Page 91 of Reaper's Quest

As I turned toward the movement, a burlap sack dropped over my head.

Too quickly, a needle pricked the side of my neck, and my skin, my blood, warmed.

The assailant grabbed my wrists. My fight abnormally weak, they too-easily bound my hands, blocking the usage of my reaper’s touch.

A punch to the gut?oomph?knocked the wind from my lungs.

A slam to the head and the world tilted—became untethered.

What…what did they shoot into me?

My limbs refused to answer my call to action.

I dropped into the care of my attackers.

My body nothing more than dead weight, they dragged me from the street, the cobblestones thumping and scraping beneath my boots.

23

The Killian lingered in the corner of the room, watching me.

Waiting, I presumed, for my eventual death that would likely come sooner rather than later, as evidenced by his presence…and the pain coursing through my body.

Despite my efforts to clear my vision, the fuzzy edges and blotches of my sight refused to sharpen. Fire and ice cut through my system, compromising my senses, splintering my bones, and melting my skin.

The possibility that the Killian wasn’t actually present and everything I saw was the result of a fever-induced vision was very real. Yet?equally?the chance that he physically stood before me could not be ignored.

His gaze swept over me, not in the greedy,anxious-to-devour sort of way that I expected, but in thoughtful evaluation. Sizing me up.

Was he assessing how much longer I would cling to life?

He took a step closer, and if every part of me hadn’t hurt, I would have squirmed and inched away. Only the ache of my body outweighed the dread of any impending demise. If he could stop the hurting, I’d thankfully follow him without complaint.

My vision blurred before returning in a semi-tunnel fashion.

He dragged a long, slim finger down the front of his cloak. “There is something within you, Raven Gunn of Helvíti. Something I can use.” He swung his arm wide. “We can all use.”

He knew my name. Not surprising for a reaper, much less the Killian. But I knew of no family connection to Helvíti—the Hellfire desert, and a place I had never been.

“I shall let you live…for now.” His voice whispered over me, low and smooth. “But when I summon you, you shall come straight to me without delay.”

“What?” My voice gravelly and harsh with disuse, I spoke between clenched teeth to hold back the scream rising in my throat. Every spoken word became a struggle, gathering and intensifying the excruciation, and I would savor a release from such torment. “You’re not going to end my suffering?”

My attempt to hold my vocals steady failed; I hated the hint of panic my tone betrayed. Far more intense pain radiated throughout my body than I would have expected my wounds to inflict, and I couldn’t help but fear I might succumb to something greater. The curse, perhaps.

Was I changing into something like Earl? Dead but not dead?

The Killian straightened, standing almost too tall for the tiny room with its low roof. “As an act of good faith between us, I have granted your associate clemency. I can easily reverse that decision, snap him away with a simple breath, should you fail to uphold your end of our arrangement.”

“Aldine?” I coughed, and a splattering of blood wet my lips. “He was meant to die today?”

“He was.”

“And you didn’t reap him?” I shifted ever so slightly in the bed to better see him. The movement, small as it was, sent a crackling network of complaints through my body. “How can you not when the name has been assigned?”

I had never heard of a reaper having an option. A name assigned meant the soul required reaping, sooner rather than later. If I succumbed to my wounds, unable to complete my given task, the name etched on my arm would eventually transfer to another able and willing reaper.

While trapped in the citadel, that would be Chace, since he was the only other reaper in the vicinity. Except, maybe, the one my father named, Valen… if he was still alive and existed inside the city walls.