A Shadow in the Reaping by Brynne Weaver

Chapter 7

God, the look on your face. Don't be so worried. Remember what I said? Sunlight doesn't harm me. Back in the old days, the old old days, I used to chill on the beach for days on end with my sisters, waiting for ships to sail by so that we could crush their hulls against the rocks with nothing more than the power of our voices. It was great. I had a wicked tan.

Nonetheless, dragging me anywhere is super uncool. So I tell the Reaper exactly how I feel about it. By punching him in the face.

Which accomplishes very little, by the way, aside from making him look even more pissed off. I am happy to say that there is a nice purple bruise on his temple from the smash I gave him with his sword last night, however.

Note to self: smash Reaper with harder objects than fists.

Ashen pulls me across the street to the park, only slowing once he seems satisfied that we're clear of prying eyes and eavesdroppers. Pfft. He's clearly spent no time at all in a place like Sandford, because such a mystical location within town limits simply doesn't exist. If this is where he's going to kill me, humans are definitely going to notice.

He stops us beneath the boughs of a weeping willow, keeping hold of my arm as I squirm in protest. He looks down at me with all the fury of his realm embedded in his eyes like smoldering ash. "What is your name," he demands.

Well. That might be a good sign for my spellcasting efforts.

I point to my name tag above my heart, which says simply, Lu.

"Lu," he says, and frowns.

In retrospect, I probably should have picked a name less like Leucosia, but it was just easier that way. It's something I know I will respond to. And it reminds me of my sisters. And, really, no one thinks I've been alive since the 1700s, so I figured I could get away with it. And I love to get away with things.

The Reaper is still frowning. "Lu what? Tell me your second name."

I shake my head and point to my name tag. Just Lu.

"You're named Lu Lu? That's... unfortunate."

I roll my eyes and shake my head, pointing to my name tag and then raising my index finger uncomfortably close to his face. One name, you fucker. Lu.

"One name? What, like Beyoncé?"

I whip my right hand back and let a punch fly, but he catches my fist before it can connect. I see the faintest trace of a smile on his lips that disappears as quickly as it came. Motherfucker.

"Why don't you talk?"

I hold his gaze for a long moment. The anger in my eyes subsides as the seconds tick by. I look down, making a sad face that I hope has the right amount I've overcome so much hardship mixed with I've made it this far, don't fuck with me. When I look back up at Ashen his expression is unreadable.

"So, you won't talk, or you can't talk, which is it?"

I roll my eyes at the lack of effect from my sad face. I'm not sure what kind of reaction I was expecting. I put two fingers up for can't talk, which is technically true. I can't talk, because if I do he'll eviscerate me right here on the lawn.

Ashen's eyes narrow. His grip tightens around my arm. Black smoke curls between us and I can see the struggle in his face to keep his instincts under control. "Interesting. Because when I met you, you had subdued a human with your power. How exactly did you accomplish that without a song, vampire?"

I give the most sarcastic, saccharine smile I can manage, and sign the words Enchanted fucking sign language, bitch.

By the look on his face, he doesn't know sign language.

"I don't know sign language."

I shrug with a look that says that's not my problem.

Ashen's eyes are still laced with suspicion, but they soften just a little. I feel his thumb coast a slow path across the two pink bumps on my left wrist, so slow that he must be hoping I won't notice. But I do. A trail of heat tingles through my skin like the tail of a comet. "The last thing I remember from last night, you bit down into your arm to heal my wound."

I swallow and nod. The Reaper keeps his eyes fixed to mine as he tightens his grip and lifts his arm. I see the suspicion fold into his eyes as he points to a tattoo of scrolling letters on his forearm. I recognize the words. It's my spell, written in a careful, calligraphic script, all in black except the words Sunu liiktisuma in a shimmering shade of white. Ashen points to my forearm. When he twists it in the sun, I see it for the first time in my skin. One line, sparkling like an opal in the light.

Sunu liiktisuma.

May they be bound.

"How did you do this if you cannot speak?" Ashen asks. "How did you even cast this spell? You're not a witch."

Okay, look. Ashen's annoyingly insightful questions aside, here's the problem I have. I might not act like the prissy, elegant vampire of your imagination. But I do have manners. I chose to speak last night, to put myself in danger to help this ungrateful douchebag. His assumption that I can't accomplish things without my voice irks me. It's unfair. And if we're now bound together, he's about to find out he's wrong. I can do a lot without speaking a single word, and one of those things might just be murdering him in his sleep.

I don't move, I don't point, I don't sign anything. I just glare at him, waiting for him to give up, to say something worth my time.

He just glares back, unrelenting.

I finally crack and jam my finger onto the spot on his chest where I know the wound is still healing. He flinches. I jab it again and he moves to swipe my hand away but I'm faster than he anticipates.

I point to my other arm, still encased in his grasp. I point to him again and mouth the words You're welcome, asshole. I give him a jab for each syllable as I mouth ASS-HOLE again, then rip free of his grasp and turn to stalk back to the Swan.

"Wait! Wait," he says, appearing in front of me, obstructing my path. I try to get around him but can't. I glare at him and he glares back, a spark of fire in his eyes, a flash of vampiric red in mine. "Why?"

I give him a questioning look and fold my arms across my chest.

"Why did you do it? You have no allegiance to Reapers. No one does unless it is for their own benefit. As far as I can discern, there is nothing you wanted from me. You had a bag at the Inn when you entered the lobby. You were getting ready to run." Ashen takes a step toward me and waits as though he expects I might suddenly start talking. "You could have let me die, but you did not. So why did you save me?"

Even if I could speak to him, there is nothing to say. Because I don't know. I don't know why I did it. I probably shouldn’t have. His kind have killed off most of my sisters after all, and the earliest generations of vampires that followed us who had enough magic in their blood to cast a spell. Same with the shapeshifting witches who once roamed remote places as creatures of the wild, or the earliest werewolves whose incredible strength followed them in their human form. Those with the most power were the most likely to be guilty of crimes. The Reapers have taken so many of us immortals over the centuries, always without trial, often without reason. Really, he’s the last person I should be resurrecting from the brink of everlasting death.

Maybe I did it because he must be onto something with the whole Crime of Abomination business? It's an interesting mystery, but it's his mystery and I don't really want to be involved. Maybe it was because it didn't seem right for him to die when he'd protected me first, even if it was just to keep me in the fight. He's right that I have nothing to gain from him, nothing but misery and potentially death.

My gaze falls away from him, because I know I'm just telling myself I don't know why. I think I do know the reasons why. I can sense them beneath the lid of a box in my mind.

So, I do what I always do. I sit on the lid.

I shake my head to clear my confusing thoughts and Ashen lets me maneuver around him as I train my gaze on the doors of the Swan, desperate to be back in my room. I know he can't kill me himself, not with the spell that I cast. But there are other ways to hurt me, and he will, if he finds out who I am. He'll probably hurt me without that kind of motivation. He'll probably do it just by virtue of who he is. A demon. An executioner. A Reaper of Souls.

"The werewolves succeeded, you know," he calls after me, but I don't turn around. "They will try to make another hybrid. They are capturing vampires not to kill them but for a fate worse than death. They will regroup to come for you. You will assist me in uncovering their secrets and finishing this reaping, vampire."

I hear him follow me for a few steps. His footfalls slow behind me until they stop on the sidewalk as I cross the road.

"We are bound together, vampire. There is nowhere you can run where I won't find you."

His words hit like a blade in my chest. He doesn't know they strike in a way he doesn't intend. He doesn't know it might mean something to me to have someone, anyone, that I can't run from.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I press the lid of the box in my mind more tightly closed.

It's not until I'm sitting on my bed alone with my head in my hands that I realize he never said thank you.

Asshole.