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De-what myself?
The Reaper takes a step back from me. His gaze is snagged on mine like a hook in the gills of a fish. I'm still trying to work out exactly what in the hell is going on and why I'm not dead. I realize I'm staring at him with a dumbass look on my face and I try to school my expression into something that looks less confused and panicky. I'm not convinced by my efforts and by the frown on the Reaper's face, neither is he.
"I am Ashen of House Urbigu. What is your name?"
I nearly burst out laughing. He has no fucking clue. By some insane miracle, he must not have heard me sing to Jessie. He has no idea he's standing in front of the vampire bounty kill of an immortal lifetime.
If I answer his question, he'll be pretty quick to figure it out. Not because of my name, I could give him any name I wanted. Bertha. Ethel. I could even give him the random computer bee-boop of Grimes and Elon Musk's baby name. If I speak one word, he'll hear it in my voice. He'll know exactly who I am.
Ashen of House Urbigu narrows his eyes at me. He opens his mouth to repeat his question.
And I never thought I'd say this before, but thank fuck for werewolves.
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Chapter 3
It starts with a silver mist. It creeps toward us until it envelops our legs. Ashen gives me a last sweeping look, his gaze lingering a fraction longer on my lips as his eyes burn through me. He still expects an answer to his question about my name, I guess, but he's not getting one. I glance at Jessie, who smiles wistfully into the distance, then back at the Reaper standing before me.
"You can still have him afterward, if you wish. If you survive. I am not here to come between you and your meal," Ashen says, his eyes carving a disinterested, repulsed path across the human. In a swift motion, he clips Jessie's temple with the handle of his sword, rendering him unconscious. He then turns his gaze to me with the same disinterested expression. For an instant, the flame brightens within his pupils. "Make no mistake, vampire. I am not here to protect you. I am here to reap the Alpha. If you manage to kill a werewolf or two whilst defending yourself it will make my job easier."
A werewolf or two... this Reaper motherfucker. Just because I haven't said a word doesn't mean I can't look after myself. I crinkle my brow and look as fiercely vampiric as I can against a Reaper, leaning just a little toward him in a challenge as I swing my borrowed sword in an arc. The Reaper tilts his head, his eyes narrowing even further.
"I'm sorry to interrupt what is clearly a heartfelt moment, but I must insist we take the vampire," a man says from the shadow and mist of the alley. Ashen lets his gaze linger on me a moment longer before turning to face the pairs of eyes lurking in the distance. They shine in the dim light like those of a cat. The man who spoke steps into a thin shaft of moonlight filtering into the gloom. A young face but silver hair, a sharp suit, a new Omega watch that glints in the light as he adjusts his cufflinks. He smiles. "Ah, a Reaper. Whatever her crime, our pack is happy to carry out your sentence. No need to trouble yourself with a solitary vampire."
"I'm not here for her," Ashen says. "Bring me your Alpha." He takes a step forward into the mist. His broad back obstructs some of the shadowy figures of the pack from my view. There must be at least thirty werewolves here, more than enough to subdue your average vampire.
The man laughs, ru
"Tisk-tisk, Reaper," the man says. "You didn't say please."
"I need no permission from your clan. Your Alpha has committed the Crime of Abomination. He has made a hybrid with the blood of both vampire and werewolf."
"Says who? Everyone knows that can't be done."
"Says House Urbigu," Ashen says, the flame on his silver sword rippling as he brings it forward to curl his other palm around the handle. "Bring him to me."
The man in the distance bends his head, shaking it in feigned resignation. He looks up at us again. He looks at me. "Apologies, Reaper. But no-can-do."
"Then I will reap you all," Ashen says, with no anger or emotion evident in his voice.
Fucking hell. Balls of steel. He doesn't seem very troubled that we're about to face an entire pack of werewolves. It's as though he was picking up his laundry or ordering a latte. It's like he went into a bakery to buy one donut and thought, you know what, fuck it. I burn a shitload of calories killing other immortal creatures, I can eat whatever the hell I want. I'll just have them all. I imagine him at the donut counter, staring down at a case of pastries, and saying to some zitty teenager I will reap them all.
I burst out laughing.
Like, properly laughing.
Fuck.
At least I didn't talk.
The Reaper looks back at me with an assessing gaze as my laughter dies in my throat. I feel like he's close to working something out, and I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. I put up my hands in apology and then sweep them toward the pack ahead in an invitation to continue. The Reaper’s brow furrows. He finally turns back to the spokesman of the pack and I let go of the breath I've been holding.
"This is your last chance, wolf. Bring your Alpha to me."
There is a moment of quiet before the sound of ripping fabric fills the air between us. The suit tears across the transforming body of the werewolf as he drops into the fog. There are sounds of pain, bones breaking and remaking. I can hear the fur sprouting through their skin. I can hear their teeth sliding through their gums. There's the nasal sound of snarling and the throaty sound of growling. When they rise as wolves in the mist, they are all focused on me, as though the Reaper between us didn't even exist.
Ashen looks over his shoulder and pins me with his eyes of flame. My heart kicks to a halt. One sweep of his sword and he could kill me. One sweep of mine, and I could fell another Reaper. Another demon dying on my sword for the sister they took from me. But I don't raise my sword to him, and I don't know why. I hold his gaze.
"Are you ready, vampire?" the Reaper asks.
I turn my glowing red eyes to the line of wolves in the mist.
I nod.
I'm ready.
The lesser ranking pack members are the first to advance. They stalk forward, snarling their fury, their heads below the line of fog but their eyes glowing within it. As the first bursts out of the mist, the Reaper is already swinging.
The blade tears through muscle and slides against bone. I smell the wolfblood. The beast yowls in pain and drops from the Reaper's blade, falling to the slick asphalt of the alley. Embers and ash lift starward as the body falls apart.
The Reaper kills the next two before I finally get a shot.
A wolf with black fur and shining orange eyes explodes from the fog. He leaps past the Reaper, whose sword is pressed to the hilt within the body of another. The black wolf snarls at me and I hiss in his face as I bury my sword in his neck.
I love hissing. It sounds vicious and I don't get to do it enough.
Same with killing werewolves.
As I turn my sword away and kick the werewolf free of my blade, I realize I've been missing this mayhem in my quiet, under-cover life. Lately, I only hunt for food, not for fun anymore. It feels good to use my strength again.