A Shadow in the Reaping

I’ve decided I ca

I grab my pen and my notebook. I am so ready to begin.

I open the door and Ashen is standing on the other side, dressed in the same dark palette as always and looking particularly sharp for six in the morning with a black suit jacket over a charcoal grey shirt. Not a thread is out of place. He frowns when he sees me. "Vampire. You look even worse today than you did yesterday."

I cast my pen across the paper with a furious hand and then turn the journal toward him with a smile brimming with malice.

Reaper. You sound like even more of an asshole today than you did yesterday. I didn't think it would be possible, and yet, here we are. 

Ashen reads my note and his frown deepens. "Did I just offend you?"

Yes.

"How?" he asks.

At this rate? Existing, you obtuse motherfucker. But telling me I look about as good as a bag of dicks usually offends me, yes.

The Reaper's eyes flare with a little flame. "You are a particularly acerbic vampire, you know. I was merely remarking on the fact that you look unwell."

Yes, and it was so kind of you to do so. Thank you for reminding me that I didn't sleep at all. My infallible vampire memory might have failed me had you not. 

The Reaper seems to think on this and opens his mouth to say something further, but I glare at him and he closes it. We stand motionless for a long moment that I start to fear will drag into eternity.

"Come for breakfast with me. I'd like to discuss how we will find and reap the Alpha," he finally demands. I get the sense he's not used to asking anyone for anything. He's used to demanding and receiving.

And so, I will take great pleasure in telling him:

NO.

I smile as I hold up my little note for him to read. He scowls over the edge of the journal at me.

"Why not? It is for your benefit as much as mine."

He waits as I scribble my reply, only the scratch of my pen and the sound of our breath between us.

Reason one: you didn't say please.

Reason two: I wouldn't want anyone to get the WRONG IMPRESSION. Imagine the gossip among the quaint townsfolk if we joined one another for breakfast so early. 

Reason three: I haven't had my morning blofee.

The Reaper glances up at me as he reads and re-reads the note. He gives me an assessing look, like he's trying to work out a puzzle that started out fun and is now just frustrating. His eyes darken just a little as he trains his gaze on the paper.

"Please join me for lunch in that case, after your shift is finished. And what is bloffee?"

I roll my eyes and step back from the door, allowing The Reaper to enter. I head to the narrow side table along the wall to my one extravagance, my one significant investment in the last several years. My Rocket Appartamento espresso machine. I legit would have snuck back into the hotel just to grab this, had I successfully made a run for it. It is a thing of beauty.

I motion for Ashen to sit in one of the two faded armchairs next to the bricked-in fireplace. He looks suspicious of my motivations but sits nonetheless.

As the Reaper watches on with what looks like genuine interest, I set to work grinding coffee beans and prepping the machine. I place my 'I'm feeling FANGTASTIC' mug beneath the spout as the thick espresso pours into the cup, filling the room with the aroma of my morning ritual. Then I head to the mini fridge and empty a quarter bag of blood with some milk into the stainless steel frothing pitcher and steam the fuck out of it until it's little more than a pink cloud. I smile sweetly at the Reaper in the corner as I pour the froth into the mug.

Blofee, I mouth.

He looks at me, motionless.

Want some blofee?

His eyes narrow.

I take the loudest, slurping sip I can manage. His eye twitches. I smile. He frowns. We stare.

I grab my journal and pen without taking my eyes from Ashen, trying to push away some surprising, unwanted thoughts that scuttle into my brain the longer I look at him. Thoughts about how far down his chest those tattoos might go... about what it might feel like to have his hands on my body... about what his blood might taste like as he-

What the fuuuuuuuck is wrong with me. A lot, I think. A lot is definitely wrong with me. I chalk it up to danger and desire, inseparable in the mind of a vampire.

I rip my gaze away and focus on writing a note that says:

Now that you know what blofee is, why the hell are you still here? 

Ashen remains seated as he casts his gaze across my room. "I wanted to see where you live. For someone so integral to the daily operations of the Swan I

I take a long sip from my cup, savoring the rich foam and the velvet espresso as I sit cross-legged on my bed. The katana lies next to me with the handle on the pillow, just in case. I set my coffee down on the nightstand and write my reply.

Because I like this room. It has a certain irony to it that I enjoy. Why do you need to know? 

"Because I'm trying to figure you out. I want to know why they want you. What they are coming for. What makes you special."

It's my sparkling personality, I write. I give him a dazzling smile as I hold up my note.

"...No."

My face falls into a frown and I think I see the Reaper's lips twitch.

"It is one hundred percent not that."

My eyes narrow to slits as I glare at him, and I definitely see his lips twitch. I see a light in his eyes that isn't a flame. The echo of a smile is there. It detonates a thought in my brain that I never expected: I wonder if I could ever make Ashen laugh. 

No. No, no, no. I don't need to take up that challenge. But there's a whisper from the box in my mind that's saying otherwise. The same part of me that loves to get away with something also loves an impossible challenge. Making the Reaper laugh absolutely fits the bill.

I clear my throat and push that idea to the darkest recesses of my mind where it can die of starvation and neglect. I look down at the journal and scribble a new note.

Who is ‘they,’ anyway?

“I think we killed the rest of ‘them’ off. It’s just the Alpha now, until he inevitably finds a new pack to claim. It’s Semyon Abdulov,” Ashen says, his eyes sharpening in he slightest as he assesses my reaction. “Do you know him?”

I’ve heard the name around over the years.

“And? What have you heard, exactly?”

I du