah!” A thunder covered her shout, and the rain intensified. “I remember my name!”
Rhys didn’t acknowledge her revelation, but she was so overjoyed to recover even a small part of herself, she ran and leapt at his back, entwining her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He caught her knees with his forearms as he stumbled forward a step, but quickly recovered his balance, standing still as she clung to him.
“I remember my name,” she said on his ear. “I’m Tamerah. It hasn’t been very nice meeting you, but at least now we both have names.” And it seems I also have a sense of humor. She turned her face to the sky and laughed, enjoying the raindrops pelting her face. “I’m Tamerah.”
He started walking again. “We’re almost there.”
Tamerah didn’t know why he was carrying her instead of dropping her off to the ground, but she wasn’t about to ask. It was nice to be wrapped around him. “Where?”
“I’m the gravedigger.” He nodded towards a small stone building in the farthest corner of the garden. “I live there.”
“It looks like a mausoleum.” What kind of person would choose to live in such a place? A very stubborn, lonely person, I guess.
“That sounds about right,” was his only response.
When they arrived at his place, Rhys opened the wooden door and let the woman go in first. She took two steps inside and stopped. “Do you have some kind of light in your mausoleum?”
Cursing his stupidity, Rhys turned the lights on. He didn’t need it, and nobody ever came to visit him. He didn’t have friends or family, and those who needed him for gravedigger matters used the bell on the cemetery’s entrance to call him.
The woman looked around, the coat dripping water down her legs. He tried to see the cabin from her point of view, and immediately regretted it. The wooden floors were nice, and he had a fireplace, a bathroom and a tiny kitchen separated from the main area by a table and a solitary chair. A bed and a wardrobe sat on the other side of the room. And that was all.
His “mausoleum” was more comfortable than most, but it was a lonely, barren place. A place nobody took care of or cared about.
Exactly like its owner.
“This is nice. Well illuminated and cozy.” She turned to him. “I like it.”
He arched a brow. “You are crazy, woman.”
“Tamerah. My name is Tamerah. Come on, you can do it. Tah-meh-rah.” She pronounced the syllables slowly, as if he was a recalcitrant child.
The soft lilt of the Sacred Language stabbed him in the gut. He’d lost the right to use it when he’d forsaken his duty as commander of the warriors born to protect the Sacred Lineages. Her name was a word from the Language, and he found himself unable to say it out loud. “You need to get off that coat, it’s soaking wet. Let me build a fire—”
Without a word, she dropped the coat to the floor, revealing once more all her damp, pale skin. Curves. Lovely breasts. Rhys lost the ability for speech.
The woman wasn’t fazed. “Do you have something dry I can borrow?”
Jesus Christ. He turned away. Get your shit together. Give her something to cover herself.
“There are clothes in the wardrobe,” he ground out. “Grab anything you want.”
The wardrobe’s heavy oak door creaked, followed by the rustling of fabric, and he shuddered. He hadn’t felt any kind of interest for a woman since…Don’t go there. With his eyes glued to the floor, he wondered why, for fuck’s sake, why had his body chosen this night, this woman, to remind him it wasn’t really dead.
Her limbs wrapped around him had been the closest physical contact he had received—allowed—in centuries. Until that moment, he hadn’t even known how much he’d missed the touch of another human being.
Except you’re not human, are you? Oh, yes, there was that pesky little detail. He didn’t deserve any kindness, physical or otherwise. He knew it, and he was okay with it. He was. He didn’t need anything or anybody.
Yeah. Maybe in another century or two you’ll actually believe it.
Dressed in one of his shirts, which covered her from the neck to mid-thigh, the damn woman padded to him. She had even buttoned the thing, thank the Gods. She stood by his side and gazed at the floor with what seemed great interest.
Trying to be imposing, he crossed his arms. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to discover what’s so interesting about your floor. The wood is beautiful, I’ll give you that, but I’m having a hard time figuring out what has your attention captured.”
Rhys opened his mouth, closed it. He stared at her, stunned. “You’re joking, right?” Please, tell me you’re joking.
Seeming to think about his question, she tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. “No, I don’t think I am. Although I do have a sense of humor.” No teasing in her tone or expression. She stated it like a fact, like she’d say “It’s raining”.
Again, he didn’t know what the fuck to say or do. Maybe I’m the one who has finally gone crazy, and she’s a figment of my imagination.
She touched his arm, concern in her gray eyes. “Are you all right?”
He jerked away and walked to the fireplace, trying t
o hide how much her simple touch scraped his soul, calling to his loneliness. “After I start the fire, you’re going to tell me everything you know. It doesn’t matter how little or unimportant the details may seem.” He crouched and threw a glare over his shoulder. “Then I’ll decide what I’m going to do with you.”
“Okay.” She sat in his chair, beside the rustic table, and hugged her knees to her chest.
Okay? People crossed the street to avoid him, even in broad daylight. She was alone with him in the freaking cemetery, on a stormy night, he was glaring—glaring—at her, and all she had to say was “Okay”, while getting comfortable on his chair? He was definitely going to lose his mind. Any minute now.
Rhys tried to focus on starting the fire. He didn’t need the fireplace for warmth, but the fire kept him company. He liked to stare at the flames and forget about his life for a while.
Once the flames crackled high enough, he stood and found her gaze on him. His skin crawled with the sensation of being exposed, vulnerable. He grumbled. “Well?”
“I don’t know much.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping a little. “I mean, I don’t remember much. I don’t know how much I actually know.”
“Cut the crap,” he snarled. “I’m tired of your nonsense. Give me some damn answers, or I swear to the Gods you’ll regret it.” He crowded her, his body shaking with fury.
“And I’m tired of your threats!” She stood and pushed him. “I want to give you answers, but I don’t have them. Have you thought for a moment about how it feels not knowing anything about yourself?” Her hands fisted at her sides. “I’m scared of never remembering. Of having lost myself forever.” She bowed her head. “You don’t have any reason to trust me, and I’m not asking you to. But you could give me a chance, a little time to remember.”
Rhys felt weird. He…he wanted to give her a hug. He remembered what being human was like, and he hadn’t been halfway bad at that. But he didn’t know how to do it anymore, how to offer comfort or be gentle. He couldn’t even make his arms move and reach out for her. So he stood there like a dolt, waiting for her to go on.
“I know I was sent for—” She captured his gaze with hers. “For you. A woman gave me the ring. I remember her sadness.” Her voice caught. “I’m your last hope, Rhys.”
Something unfamiliar snaked up his spine, something a lot like fear. “I don’t need hope.”
The woman touched his face, softly, as if he meant something to her. Her gentleness warmed the lonely places that lived inside his bones, even as he told himself it was fake. Because it didn’t feel fake.
She let her arm fall back to her side, and he gritted his teeth before he asked her to touch him again.
“I know you carry the darkness.”
His chest hollowed at the mention of his most horrifying secret. “There’s nothing that can be done about it.”
Rhys had searched for centuries for an answer. He’d been willing even to forfeit his own life—and that had got him in a whole new mess, by the way. There would be no redemption for him, no way out. He didn’t deserve one anyway, and as long as he kept the darkness leashed inside, there was no danger to anyone but himself.
“I think that’s why she sent me.” Her voice was full of certainty, and he stepped away from her, startled. Brianna had died centuries ago. Was it possible she’d sent this woman to help him, now, when his control over the darkness was slipping? “She sent me to—Gods, it hurts.” The woman clutched her head, whimpering, and fell to the floor.
He ran to her and knelt at her side. She was unconscious, but at least she was breathing. He shook her carefully. “Come on, lady. Let me see those defiant eyes. I haven’t decided to kill you yet, let’s fight a little more.”
Nothing.
Fuck. He took her in his arms, disliking with all his being how much he liked having her against his body.
As he stood, Rhys sensed a presence. Somebody else was in the grounds, and he knew exactly who. This night keeps getting better and better.
Cursing under his breath, he laid the woman on his bed and stepped out of his house.
The rain had stopped, leaving a thick fog in its wake. The cemetery’s sparse lamp posts glowed weakly, their faint light drowning in the surrounding darkness.
The visitor was waiting for Rhys near the cabin’s entrance. He closed the door behind him and didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “What do you want, Seersha?”
“That’s no way of talking to your boss, Rhys.” She tsked. “Specially if said boss can make your life a living hell.”
Rhys snorted. “And here I was, thinking it already was. How foolish of me.” He crossed his arms. “Cut the crap and tell me what you want, or get the fuck out of my grounds.”
“Somebody’s in a mood.” She chuckled. “I wonder what happened to make you extra cranky tonight.”
He gritted his teeth. “What. Do. You. Want.”
Seersha gazed over his shoulder at his door and smiled. Rhys almost prayed. He didn’t want her anywhere near the unconscious woman. Please, lady, stay quiet. Even if you regain conscience, stay quiet.
“What have you been doing, naughty boy?” His boss stepped closer to him, and her breath slid on his skin as she inhaled, a devilish smile dancing on her lips. “Do I need to spank you?”
Fuck. If he engaged her, he’d end up even more screwed, and not in the nice way. Rhys managed to suppress a shudder and say nothing.
“Oh, the silent treatment,” she mocked. “How will I go on without your smart-ass retorts and angry jabs?” She glided a finger over his cheek, and he fought the urge to step back. The contact repulsed him, but he wouldn’t show any weakness.
From her midnight hair, black eyes and painted nails to her clothes and boots, she was all darkness, body and soul. Some people found her attractive, but after getting to know her, he only wanted distance from Seersha. That, of course, meant she never left him alone with his misery. No. Her biggest joy was adding to said misery.
Finally, she retreated a step. “All right, since you’ve apparently lost your tongue, I’ll do the talking. I have a job for you.”
“I’m not your errand boy, boss,” Rhys growled. He had enough trouble on his hands, and he wouldn’t go anywhere before he discovered more about the unconscious woman. “I already have a gig, and I’m not looking for more work. In fact, you can go ahead and fire me. There’ll be no hard feelings on my part, I promise.”
Seersha laughed. “You know I can’t fire you, Rhys. You’re too good at the job.” She tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “Besides, I don’t want the hassle of finding a replacement. Having to appoint a new gravedigger every year is no way to live, if you allow me the poetic license.” She smiled, nodding. “No, I think I’ll keep you around.”
He swallowed a string of curses. He should never had agreed to become a dullahan, not without being sure she’d release him after a year, as she’d done with his predecessors. Collecting souls was a hard job, a heavy burden, so soul collectors had always been allowed to go to the Otherside, once their year of service ended. Until him.
“Nevertheless, I’m not taking any other jobs. It’s not in our agreement, and you can’t force me.”
“No, it’s not in the agreement.” Her smile turned cold. “But let me tell you, I can and I will. However, I’d rather you do it of your own accord.”
“I can’t do something willingly if you’re forcing me.” Rhys rolled his eyes. “And let’s not pretend I’m willing, since you’re threatening me in order to get what you want. Which is not working, by the way.”
“But it will, I assure you.” Seersha rested a palm on his chest, and caressed his chest downward. Her voice turned low, almost a purr. “You like to think you don’t care about anything. But there are some things you still care about a great deal.” Her hand reached his waist and kept going.
Suppressing a gag, Rhys steeled himself against the revulsion burning on his stomach. He was going to vomit if she tried to touch his dick
. Then he remembered the ring, the fucking ring still in his pocket, and recoiled. “Get. Your hands. Off me. You disgust me. Don’t you ever put your hands on me again.”
Her irises grew, swallowing the white and turning her eyes completely black. Rhys would’ve been terrified, had he been a lesser man. But he wasn’t a man, and he knew all her tricks. “You don’t scare me, Seersha. If I could, I’d kill you without a second thought, and I’d drink afterwards to celebrate. If you ever decide to kill me, I’ll only ask to have a beer before, to celebrate. Don’t waste your time.”
Seersha tipped her head sideways, slowly. “Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought.” Her voice was eerie. “Let’s pray I wasn’t mistaken.”
An angry laugh tore up from his gut. “I don’t pray. I dislike wasting my time on useless things.”
“Maybe you should.” She lifted a hand to silence his retort, and pinned him with her dark gaze. “I can take control of your body, remember?”
Rhys froze. Seersha was one of Death’s Bridges, beings created by Death itself to manage the collection and delivery of souls. She had a bond with all her dullahans, which allowed her to know where they were and what they were doing, as well as to physically control their actions. “When I agreed to become a dullahan, you swore you’d never use the bond to control me.”
And she’d never done it, which was the only reason he hoped she didn’t know about Brianna’s ring and the strange woman. He didn’t want Seersha interfering. At least, not before he discovered who the fuck the woman was, and why she remembered Brianna’s face.
“And I’d rather keep my promise.” Seersha shrugged. “But it’s not part of the agreement, and I’ll do whatever it takes to assure you’ll do what I need. You have until tomorrow night to think about it. Then, you’ll either take the job, or face the consequences...and do the job anyway.” She turned and walked away, her black figure dissolving into the night’s darkness.
Rhys cursed a blue streak. He knew this day would come. He was a cornered animal, no options, no escape possible.