A Shadow in the Reaping by Brynne Weaver

Chapter 17

If I thought the walk to get to the library was tense, every step since our conversation on the second floor has been next-level awkward. Ashen says nothing. I write nothing. We shoot the occasional dark look at one another, but whenever our gazes collide, they repel.

We leave the library and walk along another road in the near dark. The fog still obscures most of our surroundings, but I get the vague sense we're walking back in the direction of House Urbigu, like we're on a giant circle that will eventually lead us there. The sounds in the mist are still unnerving, as is the quiet in between. There's no reassuring palm to guide me through the Realm this time. One of Ashen's hands stays in his pocket as we walk. The arm closest to me is wrapped around a stack of texts, lineages of werewolves and vampires and the crimes they say we have committed.

I can't say I blame Ashen for being extra frosty. But really, it's for the best this way. If he thinks he's going to be all flirty and I'm just going to tell him all my secrets and place my trust in him, he's got another thing coming. I haven't survived this long by letting my guard down to a hot guy with a sick body and some pretty words. Besides, he's a Reaper. A very successful Reaper. It's not like he has actual feelings for me, aside from the desire to kill.

Despite trying to focus on the darker side of Ashen and the instability he brings to my formerly quiet life, I still feel a little bad for pushing him away. I know it's just the residue of his lure in the dark. I have to remember, that's what he's meant to do. He gains access. He mines information. And then he kills. But part of me still can't help but believe he is different from the rest, that he feels something about his role in this Realm. That he feels something for me.

These thoughts roll like marbles hitting one another in the confines of my mind, bouncing with every step in the silence of the fog. Just as I'm starting to think we'll be walking for an eternity, we finally arrive at Halba, a squat, circular building of grey stone.

There's nothing detailed or artistic about it other than its unusual shape. Compared to everything else I've seen here so far, it's a bit drab. It seems utilitarian, like a storage building or a post office. Maybe this is where Reapers' Amazon packages are delivered. Yes, I've decided this is where they pick up their Roombas or vitamins or hemorrhoid cream. I think Ashen is becoming attuned to my thoughts because I barely crack a faint smile and I can already feel his glare scorching the side of my face.

Ashen pulls open the door for me and a rush of cold air spills across my skin. There are compartments along the walls, each one numbered, each one with a silver handle. In the center of the circular room is a stone pedestal and a large book that lies open, a quill and ink at its side. Ashen passes by me, heading toward it. I watch as his finger traces through the numbers on the ledger.

"Forty-seven," he says, more to himself than to me as he places his books on the floor.

Is this a morgue?I ask in a note that I pass to him.

"Yes."

I guess I never thought about the Reapers wanting or needing a morgue. The crimes for which they reap our souls always seem so arbitrary, to the point that they're sometimes outlandish. It’s not like there’s ever a trial, or an opportunity to provide a defense. They just decide, accuse, and mete out their ‘justice’. As such, I find it more than a little surprising that they would go to the trouble of bringing bodies back here. I have a fleeting image of Ashen dragging some poor immortal corpse into the cauldron but it catching fire so he winds up in the Shadow Realm with an armful of smoking bones. Again I start to smile, and again I feel him glare. This time I glare back until he huffs and folds his fingers around the handle of compartment forty-seven and pulls.

I've seen a lot of dead shit. I've seen a lot of fucked-up shit. But I've never seen anything like this.

The drawer slides open to reveal the hybrid, lying prone on the cold and clinical steel. A thin misting of silver fur flows across its body, and standing it must have been taller than Ashen. It's male, powerfully built, every muscle defined. Thick, elongated nails curve from the fingers and toes. It has a face that seems too human to be a wolf, and too doggish to be a person.

It's fuck-ugly.

So I write a note to Ashen that says:

It's fuck-ugly.

"Yeah, I know."

Was it in the middle of phasing between wolf and human?

A fleeting grimace passes across Ashen's face. "No."

Gross.

“It was once Arne Larsen, before this was done to him. That much we know.”

I lift up the thin white sheet that lays over the creature's reproductive organs. Ahh WAP, always coming through for the win. All praise to Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion.

Yikes. Not a garden snake, it's a king cobra.

The Reaper reads my note and sighs.

That's some next-level hentai shit right there.

The Reaper lifts his eyes from my message to my face with a slow, exhausted blink.

Do you think if he mated with a female hybrid they would get stuck together like wolves in the wild? What do they call that, a 'tie' I think?

"Your mind is a terrifying place."

Imagine how much money he could make on Onlyfans.

"Other than determining he has a disturbingly long dick, have you come up with any other stunning revelations about the hybrid?"

Not yet.

"Great."

I give Ashen a sweet smile and he gives me a weary glare in return. I look back at the hybrid, replacing the sheet. I try to find a wound on his body or head, but there's nothing obvious.

How did you kill it?I write.

"We didn't. It was already dead when Cole found it in one of Abdulov’s shipping facilities."

So then how did it die?

"We don't know. There were no external wounds, no evidence of trauma."

I run my fingers across the chest to ensure I'm not missing something. There's no hidden Y-incision stitched beneath the fur.

You haven't performed an autopsy, so you don't know if it died by virtue of the fact it's a fucking frankencreature that's not meant to survive in the first place.

"The only Reaper who can perform one is hunting a warlock for the Crime of Exposure."

What, the warlock was on Onlyfans too?

Ashen rolls his eyes, pressing his fingers to the space between his brows. "He informed a human about the existence of immortals."

So what?

"He then proceeded to kill two werewolves to demonstrate his point."

Meh, two werewolves. Not much of a loss.

"Then he equipped the human with silver armor and weaponry and together they killed the entire pack."

Maybe that's a little bad, but still. WEREWOLVES.

"And following that the human dubbed himself Ghostface Wolfkiller and created a YouTube channel dedicated to his findings on werewolves and vampires."

Okay yeah, that's super bad.

Ashen's lips twitch in a faint smirk that fades as quickly as it appears. He jerks a nod toward the body. "Is there anything that you can find? Anything you can see that I can't? Anything you can... smell?"

I give Ashen a dead-eye glare as I cast my pen across the paper. I'm not sniffing THAT, my note says, and I point to the white sheet as I turn the message toward him and shake my head.

A tiny glimmer of flame shines in Ashen's eyes. "I'll make you a pitcher of fangria tonight if you do."

Fangria?

Ashen shrugs and breaks my gaze as though he doesn't want me to see the gleam of mischief that brightens his eyes. "I thought of it earlier, based on your idea of blofee. Sangria with blood. I brought some with us."

Why have I never thought of this idea before? It's fucking genius. I whip my pen across a fresh page.

A pitcher you say?

"Yes. The whole thing."

Well hold onto your butts, Reaper, because I'm about to sniff a hybrid's dick for clues.

Ashen hides a laugh in a cough and raises the sheet for me with a sweep of his hand as an invitation. "Enjoy."

Let me work my way there at least, for Christsakes, I write, and toss him my journal before starting at the hybrid's face. From the first sniff, there’s an unexpected array of information in the smell, but I try to keep my expression stoic. I follow the scents across the hybrid’s body, taking my time until I make it down to his lower abdomen. I straighten for a moment to gather myself and swallow the bile that shocks my throat with its burn before giving the Reaper a smug smile. He bites the edge of his lip and tries his hardest to cultivate a serious expression. I keep my eyes on him for as long as I can as I lean down and sniff the hybrid beneath the sheet.

"Don't be afraid, vampire, that anaconda won't bite."

I snort a laugh and pull away to regroup myself. Even at a distance the smell down there is fucking rank, but I need to get closer to pick up any nuances within the scent. I press my eyes closed as tight as they'll go, take a deep breath of clean air, and then move closer until I'm only a few inches away. I swallow and inhale, taking in as little of the scent I can, testing it in my nostrils and the back of my throat.

As soon as I've got what I need I jerk away, pressing my hand to my nose and mouth as I try to clear the smell from my nostrils. Ashen lets out a roaring laugh. I can't help the smile I beam at him as the rich, warm sound enlivens the empty space around us. I would stand in this room forever just to hear his laugh echo from the walls.

"Of all the immortals I've ever met, you are by far the strangest," Ashen says, and his smile is vibrant with delight.

Watch out, Reaper, you almost sound like that's a good thing,I write, giving him a teasing smile as he looks up from my note. If you promise me an extra pitcher, I'll even tell you what I found.

Ashen laughs again. "Deal."

"I don't know what's rarer around here," a male voice interrupts. A shadow materializes from the door. "A bright soul in the Shadow Realm, or Ashen laughing."

Ashen steps around the edge of the steel tray and the body, putting himself between me and the man who saunters toward us. He's young, tall. There's a surfer vibe about him with his shaggy blond hair and bright blue eyes. He's handsome in a boyish way, like his face is just that bit too vibrant or squishy with youth. The hands of time haven't yet carved the planes of his face into sharper angles, and they never will.

"What are you doing here, Cole," Ashen demands.

"Looking for you," Cole says as he comes to a halt a few feet away. His hands are in the pockets of his black jeans, the edges of his dark grey t-shirt pushed up by his tattooed wrists.

"What do you want?"

Cole's eyes glimmer in the dim light. "Aren't you going to introduce me?" His gaze hooks onto me and I see curiosity and interest. If there's malice, it's too well-hidden to find, but his presence causes a swell of adrenaline in my veins. I keep my expression blank as we assess one another and he smiles.

"Cole, may I present Lu. She is helping me with the hybrid case. Lu, this is Cole."

Cole extends his hand and I take it, his skin hot against my cool palm. I feel the heat of Ashen's body close to my side. His wariness is like a wave that washes through me the longer Cole grasps my hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Lu. How are you finding our realm so far?" Cole asks, holding onto my palm a moment longer than he needs to.

I tilt my head and raise my other hand, giving him a so-so gesture. He smiles in reply and finally lets go.

"What do you want, Cole," Ashen says, his voice thick with feigned boredom and irritation. He flicks his gaze toward me and I see the fire in his pupils. I see his worry embedded like seams of gold in the rich brown hues of his eyes.

Cole walks to the tray of compartment forty-seven and looms over the body, staring down into the hideous face. "I've got some info I thought you might like." There's a long moment of silence as Cole's gaze follows the patterns of the silver fur, the curve of the snout, the bow of the lips. He leans closer and I start to smirk at the idea of him making out with the fuck-ugly corpse.

Ashen steps closer, edging his shoulder between me and the newcomer. When I glance up at him I see a fleeting gleam of predatory malice in his eyes, as though he’s ready to kill this unexpected visitor. But I see something that looks a lot like fear there too. I'm not sure whether it's fear for me, or fear of where he knows my mind has predictably wandered off to.

"Are you going to enlighten us, or is this a game of twenty questions?" Ashen asks, turning his attention back to Cole. The boredom soars to new heights in his voice. Cole turns his head and meets Ashen's gaze while still leaning weirdly close to the corpse.

"I do love a good game," he says, looking once more toward the hybrid before he straightens and turns to face us. "But no. I've come to tell you that your Alpha has found a new pack. He's killed the former leader and taken control. It was Rosaria Wyre."

I look up at Ashen and his jaw tightens. The flame brightens in his eyes. "Rosaria's dead?"

"Yes, both she and her brother were killed last night. It's Semyon's pack now. I don't know if they were aware of what he's been up to. If they didn't know before, they know now. They've dispersed and he's gone underground." Cole turns his gaze to me, a flicker igniting in his eyes. "For now."

Ashen looks down at me and the flame grows bright in his pupils. Black smoke curls from beneath us, creeping through the room. He looks back to Cole and tips his head in a single nod of thanks. The young Reaper gives an untroubled smile in response and heads toward the door.

"Watch yourself, Lu," Cole says as he catches my gaze over his shoulder. "Don't go convincing yourself that it's any safer here than it is in the Living Realm. It's not." His eyes dart to Ashen before he looks my way again and gives a little salute. He turns back to the door, disappearing into the twilight and fog.

"Insufferable," Ashen mutters.

I didn't think he was that bad, I write, showing him my note with a shrug.

"You haven't known him long enough." Ashen's gaze stays fixed on the closed door for a long moment, until he seems sure that Cole won't return. When he looks back at me, the flame and smoke have dispersed, but he still seems unsettled. "What did you find on the body?"

Two pitchers?

"Two pitchers."

First of all, he didn't breed, thank fuck. I don't think I could handle the smell of hybrid vagina on top of decomposing dog dick today.

"Fair enough."

What I DID smell is a medical facility. Bandage adhesive. Rubbing alcohol. But something else, very faint. Clay. Anthracite. Ash. An old brickworks. I think they kept him in a repurposed factory before they moved him to where Cole found him.

Ashen's eyes light with excitement and he beams a bright smile at me. My heart turns over a heavy thud in my chest. "That is a solid lead, Lu," he says as he turns away to push the table back into compartment forty-seven.

If you promise to make me two more pitchers of fangria, I'll tell you the most interesting thing that I found, I write, grasping his arm to show him my note.

Ashen's eyes narrow, a conspiratorial smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "And what's that?"

You promise? Four pitchers? I fan my note in front of him with a coy smile.

"Deal, even though I might regret it when I have to carry you home."

I give Ashen a wicked smile at that intriguing possibility. I cast my pen across the paper. I turn my revelation toward him and I watch as he reads it, surprise igniting in his eyes when they meet mine.

The hybrid was poisoned, my note says. With Angelwing.