Page 81 of Reaper's Quest

The shadows within the room shifted, and an arm stretched from the darkness. A heavy hand fell upon my chest and pressed with the weight of millions of souls.

The hooded figure with darkness for a face stood over me, shoving me deeper and deeper into the mattress.

I’d been wrong. So very, very wrong.

The Killian was here.

And he was killing me.

21

Raven rested in a drug-induced slumber in the next room, too weak and too damaged to be moved from Camilla’s workbench to a proper bed upstairs. Winter held his distance despite the internal itch to perch at her side, hold her hand, and will healing upon her.

But his magic had never included healing. Even before the curse and the mana dimming.

Sitting at the kitchen table, he leaned back in his chair and, through the opening between the rooms, watched her from a distance.

Camilla’s twin girls, Myla and Kira, sat beside Raven, twisting and braiding her long, dark hair. A pile of blood-soaked sheets littered the floor, along with several pieces of Raven’s discarded clothing. He’d had to cut them free in order to treat her many wounds.

And there weremany.

A lot of nonthreatening abrasions, and two rather concerning lacerations.

Attending near-fatal injuries was not the way Winter envisioned maneuvering any female out of her clothing.

He couldn’t imagine what would have caused the palace guards to fire upon her the way they had. She’d never looked exceptionally threatening to him, especially not now, battered and broken as she was.

Had the years of isolation made the guards dangerously skittish in the face of a stranger?

And how had she, a newcomer to his city, found her way to the guarded gates in the first place?

The situation only fueled his desire to learn more about her. Clearly neither human nor fae descendant, she was… What was she? Who was she? Did the spelled ammunition used by the palace guards have a higher potent effect on her kind than on others?

What kind of magic sparked in her blood?

He had captured a gleam of something wholly unfamiliar the other day in the pub when he had dragged his finger along the puzzling line crossing her palm. When he’d carried her to Camilla’s in her wounded state, he’d sensed that same something tenfold. The unidentifiable hummed over her body and brushed against his skin. Caused his magic to tingle. And that unfamiliarsomethingdrew his interest all the more.

As if everything else about her wasn’t already a draw. Her soft curves, lush lips, less-than-shy attire, forthcoming take-no-prisoners attitude, and glorious laugh. Although, he hadn’t heard her laugh nearly enough.

Camilla strode into Winter’s view from the hallway,scooped the bloody sheets and clothing into her arms, and carried them away. A few minutes later, she returned as the kettle on the stove began to whistle.

“Change.” She tossed him a clean shirt.

He caught the tunic. “Are you looking for ways to get me shirtless?”

Her gaze slid over him, and for half a beat he thought maybe she wanted exactly that. He shook the thought away and promptly changed, discarding his soiled clothing item.

She sighed, her attention dropping to his left sleeve. Somehow, in the swap, he’d managed to dirty his new shirt with Raven’s blood. Likely happened when he’d caught the tossed item.

Fantastic.

Camilla frowned and turned to the stove, removing the kettle from the fire. His softening gaze followed her movements as she poured the boiling water into two mugs and dropped a tea bag in each.

In the battle to extract the bullets from Raven’s wounds and stitch her back together, many of Camilla’s hairs had freed themselves from her braid in an untidy manner. She shoved them away from her face.

She looked exhausted, annoyed, and as beautiful as ever.

“Your visits usually aren’t this grim.” Although her voice sounded heavy with fatigue, her words felt like a slap to the side of his head.