A Shadow in the Reaping (The Shadow Realm, #1)

by Brynne Weaver

Frankly, it was super uncool. So, I felt the need to kill most of them for being such dicks. And they never expected some sweet-faced, unassuming, quiet young woman would be the true epicenter of all the chaos and destruction. It could never be a woman. They always underestimate us. They always overlook us. Always.

I had met Jessie's bloodshot, watery gaze, swallowing down my desires. Not those desires. Gross. I meant my desire to tear out his throat and lick his blood off the hideous carpet.

It's not so much what I sing, it's how I sing it. And I don't like the crusty old tunes of my people, songs about the sea and ancient ships and Odysseus, that crafty fucker.

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.

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 flip to the back of my book where I have started a collection of observations about my frenemy. Note to self: Reaper likes butter. Must steal all the butter.

The coffee catches in my throat and sputters from my mouth and out my nose. And then the most unexpected thing happens. The Reaper laughs. It's more of a chuckle, really. Like the ghost of a laugh. But oh my God. It's low and luxurious. It's rich and warm, like hot chocolate spiced with chili. It's like whispering secrets over glasses of brandy next to a fire. A little bit dangerous. A little bit reckless. And I want to hear more.

“I won't let anything hurt you, Lu,” he says. His voice sounds like a promise. He sounds like a warrior. He sounds like he will burn the world to keep his word.

His gaze drops to my lips and his jaw tightens. “The ones who did this to you. Did you kill them?” I nod. “Good.”

I'm fine, I write, which is a total lie. I show it to Ashen without looking at him. “I know,” he says, but he doesn't withdraw his touch. I'm not crying. “Okay.” I hear the wheels and leather straps of another coach in the distance along a side road in the fog. My muscles tense and I wipe one of my eyes with the knuckles of my clenched fist. This place is fucked. And I lied. “I know.” Ashen's index finger travels a slow and careful path across my skin as the rest of his hand lays steady pressure across my bones.

It's fuck-ugly. So I write a note to Ashen that says: It's fuck-ugly. “Yeah, I know.”

“You look so beautiful, Lu.” All the mischief dies in my eyes as I look at Ashen. I knew he was going to say something like that, once he spat it out eventually, but it's the way he said it. It's the way he said my name. His voice is rich and warm and almost sad, like he's looking at something he's already lost.

“Can you drive a motorcycle?” I give Ashen a dead-eyed glare. This guy. Can I drive a fucking motorcycle. I put my hand out for my book and pen, and he rolls his eyes as he hands them over from the pocket of his jacket. Of course I fucking can, you tit. Can you drive a tank? “Yes. Can you fly a helicopter?” Yes. Can you drive an excavator? “Yes. Can you pilot a submarine?” Fuck. No I cannot. Who would want to do that anyway? Submarine pilots I guess. I glare at Ashen and he smirks in reply. “Now that we've established that you cannot pilot a submarine, follow me.”

“If you're trapped in the Realm of Light, I will still find you,” Ashen says.

“Take my blood,” Ashen says, his voice rich and warm, like the first rays of the sun that find us on this ancient ground.

“You are like the wind or the sea, like an elemental force of nature. You feared me and yet I'm the one who is left defenseless as you dismantle my walls, stone by stone.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Ashen says as he turns around. Within three strides he's there, right in front of me. His palms are warm on my face. His lips are pressed to mine. In five thousand years, there's never been a kiss like it.

So if Ashen is going to kill me, I want it to be for a single word. One that means something to me. One that he'll never forget. “Ashen.” His spine fuses, rigid as a blade.

There's nothing between us but space and all the things I've left unsaid that can't stay quiet anymore. “I'm falling in love with you, Ashen.” He turns his head. His eyes are locked to the floor as though it has swallowed him into another dimension.

I nod my head, but as I replay a word or a look I start to realize the truth, that he's known for a while. Maybe all along. “I've been waiting for you to say something, anything, Leucosia.”

“Libbu isriq, ekimmu,” he whispers into my skin. You have stolen my heart, vampire.

“I have wanted you since the first moment I touched you in Sanford, even though I tried to convince us both otherwise.”

“Every word,” Ashen whispers close to my ear as his thumb traces my parted lips, “every sound you make... I imagined your voice so many times when I read your written words.”

“I wanted to hear it in your voice. I thought if you could place your trust in me that maybe you would sing it for me one day.” Ashen trails his fingers across my cheek and locks his eyes to mine. “I already knew who you were. That I would break any rule, that I would do anything for you.”

expect he'll say something like be careful, or stay behind me. “Have fun. Don't hiss too loud,” he says. He gives me a wicked smile as he turns away. And fuck me if I don't realize that very instant that I've fallen head over heels in love.

“Not this time, vampire,” Ashen says. “This promise is just like you. There is no measure of time, no realm that can stop it. It is elemental.”

“Don't you dare.” “Don't what?” he asks, the smile brightening as he loses the battle to keep it at bay. “Don't you laugh at me,” I say, still trying to look serious even though part of me so wants to hear the sound of his laugh again. “I just dropped a mic on you. You're not allowed.” “Is that the rule? You never told me that rule.” “It's implied. Longstanding vampire tradition. Vampire drops mic, no laughing or arguing allowed. Vampire wins.”

A scream fills the office as a severed hand falls free of its bonds and smacks the floor. Ashen leans toward Jessie as he thrashes in anguish and cries to the stump he holds to his chest, his blood pulsing like a clogged fountain that spills into his lap. “That is for touching what does not belong to you.”

I swallow the venom that floods my mouth as Jessie's other hand drops to his feet. Ashen kicks Jessie's chair over and looms above the broken man as his body contorts in shock and distress. “And that is to ensure you can't touch yourself in fantasies of her. If she lets you survive, that is.”

“No. You belong to you, vampire. But I will cherish any part you're willing to share with me.”

“Gaining Leucosia's trust, luring her here... bringing her to the enemy... using her to uncover their secrets.”