A Shadow in the Reaping by Brynne Weaver

Chapter 4

Awoman leans over the Reaper's shoulder. Her eyes dance as she pushes her blade further into Ashen's body. The polished black point glints like it's whispering to me in the night.

I meet the Reaper's eyes. They are fixed on mine, their flame rippling as he tries to control his breath and pain.

"Attraction yields distraction. Distraction yields destruction," she says into the Reaper's ear.

Well that's fucking ridiculous.

I keep my eyes on the Reaper as I throw my dagger at a werewolf in the periphery. He drops the net gun he had silently picked up. My dagger twitches with the last beat of his heart.

I want to quip something cool, like Arrogance yields annihilation. But I don't. I yank the Reaper forward off the obsidian blade and launch myself at the shewolf. Her back smacks onto the grimy asphalt. I tear the tendons from her wrist and she howls as the blade falls from her limp hand. I bring my face close to hers and smile so she can see her blood on my teeth. Her eyes are wide, full of both fear and fury. My arm throbs and the Reaper's words ring through my mind. You need to feed.

Yes. Yes, I do.

I latch my teeth to the shewolf's neck and she squeals as I draw her blood down my throat. Werewolf is not really my taste. A little musky, a little smoky. Not sweet like a human. But the pain in my arm is starting to dissipate. So you know what? I'll take it. I draw quickly, my venom rapidly thinning her blood and paralyzing her limbs. I take just enough to get my thirst under control and my arm back into working order, and then I snap her neck with a hiss that will follow her into the afterlife.

I get up and retrieve my silver dagger from the body of the other werewolf, wiping it on his jacket before sheathing it at my side. I hear a groan of pain and look back at the Reaper. His dimming eyes are fixed to mine. His breath is shallow. His heart is slowing. His blood sizzles on the asphalt. I could leave him here to die or finish him myself with the obsidian blade. There's a hint of resignation in his eyes. He seems to expect nothing less.

And I know what you're thinking, that it's a pretty shitty thing to do just leaving him to bleed out behind Cheese Louise. But he's a demon, it's not like he'll really die. He'll go back to the Shadow Realm of the Reapers. The next time he's called to assassinate someone, I mean, reap someone, he'll be back. And the next person he'll probably come for is me.

Look, I'm not typically inclined to agree with werewolves, but this whole Crime of Abomination business is bullshit. Everyone knows it cannot be done, this hybrid of werewolf and vampire. I realize they had silver nets, but that's not uncommon. We vampires and werewolves don't really get along, you know? We like to kill one another in creative ways. Just like Reapers enjoy falsifying crimes to assassinate us for. House Urbigu has made up a claim in order to reap an Alpha for some political end. A pack that's grown too large, a vampire too brazen, a witch's coven too powerful. It's all the same with the Reapers. Make up a charge. Take a soul. And Ashen is no different from the rest. Just like the Reaper that killed Aglaope.

I turn away from the Reaper, but something just doesn't feel right. My gaze catches on the obsidian blade lying next to the shewolf. I look at the Reaper again. His shoulder is shaking. When the breeze picks up, I catch the faintest scent.

Angelwing poison.

They knew the Reaper was coming. They found the rarest poison, one that shouldn't even exist. And they've used it to escape a reaping for a crime that shouldn't be possible.

I skitter across the pavement and roll Ashen onto his back. The fire in his eyes is little more than the flicker of a candle flame. It's the first time I look at him. Really look at him. He's beautiful. There's something ancient about him, something timeless. Strong cheekbones, straight nose, full lips. Thick, dark lashes, eyes the color of cognac. Eyes that won't let go of mine. Eyes that are dimming with every struggling breath.

I break my gaze away and tear his shirt open above the wound. Black, geometric tattoos cover his chest, looping up the sides of his neck. Symmetrical patterns of honeycomb, flowers, and stars flow like layers of scales away from the face of a jackal on his sternum. The words Shalasu Ningsisa scroll beneath the jackal's muzzle. Merciful Justice. I swallow down the urge to snort and I meet his eyes. They break from mine only to blink, pressing closed with pain.

I can smell his demon blood as it flows from the wound. I can barely detect the poison, but it's there. And if I'm right, there's only one way to stop it.

I bite down into my wrist and then hold my arm close to my chest. I meet Ashen's eyes with a question in mine. He gives the slightest nod and braces for pain.

Holding my wrist above his chest, my blood drips into the wound. The mix of my cold, black blood with the heat of his produces an acrid smoke. Ashen's eyes are still closed and his expression is going slack. I already know that vampire blood isn't enough to stop him from dying an everlasting death.

I clear my throat. I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm not even one hundred percent sure I know what I'm doing. In five thousand years, I should have taken more time to memorize witch's spells. But there was always other stuff to do... wars, eating, more wars, hiding... So if Ashen winds up with the head of a snake, I take no responsibility.

I take a deep breath. The Reaper's eyes haven't opened. I might just luck out if he stays unconscious.

"Gasaan tiildibba me zi ab. Dul susi giskasilim tilla."

My voice finds its way into the air so infrequently that it sounds almost unfamiliar. But even to me, its owner, I know its power. It's like a rainbow unspooling to scatter color across the sky. It's like the most precious gem that multiplies in your palm. It's a promise of all your hopes and dreams fulfilled, if you'll just lean a little closer. It's brought the mightiest kings and queens to their knees, begging for one more word.

Despite all the beauty of my spoken mysteries, the Reaper doesn't stir. I glance around. The mist from the werewolves is gone and I don't hear anyone else around us. It's just the ragged, shallow breathing of the Reaper and the discordant drum of our hearts.

"Niglulli duma galu barama niingar. Tirrama salutti sa kassapti sa ruhie ipusu supii arkis upuus."

Still nothing from the Reaper. His breath stalls. He might have spent his last with my words. I can barely hear a faint, slow beat within his chest. I squeeze more blood into his wound and close my eyes.

"Saggiu Ashen giu. Suna sitaba kilal azuus. Sunu liiktisuma.

Asallah libakkunu, arrus maratuktuk."

I wait.I listen for any change. But there's no sound between us.

I bend my head and kneel back. I should feel relieved. Another Reaper gone, one that can never come back to collect another soul.

I don't know why I even tried in the first place. Maybe it was because it seemed unfair for a demon to die by a poison from the heavens.

My palm splays across my stomach as I remember the warmth of his hand. Ashen had pulled me from the battle, if even for a moment. But he didn't know who I was, and he needed me. He needed me to finish a reaping and I'm pretty sure the Alpha is still out there.

I take a deep breath. When I finally open my eyes, a pair of bright pupils shine back at me, the black consumed with flame. They burn into me with the blinding light of epiphany.

"Leucosia," he whispers.

...Fuck.

"Amah haass muhhaki usaanna teenki," I say, and with the handle of his sword I hit the Reaper hard enough in the head to undo all the good work I've just done.