A Shadow in the Reaping by Brynne Weaver

Chapter 3

It starts with a silver mist. It creeps toward us until it envelops our legs. Ashen gives me a last sweeping look, his gaze lingering a fraction longer on my lips as his eyes burn through me. He still expects an answer to his question about my name, I guess, but he's not getting one. I glance at Jessie, who smiles wistfully into the distance, then back at the Reaper standing before me.

"You can still have him afterward, if you wish. If you survive. I am not here to come between you and your meal," Ashen says, his eyes carving a disinterested, repulsed path across the human. In a swift motion, he clips Jessie's temple with the handle of his sword, rendering him unconscious. He then turns his gaze to me with the same disinterested expression. For an instant, the flame brightens within his pupils. "Make no mistake, vampire. I am not here to protect you. I am here to reap the Alpha. If you manage to kill a werewolf or two whilst defending yourself it will make my job easier."

A werewolf or two... this Reaper motherfucker. Just because I haven't said a word doesn't mean I can't look after myself. I crinkle my brow and look as fiercely vampiric as I can against a Reaper, leaning just a little toward him in a challenge as I swing my borrowed sword in an arc. The Reaper tilts his head, his eyes narrowing even further.

"I'm sorry to interrupt what is clearly a heartfelt moment, but I must insist we take the vampire," a man says from the shadow and mist of the alley. Ashen lets his gaze linger on me a moment longer before turning to face the pairs of eyes lurking in the distance. They shine in the dim light like those of a cat. The man who spoke steps into a thin shaft of moonlight filtering into the gloom. A young face but silver hair, a sharp suit, a new Omega watch that glints in the light as he adjusts his cufflinks. He smiles. "Ah, a Reaper. Whatever her crime, our pack is happy to carry out your sentence. No need to trouble yourself with a solitary vampire."

"I'm not here for her," Ashen says. "Bring me your Alpha." He takes a step forward into the mist. His broad back obstructs some of the shadowy figures of the pack from my view. There must be at least thirty werewolves here, more than enough to subdue your average vampire.

The man laughs, running his fingers down the front of his blazer. I can see the impeccable tailoring, even with the distance and dim light. It's another thing I guess you humans got right. My eyesight is kickass, and I like the symmetry of good stitching. Shame he's about to ruin such a nice jacket.

"Tisk-tisk, Reaper," the man says. "You didn't say please."

"I need no permission from your clan. Your Alpha has committed the Crime of Abomination. He has made a hybrid with the blood of both vampire and werewolf."

"Says who? Everyone knows that can't be done."

"Says House Urbigu," Ashen says, the flame on his silver sword rippling as he brings it forward to curl his other palm around the handle. "Bring him to me."

The man in the distance bends his head, shaking it in feigned resignation. He looks up at us again. He looks at me. "Apologies, Reaper. But no-can-do."

"Then I will reap you all," Ashen says, with no anger or emotion evident in his voice.

Fucking hell. Balls of steel. He doesn't seem very troubled that we're about to face an entire pack of werewolves. It's as though he was picking up his laundry or ordering a latte. It's like he went into a bakery to buy one donut and thought, you know what, fuck it. I burn a shitload of calories killing other immortal creatures, I can eat whatever the hell I want. I'll just have them all. I imagine him at the donut counter, staring down at a case of pastries, and saying to some zitty teenager I will reap them all.

I burst out laughing.

Like, properly laughing.

Fuck.

At least I didn't talk.

The Reaper looks back at me with an assessing gaze as my laughter dies in my throat. I feel like he's close to working something out, and I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. I put up my hands in apology and then sweep them toward the pack ahead in an invitation to continue. The Reaper’s brow furrows. He finally turns back to the spokesman of the pack and I let go of the breath I've been holding.

"This is your last chance, wolf. Bring your Alpha to me."

There is a moment of quiet before the sound of ripping fabric fills the air between us. The suit tears across the transforming body of the werewolf as he drops into the fog. There are sounds of pain, bones breaking and remaking. I can hear the fur sprouting through their skin. I can hear their teeth sliding through their gums. There's the nasal sound of snarling and the throaty sound of growling. When they rise as wolves in the mist, they are all focused on me, as though the Reaper between us didn't even exist.

Ashen looks over his shoulder and pins me with his eyes of flame. My heart kicks to a halt. One sweep of his sword and he could kill me. One sweep of mine, and I could fell another Reaper. Another demon dying on my sword for the sister they took from me. But I don't raise my sword to him, and I don't know why. I hold his gaze.

"Are you ready, vampire?" the Reaper asks.

I turn my glowing red eyes to the line of wolves in the mist.

I nod.

I'm ready.

The lesser ranking pack members are the first to advance. They stalk forward, snarling their fury, their heads below the line of fog but their eyes glowing within it. As the first bursts out of the mist, the Reaper is already swinging.

The blade tears through muscle and slides against bone. I smell the wolfblood. The beast yowls in pain and drops from the Reaper's blade, falling to the slick asphalt of the alley. Embers and ash lift starward as the body falls apart.

The Reaper kills the next two before I finally get a shot.

A wolf with black fur and shining orange eyes explodes from the fog. He leaps past the Reaper, whose sword is pressed to the hilt within the body of another. The black wolf snarls at me and I hiss in his face as I bury my sword in his neck.

I love hissing. It sounds vicious and I don't get to do it enough.

Same with killing werewolves.

As I turn my sword away and kick the werewolf free of my blade, I realize I've been missing this mayhem in my quiet, under-cover life. Lately, I only hunt for food, not for fun anymore. It feels good to use my strength again.

I pass the Reaper and meet the next wolf before he has the chance to jump. My shoulders roll as I sweep the sword in a seamless arc. The edge of the blade splits the vertebrae apart, severs tendon and flesh. The wolf's head slips free of his body. The heart pumps a spray of blood across my face.

I lick my lips and look over my shoulder at Ashen with a joyous smile. A crease appears between his brows as he gives me a dark and thoughtful frown. When I turn back to the wolves, they are no longer holding their ranks back.

They send everyone.

They surround us. Ashen and I position ourselves to fight back-to-back. Some of the werewolves push into one another as they close ranks. Two of them snap and snarl as they bump shoulders. Predictable. Werewolves are always jostling for position. But the Reaper and I, our blood is liquid patience. We wait. We wait for the wolves to make the first move.

I still and listen to the cadence of my breath. I hear the slow thrum of my heart. I feel the heat of the Reaper behind me and see flashes of the hellfire on his blade as it cuts through the air, swinging like a pendulum from one side to the next.

The first wolves surge ahead. These ones are bigger, stronger. But I don't see the distinctive, electric blue eyes of an Alpha among them. Time seems to speed up as Ashen and I cut and slash and stab and spin. We dance. Our swords never touch. We're like strings of the same instrument, meant to play a melody together.

I shake my head. A melody? ... For fucksakes. You know what? It's true. We vampires have a problem separating danger and desire.

I refocus on the task at hand, namely slicing werewolves and hissing venomously while I can. I should have kept a tally of kills; I'd like to shove it in the Reaper's face once this battle is done. But then, I might not get the chance. I think he's going to figure it out. He's going to realize that I'm not just any vampire.

I'm starting to think about what's going to happen at the end of all this bloodshed and that's when I let myself get distracted. It's been like...decades...since I fought a battle. I'm out of practice, okay? And as soon as I let my guard down, a werewolf clamps its slimy teeth around my arm.

I howl in pain and hiss in fury. I let the blade drop from my ruined arm. With my left hand, I withdraw a silver dagger hidden on my belt. I drive it through the top of the werewolf's skull and pull my arm free as his jaws go slack.

I grit out a growl of pain just as a warm palm slides over my hip and halts low against my stomach. A surge of heat coils across my spine. My breath hitches and burns in my lungs at the unexpected touch. The Reaper spins us to position himself in the worst of the fight.

"All right, vampire?" he asks, glancing down over his shoulder at me. I don't answer, and he twists further to catch a glimpse of the thick black blood rolling down my arm. When he meets my eyes again I swallow and give a nod. "Good," he says as his hand slips away. My skin gives an unwelcome tingle at the absence of his warmth. Ashen doesn't seem to notice the tension it renders in my muscle and bone as he refocuses on the fight in front of him. "Now retrieve your sword."

I sheath my dagger and pick up the sword with my good hand. This is the first time I realize that Ashen might not be as confident about the outcome of our battle as it seems. He needs me in this fight with him. No matter how many wolves we fell, there just seem to be more.

We keep pushing them back, and I'm so busy slashing that I could have missed it. One blink, one turn, one distraction. But I catch a glimpse of them, a line of eyes in shadow. Werewolves in their human forms. Something metallic catches the light of the moon and I'm already dropping through the mist when the Reaper pushes me down.

There's a pop, and then a whooshing, whirling sound. Something scrapes and clatters against the brick wall behind us. Beneath the mist, I meet the Reaper's fiery eyes, and when the next pop fires he pushes me away from the net of silver that spirals between us.

"Stay down," he whispers, and I keep low. I shelter my glowing red gaze with my hand, but I still watch through the slits in my fingers. Ashen closes his eyes and draws his body away from mine, his movement slow and soundless as he crawls in the direction of the wolves. Beneath the cover of mist there is an empty space where I can see their legs and the disintegrating bodies of their brethren. They are stalking us, and Ashen is stalking them.

He fells the werewolf with the weapon first, cutting the man's legs off below the knees and then kicking the metal tube out of the path of the pack. He takes two more before I scramble beneath the fog and join him, cutting down three with my left hand as I clutch my throbbing right arm to my chest. Between us, we kill eight, and when the last one falls the mist starts to dispel.

We kneel facing one another, both heaving for breath. I wonder for the first time what this mist is made of. Aerosol werewolf juices? So gross. I try to convince my lungs to slow down, but they rebel, and I suck those juices right in like air candy.

Holy fuck my arm hurts.

Don't get me wrong, I've been injured before. But like I said, it's been a while. I forgot how painful a werewolf bite is. The venom in their saliva won't kill me, but I'll be hurting, and if I want to keep my arm I'll have to treat it. I grip the handle of the blade at my hip so tightly I might crush it within my palm. I've got my injured arm clutched to my hammering heart when I feel a set of warm fingers curl around my wrist, guiding the ruin of flesh into the moonlight.

The Reaper takes my elbow in his other hand and twists it carefully under his scrutiny. Blood as dark as the midnight sky curls across my skin. "You need to feed or the venom will take hold," he says, pressing his fingers close to an oozing puncture. I nod when he meets my eyes, and his own narrow in question.

Here it is. Here's the moment I've been either dreading or hoping for. Maybe it's for the best that all this running comes to an end. Or maybe, just maybe, another Reaper can pay for the family they stole from me. Either way, it seems like I can't lose. So why do I feel the sting of disappointment in my chest?

"Who are you, vampire?"

As an obsidian blade pierces above the Reaper's heart and his demon blood sizzles hot across my neck, I think of an unexpected refrain for the second time tonight:

Thank fuck for werewolves.