The Trouble with Trying to Date a Murderer (Murder Sprees and Mute Decrees #1)

by Jennifer Cody

Once upon a time, a mute boy fell in love with an unapologetic murderer.

As the last person dropped with a death gurgle, the cook rang the bell. “Order up!” The man, breathing hard and covered in the crimson flow of life and death—i.e., blood—looked at me, straightened his back, and adjusted his armory. “Can I get that to go?”

The man spins, immediately spotting and completely disregarding me. I mean, I don’t blame him. I’m not all that memorable, but still. My hopeful, little, romantic heart gives a twinge at being so easily forgotten. Ouch, Future Husband. Ouch.

About four applications later, a streak of blood spatter hits my screen, startling the fuck out of me. I rip my headphones off and turn in my chair just in time for a dismembered arm to come flying at me.

He grabs a book off the floor, shakes the blood off it, and leaves. Damn that man is fine.

I’m looking around and almost everyone in this car has a weapon out and they’re all staring at my man. Dammit.

Sitting across from Fox, I watch him and he watches me, and then I realize that with all the people out to kill him he’s probably wondering if I’ve poisoned his food, so I take a bite of mine and then take a bite of his and give him another bright smile because he should have more smiles in his life, especially if they’re mine since we’re going to get married someday.

“The job is called Harbinger. You announce my arrival. I send you ahead of me as a warning that I’m coming.”

I’m basically his responsibility at this point. I’ll bring joy to his deadly life and he will protect me, and that’s a totally fair exchange.

Ten minutes later, Fox slams into the church, wielding a sword. This is clearly a gun fight, and my man brought a fucking sword. He also brought all his guns, but c’mon, a sword!

Fox can bring a sword to a gunfight and win because all the people with guns lose their nerve in the face of his superiority. It’s not swagger—the man doesn’t have an inflated sense of self—it’s skill. And it’s sexy as fuck.

Damn, I’m going to be so spoiled living here. And yes, I am moving in even though Fox and I haven’t discussed living arrangements yet. I don’t see the point in beating around the bush.

I’m just jealous. I’ve spent my entire life powerless and if I’d had even a kernel of magical power, I would have had more power than I’ve ever had.

“You’re not powerless now. Harbingers are…” He pauses as he searches for the right words. “Respected. Untouchable.”

“I mean, no one in my world can harm you. Harbingers are protected. You’re warded too.” My disbelief must show on my face because my normally breviloquent man explains in detail. “Weapons can’t touch you; you can’t ingest poisons, no one can lay a hand on you who intends harm. You have power now. It’s passive, but it’s yours.”

The shelves are lined with books, and it smells like cigar smoke and book paper, which immediately relaxes me—who doesn't love the smell of fragrant tobacco and books?

Fox takes a seat on one of the sofas away from the table, and then the man pulls me into his lap. I like where this is going. Hand-holding and lap-sitting are totally things we should do. Giving him my happiest smile, I kiss his cheek again, because he should be rewarded when he treats me in the way in which I want to become accustomed.

Obviously being married to a murderer comes with some risks; being indestructible makes those risks negligible.

The first swipe of my tongue against his slays me. He tastes so good, but more than that, he feels like exactly where I belong. Home. I’ve come home, and I’m never leaving again.

Fox starts strapping on his guns and ammo and, oh look at that, he’s got another sword out from the ethereal hiding place where he stores his weapons when not in use.

“Which one of these fuckers are you looking for, Harbinger?” Seriously, why does everyone ask? Don’t do shit bad enough to get on Fox’s list and don’t attack him if you see him, and you’re not in danger!

When my man is done with the killing, and I’m sporting a serious boner, I look up to the man I’m standing with and pat his leather vest right over his heart, giving him a sympathetic frown.

“Half our crew died fighting a Reaper, which made them too stupid to live. Don’t mourn these fuckers; just bury them and move on. Clean up the mess and start making a list of prospects.”

“Your Harbinger is just like you. Congratulations, Mr. Fox.”

Fox, my competent, sexy, confident Reaper, shoots me a smirk and pulls me into a dark alcove, leaning up against the wall and pulling me close enough to kiss. “I don’t remember taking you on the first date,” he hums softly, the movement of his lips whispering against mine.

I’m hoping he’s got good taste or the wherewithal to know he doesn’t and the wisdom to let me pick my own. People say it’s the thought that counts, but if you don’t know what your person wants, you should think about letting them pick it themselves. That thought definitely counts.

“Diamonds. Cufflinks, pocket watch, tie pin, collar chain, pocket brooch, and engagement ring.” Fox gives me a level look. “The ring is for later.” Of course it is; that does not stop me from jumping into his arms and kissing the ever-loving shit out of him. I love it when the important people get on board with my plans.

I trust my gargoyle friend. Friends.

My Fox gets me. He understands my words, especially the unspoken ones, the ones that matter the most.

I’m human. Bellamy pffts at my message. “You were before you became a Harbinger. Now you’re an immortal human plus. I’m just a human. I don’t have magic protecting me.”

“The magic of a Harbinger makes you immortal. You would continue aging and dying if you ever decided to quit,” he explains.

Isn’t it lovely how I’ve already trained Fox to be more communicative? I’m a goddamn miracle worker, aren’t I? Mute boy trains the silent type to talk in less than a week. Amazing.

The information flow toward new Harbingers really needs to be revamped and streamlined.

“I’m not calling you ‘Dad.’” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Fox murmurs. “Call me ‘Oppa.’” Obviously I’m Papa. Fox nods approvingly as Bellamy looks at him with an expression of utter disbelief. “Your reputation is a bald-faced lie.” Fox taps the rim of Bellamy’s bowl. “Finish your ice cream. It’s past your bedtime.” “Please send me back to Santanos.”

Bellamy eyes Fox with respect I didn’t realize he had for my man. “You’re the reason I got recruited to Santanos’ side.” Fox assesses Bellamy, looking for the rest of that truth in his lavender eyes. “Why?” “He thinks if he can make me as immortal as you, I’ll be a match for you.” Bellamy levels his gaze at Fox, sitting back. “He’s wrong.” Fox grunts at that. “If you accept Romily’s claim, he won’t be.”

“If I accept the Harbinger’s claim, there will never be a test of skill between us,” Bellamy corrects. Because the person a Harbinger claims is called an Acolyte, and they exist to stand with a Reaper, defending the Reaper’s back.

You requested Annette’s help; you were sent the most capable team. We could be finding the missing cherubs, we all would rather be finding those cute little fuckers,

Bellamy swings his knife over to Gregory, putting the blade against his neck. “Did you think that a Harbinger claiming me would change my capacity for violence? Especially when that Harbinger made me the Acolyte of Arlington Fox, the Blackblade of Paris?

Fox in his thunderbird form is…magnificent. Lightning crackles off his beak in a spiderweb of flashes as he gains altitude. He spreads his glorious white wings as he soars, banking to turn toward us, huge yellow-orange talons extended.

He said the council was biased against evil, which totally makes sense to me, but I honestly thought they were more neutral? Not that Omp strikes me as a neutral party.

“Actually, the fair balance of good versus evil is 90 to 10. Because evil is so visible and so much more impactful, it takes a hell of a lot less of it to make the world seem like it’s falling apart.

When the man brings the song to its end, the audience releases a collective sigh. I look up through my teary eyes to Fox, who kisses my forehead and pulls me close. “I’ve rarely heard a siren sing, but they tend to pull our deepest desires to the surface. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s an intensification of what you want the most.”

I love you. I want you for the rest of our long lives. That is what I am feeling. Just love and longing for you. Fox’s breath hitches for a few moments as he reads my words, then he smiles at me, full of joy. “I feel exactly the same. I love you too.”