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Grave robber, grave digger, tomb raider… There were many names for my chosen career path, but I preferred asset repossessor. It had a nice ring to it.
Still, my favorite part wasn’t even the money. No, it was the high that came with every job. That’s what drove me at the end of the day. I was addicted to the hours of late-night research, the careful plotting, staking out the cemetery, and my favorite part of all: actually pulling it off.
The money was great, but the rush I got from disturbing the eternal rest of those who looked down on people like me in their waking life? That was better than gold.
It was slow going, but with deep, vibrating groans and squeaks, the door finally opened a few inches. A gust of stale air hit me, like the building suddenly exhaled after centuries of holding its breath, and Mark handed me the crowbar.
To live is to die. It was a fact of nature, a hymn that echoed across the heavens, their lyrics inscribed upon the bones of God himself.
Holding up the spine so blood dripped over her chest and soaked into the dark material of her jacket, I let loose a guttural chuckle. “It seems your mate had a spine after all.”
“Little thief, if there is one thing I can assure you, it’s that I’m never letting you go.”
“Do not recite the old ways to me, brother. I helped write them.”
“Did they enter you?” The flames in his eye sockets glowed with malice, and his deep as Hell growl had the corpses shrinking back into their cells. “Did they touch what’s mine?”
“Remember this. In the dark hours of the night, after I’ve crawled under that delectable skin of yours, invaded your every cell, peeled back your layers, and branded myself onto every bone of your body, know that you brought this on yourself.”
“What curse is that?” she whispered. I laughed, the sound deep and grating. “Me.”
“Disobeying the Lord?” Cecil hissed from behind a shelf somewhere behind me. “She’s got a lot of balls…” “Everyone has more balls than you, Soul Keeper,” Holga raised her voice, acid dripping from every syllable.
I wasn’t sure how old the witch was, but I guess she’d been born sometime before sarcasm was invented.
When she’d raided Catherine’s grave, she’d earned herself my attention. And when she’d wielded the letter opener bearing Catherine’s soul—the very same one she’d taken her life with—my little thief had won my obsession. But she’d never have my heart, nor my trust. I’d buried that with Catherine’s body.
Death falling in love with life was a tale as old as fucking time. I’d been warned, so many times. I couldn't help it. This was my weakness. She was my weakness.
“God has no place here, nor prayers made to him. Here, there is no hope of his salvation. Only dust, darkness, and the screams of the damned.” He leaned forward, so close his breath swept over me, heating my flesh. “Soon, your screams will join their forsaken chorus, and it will be my name in your mouth. Not God’s.”
Mark had once tried to get me to join a Pilates class. I’d laughed in his face when he suggested exercise, especially in public. At a strip mall of all places. Not exactly my scene. Now, I regretted turning him down. If only I’d known weekly core exercise would have saved me from a flesh-eating tree on my unexpected vacation to fucking Limbo.
“Just hurry up and let it eat you,” another head snickered. “It’s not so bad. Not once you’re dead, anyway. Before you’re dead, it’s pretty bad, actually.”
“You could have asked for a new pair.” He folded his arms over his chest and nodded toward the worn shoes. “Why ask for your grubby old boots back?” “Excuse you, but these are Doc Martens, pal. I spent a lot of money on these.”
“Not because I’m forcing you to do this. No, there is a dark part of your soul that needs this, isn’t there?”
Would she be able to fit it all? My dark thoughts turned pitch black; I’d make her fit it all.
One of the perks of being a demon lord was the severe lack of a moral compass.
“You’re radiant sin, Rayven. You’ll be my complete undoing.”
