Dark Kiss Of The Reaper (3 page)

Bellowing from inside, Atropos’ cackle stirred his displeasure. The Crone was the least sympathetic of the Fates, and rightly so, as she was also the one who chose which threads to sever. Although the Reapers loathed admitting it, she was their boss. Azrael ground his teeth thinking about it. Atropos wielded power enough in her shears. Someday, he would find Nyx, mother of the Fates, and speak to her about her daughters. Or at least one of them.

Atropos pushed through the gauzy curtains, allowing a brief glimpse into the home’s interior. Her carved-bone cane clicked against the creamy marble tiles of the balcony. “Touched a mortal, did you?”

“She touched me, but it was nothing.” Nothing but a single moment of contact he couldn’t stop reliving. Sara Donovan was so warm. So alive.

Atropos settled into a gilded chair beside Klotho. A silver-streaked braid draped one hunched shoulder and more wisps of gray hung about her weathered face. The fatal shears, forged of lightning and etched in runes, hung in their pouch at her waist.

“Falsehoods do not become you, Reaper.” She shrugged. “But that is not my concern. Nor do I understand why you deny yourself human contact. Wipe the memory and they know nothing.”

“I will not abuse my power.” What Chronos and Kol did was their own business. He was the Reaper of Mercy. To him, that demanded a certain conduct.

Again, she shrugged. “I’m too tired to argue your unnecessary sense of morality.”

He clenched his fists to keep from reacting and took a deep breath. Atropos had a way of igniting his temper that none other did. He’d spent enough time here. He wanted an answer. “What of the mortal woman?”

Her knobby fingers griped the chair’s gryphon-headed arms as she leaned forward. “What matters is not how she sees you or why, but rather that she does.”

He scowled. Doddering old manipulator. Always speaking in rhymes and riddles. She was one of the Fates, not the Oracle of Delphi. “What in Hades is that supposed to mean?”

“Temper, temper.” She smiled, revealing yellow teeth. “Perhaps you should talk less and think more. What you want and what you need are two different things.”

He looked at the other two women, wondering if they had anything to add. Klotho hummed softly to herself. Lachesis shook her head as though she pitied him. If that was true, she wasted her sympathy.

Unfurling his wings and letting the Darkness fill his eyes, he leaned forward and stared Atropos down. “I am Death. And Death needs nothing.”

Back in his own domain, Azrael paced the thick rug covering the floor of his great hall while Vitus, the Shade that served as his butler, ushered in Azrael’s brothers. The life the Fates had granted Vitus in order to serve Azrael had not included a voice, so the man raised his brows, the question of whether or not Azrael needed anything else in his eyes.

“That is all, thank you.” Azrael paused long enough to dismiss Vitus. The man nodded and Azrael returned to his pacing. The wool beneath his feet absorbed the sounds of his footfalls, but not the mutterings of his brother, Kol, the deadliest kind of reaper, a Thresher.

“Why am I here?” Kol’s dark glasses hid his deadly eyes but not the aggravated set of his jaw.

Azrael’s other brother, Chronos, the Timekeeper, rolled his eyes. He sat in a nearby tapestry chaise, stretched his long legs out and tipped his head to stare at Kol. “You are not the only one who’s been called.”

Kol snorted, but held his tongue. He draped one leather-clad arm over the vast marble mantel surrounding the walk-in fireplace, tipped his head against the wall, and stared at the sky mural painted on the ceiling.

Chronos turned back to Azrael. “Why have you called us, brother?”

Azrael blew out a breath and stopped pacing. He glanced once at both Chronos and Kol, then focused on the carpet. Calling upon his brothers was a rare event. Especially Kol. “The Fates have...been meddling in my life.”

Kol’s sharp laugh split the air. “Finally sunk their hooks into you, huh? Welcome to the club.”

“In what way?” Chronos asked, ignoring Kol.

Azrael arrowed a look at Kol. He shrugged and Azrael continued. “They have caused a mortal to see me. One who isn’t appointed to me.”

Chronos wrinkled his brow. “We can all be seen in our mortal forms.”

Kol cursed. He had a human form, but it was the same as his reaper form. He was no more approachable in either appearance. For that, Azrael could forgive Kol’s displeasure. Not having a true mortal form must make life very hard indeed.

“I wasn’t in my mortal body. What’s worse is she’s even seen me reap a soul.”

Kol’s cursing died away. “Seriously? Why would they allow that?”

Chronos stood, shaking his head. A tear opened along the shoulder of his ever-aging black robe. A swarm of tiny metallic spiders streamed from beneath the fabric, repaired the rip and disappeared again. “There must be a reason. The Fates have their ways, even if we do not understand them.”

“Mumbo jumbo,” Kol spat, pushing off the mantel and coming closer. “If this woman can see you as a Reaper, it can only come to a bad end.”

Chronos slanted his eyes at Kol. “Is that what happens to the women you keep company with?”

He responded with ice in his voice. “The women who entertain me don’t understand who I am.”

“Neither do we,” Chronos muttered.

Azrael held his hands up. “I called you here for help, not to pit you against one another.”

Kol pulled off his dark glasses, revealing eyes like burning embers, eyes capable of sucking in human souls with a glance. “You want me to take care of her?”

“No!” Azrael cleared his throat. “No.” He hadn’t meant for the word to come out as a shout. So desperate. So concerned. He rubbed his palm against his temple. The situation worsened by the moment. His brothers weren’t offering the help he’d hoped for. He should have known.

Kol smiled and slid his glasses back into place. “I’m beginning to understand.”

Chronos shook his head slowly, his grave expression unmistakable. He clasped Azrael’s shoulder. “Humans have no permanent place in our world, and we have only a brief place in theirs.”

“At least not for more than a night or two.” Kol waggled his brows at Chronos.

Idiot. And Chronos was just as bad. Azrael shrugged off his brother’s hand. “You’re both making assumptions based on your own weaknesses.

Kol’s mouth thinned. “I have no weaknesses.” He jabbed his finger at Azrael and Chronos. “You want to talk weak? You two live like kings with your servants.”

Chronos tossed his head in mock laughter. “Repurposed Shades do not a kingdom make.”

Ignoring his brother’s comment, Kol focused on Azrael. “You want to trade scythes with me? Walk my path? I don’t think so. If I occasionally get some small pleasure with a willing woman it’s really none of your concern.”

“Agreed.” Azrael’s ire cooled a bit. He had no desire to take on Kol’s desolate life. Vitus and the other servants may not be able to speak, but they were a form of company. Kol had no one.

“I think you should have a dalliance, get this woman out of your system, then leave her alone. Of course, you’re free to make your own mistakes.” Chronos said.

Kol folded his arms against his chest. “What he said. Stay away from her, or don’t, but don’t come crying to us when things hit the crapper.”

“I don’t plan on crying to either of you about anything. And no one tells me what to do or how to conduct myself. Am I clear? Now, get out. Both of you.” Azrael turned toward the windows overlooking his perpetually twilight world. Why he’d thought his brothers would offer some help or insight, he didn’t know. As always, they were useless, treating him like a child in need of guidance, not a peer. Inviting them had been a mistake.

He blew out a hard breath, leaned his hand against the window frame. They lived their lives with great abandon and no thought for consequence. They had no place to tell him how to live his.

If he wanted to see Sara Donovan again, no one was going to stop him.

* * *

Not long into her day off, Sara ditched her pajamas and dressed for her shift at the hospital. She may have missed her shift at Grounded, but she could still make the one at Franklin. Her hand was fine. Her head hadn’t ached once. She’d gone for a run, done laundry, organized her DVDs alphabetically, drunk a pot and a half of coffee, glued down the loose edge of the counter and cleaned out her fridge. She was afraid if she didn’t go in, she’d end up at a pet store or the ASPCA. Then some poor feline would be subject to a life of loneliness and obesity due to guilt-motivated table scraps.

Or worse, she’d drive to Mercy Memorial where Ray worked, find her lowlife ex and get the alimony without her lawyer’s help.

The possibility she might accost Ray wasn’t the only reason, though. Getting out of the house and getting busy might help her stop thinking about
him
.

The Angel of Death guy.

At work, she’d be too occupied for her mind to wander in his dark, sexy direction. She shouldn’t want to think about him at all considering he might have killed Mrs. Metzger. Although, in his defense, she’d called the hospital to check and found they’d written the death off as cancer-related. There’d be no autopsy. She sighed as she zipped the back of her skirt. Maybe it
was
the cancer after all. What could he have possibly done to her without leaving a mark and in such a short amount of time? Hugging someone had yet to be fatal.

So what did it mean that she couldn’t stop thinking about a guy this odd? She pushed her hair out of her face, pulling it back into a loose ponytail before adding small silver hoop earrings. Women fell for weirdoes all the time. Some of them even married guys on death row. Not that she thought she’d hit that level of desperation yet.

Besides, this guy hadn’t actually been convicted of killing anyone. That she knew of.

She searched for another reason her brain kept replaying images of him while she slicked cranberry gloss across her lips. He
was
handsome. But lots of guys were good looking. Maybe not that good looking, but whatever.

Grabbing her purse off the small table by the door, she focused on what needed doing at the hospital. A few hours later, she was buried in paperwork and charts. When Manda arrived, she gave Sara the expected grief about showing up on what was supposed to be a day off.

“I was going a little crazy. It was come to work or buy a cat. I came to work.”

“That’s no excuse. Cat might be good for you.”

“Yes, but I might not be good for the cat. Plus I feel fine.”

“Have you seen anything unusual around here today?”

“No.” Sara gave her a smirk. No point discussing the reaper with Manda. The woman would drag her off to the psych ward, no questions asked. Manda always made good on her threats.

By the end of the week, Sara had managed three shifts in a row without a single sighting of the lone reaper. Tonight would make four. She stretched at the desk, rolling her shoulders. She was adult enough to admit he might have been a hallucination. A tangible one, but heaven knew with the hours she worked and the general craziness of her life it was certainly a possibility.

Her stomach rumbled. Maybe instead of take-out for dinner tonight, she’d make pasta. Real honest-to-goodness home cooking. She laughed. Yeah, honest-to-goodness out of a box and jar, but hey, it was a place to start.

Head lost in thoughts of garlic bread and fettuccine Alfredo, she recalculated the figures laying on the desk in front of her for the second time, stabbing the numbers on her calculator with a pencil eraser. Still not right. She added them a third time. Crap. Some of the hours on the nurses’ schedule Manda had put together weren’t adding up right.

She checked her watch. Half an hour before Manda came on and could straighten this mess out. Sara logged onto the computer and worked another project to wait for the night shift to arrive.

Through the hall windows, the sky purpled behind clouds that hid the full moon. The hospital had already quieted down as visiting hours were over. In another hour, the corridor lights would dim. The hum of machines, usually unheard during the bustling day, would vibrate in the background like a chorus of mechanical crickets. A lot of people didn’t like hospitals. Didn’t like what went on in them. But to Sara, there was a safety here like nowhere else. Yes, bad things happened within these walls. But there were two sides to every coin.

Life breathed its first breath here, made its first cry. Lives were saved, people healed. And sometimes...sometimes death came as a relief to those who suffered, both patient and family alike.

There was nothing to fear within these walls.

Nothing at all.

Chapter Three

Since Manda needed to go through patient charts before she’d have time to go over the schedules, Sara headed to the visitor’s room to coax a bottle of water from the ancient vending machine. The room was dark, but she didn’t flip the switch. Between the machine’s soft glow and the residual light from the hall spilling in there was plenty to see by.

She dug in her cardigan pocket for the dollar bills kept for just this purpose. Nothing. She checked the other pocket and sighed. Time to refill the singles.