Crowed (Team Zero #2) by Rina Kent

His heat leaves mine as he sits beside me, the bed shifting and creaking under his massive weight.

What?

Is this some sort of a trick?

“Why...” I swallow, sitting up to face him. The rush of whatever acceptance I had earlier withers away. “Why aren’t you killing me?”

“Because it isn’t fun.” His bored expression falls on me like he blames me for his misfortune and everything wrong with the planet.

“What?”

“If you welcome death with open arms, where’s the fun for me?”

Mon Dieu.

Is he damn serious? I’m not allowed to accept my own death?

Screw this man. Just because I allowed him to kill me, he dares to judge how I let it happen?

Okay, that sounded so wrong. I’m not supposed to allow anyone to kill me. But either way, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

“Connard.” Bastard.

“Hey, no French swear words, they sound weak.” His perfect British accent drifts so coolly, I would’ve been mesmerised if I wasn’t on the brink of anger. “Come on, Nurse Betty, you can do better.”

That nickname again.

A rush of hot fire burns through me, and I have no one to release it on except the man in front of me.

I jump up from the bed and point a tense finger at him. “If you’re not going to kill me, then get the fuck out of here. How about that much English for you, bastard?”

He grins so wide, I’m momentarily paralysed by how handsome he looks with that crookedness and seemingly natural charm. Tattoos peek from the sleeve of his leather jacket and the collar of his shirt, swirling along his skin in an intimate embrace. What do those little birds mean?

Oh la la.

I can’t believe I’m ogling him.

“Much better.” He’s still grinning, no malice whatsoever resides in his previously-closed features. “But I’m not leaving.” He retrieves his phone and shows me a conversation I had with the person who expressed interest in renting the second storey of the house. “I’m your new tenant.”





Crow


I know a few things about death. It’s a given when growing up as a spawn of it. When blood is all I’ve breathed since I’ve been taken into The Pit.

It goes without saying that death’s subjects aren’t afraid of it. Not even when I realised that Omega is destroying my cells with every breath.

When it’s time to die, I will.

It’s a given in our line of work. Only a handful live to witness their hair turn grey.

But this woman?

This tiny, mighty Nurse Betty?

What the fuck does she know about death to welcome it so easily, so obediently, without any damn fight?

Not once, but bloody twice.

She’s playing on the strings of death as if he’s an old friend. And fuck if that isn’t driving me bonkers.

Why?

I just couldn’t pull the trigger without knowing why the hell a French doll is toying with the spawn of death.

Nurse Betty stares at me from her standing position by the side of the bed. Or more like, she glares. Full fucking on. Her fists clench by her side and a tint of red flushes her cheeks after her outburst of profanity.

She looks fucking adorable.

I never thought I would say that about a living being – aside from cats.

Only there’s nothing adorable about the nightgown she’s wearing. Its thin fabric outlines her modest curves and full pale breasts. And now I’m starting to get hard.

Fuck.

“You’re delusional if you think I’ll rent you my place!” Her voice strains by how much she tries to shout, which means she’s not used to yelling. Not with that soft range.

I jump off of the bed, and it creaks in protest. My wound burns, but I bite down the pain. As I stalk towards her, Nurse Betty’s gaze follows my every move, but she neither flinches nor does she show any sign of fear.

Fuck me.

She really isn’t afraid of me.

That’s... strange. Except for Team Zero’s members and Hades, everyone is scared of me. One way or another.

I tower over her tiny frame. That sorry excuse of a nightgown is teasing me with the V between her creamy breasts. It takes an effort to focus on her face. “What makes you think you have a choice, Nurse Betty?”

Although I didn’t think it was possible, her cheeks redden further. She reaches to the phone on the nightstand and holds it close to her chest. “I’ll call the police!”

She really is adorable — and hot. Which shouldn’t be the right combination. But as I said, I live for weird.

I smile despite myself, my voice coming out in a rumble. “Of course you won’t.”

“Of course, I will. What will you do about it?” Her lips lift in a conniving smirk. “Kill me?”

The little fucking witch.

I lean closer until I breathe a tame flowery scent. Lilac or some apple shit that shouldn’t mean anything, but there’s something unique in it. Something that smells like her, and that’s worsening the state of my trousers. “You’d want that, wouldn’t you?”

Only I don’t think she actually wants to die. It’s probably due to the apathy that resides in her eyes. An apathy that completely disappeared when I refused to kill her.

Twice.

She can do anger and she can do it well. It’s only suffocated under the surface. I wonder what made her trap everything inside. Not that I care.