Page 17 of Riding the Reaper

“Morrigan.” I step in front of him. Tie my robe shut. I will not show weakness.

“You’ve been flagged. A collection was missed.” She looks me up and down. “And here you are. In a hay barn.” Her nose wrinkles. “With a mortal. And you’re…” She steps closer, tilts her head. “Flushed. You look different, Graventhor.” Her eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it.”

Morrigan and I go way back. We trained together. She was always the better student. More disciplined. More detached. To her, mortals are data points, souls are entries in a ledger. That’s why she’s three ranks above me in the hierarchy. She’d never be distracted by a bright soul or a tight ass.

“Sam Calloway’s scheduled departure was forestalled,” I say, keeping my tone clinical. “I intervened.”

“You what?”

“I intervened.”

A flicker in those sea-glass eyes. “You broke Protocol.”

“Yes.”

“By choice.”

“Yes.”

She looks from me to the guy behind me. “For him? I read his file. Boringly average. Small-town male with suppressed sexual identity and no notable achievements. Slightly elevated emotional output, but well within expected parameters. Nothing that warrants this level of insubordination.”

“He’s not average,” I hear myself say. The wrong thing, obviously. “Not to me.”

Morrigan lets out a short, mirthless laugh. “Oh, Graventhor. What have you gotten into? Or should I say, who?” Her gaze sharpens. “Did you fornicate with the subject?”

Sam snorts behind me. “Fornicate? Jesus. Yeah, lady. He fornicated me real good.”

Morrigan looks like she’s swallowed a bug. A mortal, speaking to her like that. I feel a surge of pride for him, even as I wish he’d keep his mouth shut.

“You will be silent,” she says to Sam, her voice dropping an octave. The temperature in the barn drops with it. “Your presence here is an anomaly. A glitch.” Her focus returns to me. “And you, Graventhor. You are a disappointment. You’ve compromised the integrity of the entire⁠—”

“Did you know?” I ask, my frustration rising.

“Excuse me?”

“Did you know these bodies could feel like this? That they weren’t just hollow shells we pilot? That we could actually feel want and desire? That it was all still in here?” I tap my chest. “Or did the Council bury that on purpose to keep us compliant?”

“Don’t be absurd. The human form exists to facilitate interaction, nothing more. You are simply undisciplined.”

“Undisciplined,” I repeat. “Then explain this.” I hold out my hand. Even in the cold she’s brought with her, my skin holds its color. “My body temperature changed, Morrigan. Because of him. He made me blush. He made me sweat. He made me come.”

Morrigan’s left eye twitches. “You climaxed?”

“Spectacularly.”

She looks like she wants to disinfect me. But curiosity wins. She reaches out. Her long fingers close around my wrist. The shock on her face is instant, the most human expression I’ve ever seen from her. She holds on for a beat too long, her thumb pressed against my pulse point, feeling the warmth that has no business being there.

I see it then. A crack in those winter-sea eyes. The faintest trace of envy. Or longing.

She drops my hand. “That’s not possible.”

“And yet,” I say. “Here we are. And I think you know more than you’re letting on.”

She’s quiet for a long time. When she speaks again, the words come slowly, like she’s deciding how much to give me. “There are reports. Classified above your clearance level, and there’s a reason for that.” A pause. “Accounts of reapers who formed attachments to mortals. They experienced what you’re describing. Biological arousal. Emotional bonding.”