A Shadow in the Reaping

"Fucking prickface motherfucker," Ashen says, spitting hot blood into the sand. "I fucking hate it when they do that."

I'm still down on my knees, my palm pressed to the side of my face. It's damp with thick, black blood that colors the grains of dust beneath me. The pain was on delay but it's hitting hard now and I struggle to steady my breath.

"All right, vampire?" Ashen asks, and I feel his hand on my shoulder. I nod, but I'm not convincing either of us.

Within a beat of my heart, Ashen is kneeling in front of me, prying my hand from my face.

"Fucking hell," he whispers. He whips his jacket from his shoulders and presses it to my torn skin. "You'll be safer in his realm my ass. He's here for two minutes and rips half your fucking face apart."

I look at him with a question in my eyes.

"Yeah, it's pretty bad."

I open and close my fingers to ask for my pen with a faint smile. Ashen rolls his eyes.

"Really?" he asks, the sarcasm heavy in his expression as I give him my sweetest doe eyes and cast my pen across my journal.

Do you think I could get salmonella?

"No."

E. coli?

"No."

Rabies?

"...maybe."

Nooooo. Not angel rabies. The HORROR. 

Ashen tries to smile but pulls the jacket from my wounds. A darkness embeds itself into his eyes and his pupils flash with flame. "It's not healing very fast. Do you have more blood in the thermos?" he asks as he pushes the fabric to my face once more. It smells like him, and it doesn't fix the pain but it's comforting.

A little.

"Is it enough?"

I don't know. How bad is it, really? 

"To the bone. Those feathers are like knives. It's a lot of damage."

I sigh and look toward the pyramid. I wonder how their portal works, if it's anything like the cauldrons that the Reapers use. But I have no desire to find out. It would be handy to have one right here. I think I'd like to go back to the Shadow Realm now. I think even the fire in the cauldron would be okay.

"Take my blood," Ashen says, his voice rich and warm, like the first rays of the sun that find us on this ancient ground. I meet his eyes and he stares intently into mine, as though he's reaching right into my heart. It pulls the air from my lungs. I feel a sudden rush of tears sting in my eyes and I shake my head. It's not like I would take enough to harm him, and I know my venom won’t harm him like it does the werewolves. It's the act of offering that overwhelms me. On any other day he could be my executioner, and now he's rolling up his sleeve and offering his wrist to me. "It's all right. I know you will only take what you need. Go ahead."

I look at the network of veins beneath his skin, feeling the beat of his pulse as though it lives within me. I hear the four chambers of his heart, the surge of blood through valves and arteries.

"Go on, Lu. It's okay. Just trust me."

I flick my eyes to Ashen's and find only truth in his words. I look back down to his arm and my canines slide to their full length in my mouth. Venom colors my tongue in sweetness. I lay one hand in Ashen's and his fingers curl around mine. With my other hand I grasp his elbow.

Thank you, I whisper without sound. I feel a tear breach the corner of my eye, creeping around the grains of sand stuck to my skin. Ashen's thumb caresses the back of my hand in a reassuring touch. I close my eyes and draw my lips to his wrist. I take a deep breath. I press a kiss of gratitude to his skin before I bite down.

Blood, hot and rich, fills my mouth. It's like nothing I've ever tasted. Sweet but not cloying. Spiced but not burning. Ashen doesn't move as I draw in his blood from the bite, and I relish the sound and the feel of it as it flows from his body to mine. When I sense the wounds across my face begin to knit together, I slow down, until I can finally let go. As I lift my fangs from his flesh, I press my palm across the bite and we wait for a moment, kneeling in front of one another, unmoving aside from our heavy breath.

When the bleeding has slowed on both our wounds, Ashen stands, pulling me up with him. He unfurls his black jacket and pulls it across my shoulders to hide the dark stains that flow down my shirt. "Better?" he asks.

I nod and I touch my cheek, still sore but healing. Thank you, I mouth.

Ashen grasps my chin and tilts my face to the sun to see the progress of the wound. He offers a faint smile as he casts his gaze over the healing skin. Even with its subtle tones, I see relief, and I see pride.

Our eyes meet. The warmth of his thumb caresses my chin, grazing the edge of my lip. My heart rages to climb closer to him, pulling my body with it. His blood sings in my veins.

Part of me wants so badly to lean forward and press my lips to Ashen’s. I want to feel the heat of his breath on my skin. I want to memorize his features with the touch of my fingertips. But the winds of fear catch my sail.

I swallow a thick knot in my throat. My fingers curl around Ashen’s wrist and I lower his hand from my face. I take a step back and look at Ashen for a moment longer before I turn away. My heart rebels against me, hammering furious beats that ring in my ears. It just doesn’t know that I’m trying to save it.

We walk in silence back to the Serapeum, grabbing the apothecary's thermos before we head back to our bikes. By the time I pull my helmet on, the wound is nothing more than pink slashes across my skin. We drive off toward the city and I follow Ashen's taillights into the morning rush of cars.

Asallah libakkunu, I think, over and over on the drive back into Cairo, remembering the words of my spell. I overpower your heart. But I'm starting to worry that mine has already succumbed.

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Chapter 23

I sit on a shaded bench in the courtyard and text back and forth with Ediye as I wait for the Reaper to gather some clothes from the depths of the house. We talk in emojis so I don't tell her where I am, but she knows that I'm okay.

I send her a heart.

She sends me a skull and a question mark.

I send her a face palm.

She sends me a devil face.

I send her an eyeroll.

She sends me an eggplant and a cat.

"I found this," Ashen says, startling me. I nearly drop the phone on the limestone and recover it with a fumbling hand. The Reaper holds out a folded black dress and I take it into my arms, holding it away from the grime on my top. He's gotten changed into black jeans and another midnight blue shirt, not as crisp and new as the other one but still well-tailored.

Thank you, I mouth, and look away. I'm feeling kind of weird about what happened in Saqqara. Not just about the presence of an angel who seems too interested and knowledgeable about our little mystery, but about what happened with Ashen.

There's a lot of power in his blood. A lot of history. And it's kind of frightening. It's like a well of secrets that I can taste but not see or hear. The essence of it still surges in my body, and even though it's not much, I can feel him, effervescent in my veins.

Ashen turns away and I get changed right there in the courtyard. The dress is kind of sweet and I can't imagine a Reaper wearing it. Aside from the dark color, it's not their typical style. The soft cotton hits just at my knee, the bodice is fitted but not tight. Gold beads follow the neckline and flow up the halter straps. I take off my bra. The white lace is stained and not really a good fit with the halter, you see. I leave it on top of my other clothes where it can hopefully make Ashen uncomfortable.