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

by Brynne Weaver

You wanted to stand in his presence, even though you were terrified of his gaze lingering on your skin.

There was lust, and danger, and fury. Vlad was adept at balancing horror with desire.

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 guess in terms of your human semi-moralities that would be entrapment.

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.

I wanted to tear that finger right off and stick it up his butthole.

I might be too cold to incubate rabies, but I don't want to douse myself in it either.

And right now, all I can smell is that big hunk of sweaty, fleshy, frat boy man candy.

His thoughts are far from me. It's a kindness that we vampires offer. Peace before death.

This is it. This is how I die. Five thousand fucking years I've been alive, and I'm gonna die behind Cheese Louise.

And I never thought I'd say this before, but thank fuck for werewolves.

We dance. Our swords never touch. We're like strings of the same instrument, meant to play a melody together.

My skin gives an unwelcome tingle at the absence of his warmth.

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.

“A man came into the station last night claiming he saw a demon with a sword on fire in the alley behind Cheese Louise.”

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

He's right that I have nothing to gain from him, nothing but misery and potentially death.

Bian might be barely five feet to my five-foot-eight, human to my vampire, but she still scares the shit out of me.

I'm not at all surprised that he's memorized my schedule, the nosy fucker.

There is a light in his eyes as he watches me, something akin to mirth. I want to punch it right off his beautiful face.

Yes, I believe he does. Although, we don't call it mating. That's very last century of you, Reaper. No, he wants to park his big Mack truck right in my little garage.

Sometimes having just one person left to stand for you reminds you how many you've lost.

I want to write something snappy, like fuck you too, dick‐ head, but for some reason I can't.

I can smell his scent. It's unlit cigars and brandy. It's silk and ink.

And I know, better than anyone, that desire can get you killed.

Be careful, Reaper. You're in danger of convincing yourself you know what to do with a woman like me.

I intended to come here all badass, like ‘I'll burn you motherfuckers to the ground,’ which was frankly an oversight on my part since Reapers are really into fire.

I would rather die anywhere but here. Literally. Like, send me back to Cheese Louise and Puptown, I'll happily die in the smell of cheesy wet dog.

I haven't survived this long by letting my guard down to a hot guy with a sick body and some pretty words.

A dark star, a celestial power, beautiful yet deadly. I feel like he pulls me in.

I am a reckless, silly creature, thinking of embraces and endearments and emotions.

I overpower your heart. But I'm starting to worry that mine has already succumbed.

Stars explode in every nerve, in every chamber of my heart.

I hear the whoosh of blood through the caverns and crevices of Ashen's heart and I smile as I draw closer.

I realize for the first time that a lifetime can be measured in millennia, or it can be counted in the weight of a few days.

Even mere moments can cause a tectonic shift, propelling you from who you were to who you are now. Tearing you down. Building you up into something new.

An executioner tending to blooms, caring for rare flowers.