A Shadow in the Reaping

Ashen and I stand at the base of the staircase. I look to the closed door at the top. I think about the first and last time I was here, when the music was pulsing through my chest, confusing the rapid beat of my heart. My palms had been slick with anticipation. I remember the taste of venom on my tongue. I hadn't seen Bobby Sarno in person since that day in the village when he'd sneered at me as I writhed in flame, bound to the stake. I had climbed those stairs with a singular purpose, to claim my revenge on the last man left to see me burn.

I got what I came for. I lured him alone to the roof. When the spell of my disguise melted into the night and I saw the recognition in his eyes, I pressed his temples between my palms. I twisted his head until the bones popped and his body shuddered. He fell to my feet in a lifeless, twitching heap. I watched until he stilled, and then I jumped from the roof to disappear back into my quiet, hidden life.

And now here I am, and it feels like the ghost of Bobby Sarno is right here with me, like he's waiting on the roof. I know it's silly. His soul isn't trapped in the Shadow Realm, and it's not trapped here either. He died between my hands and there is no coming back. And somewhere along the line, it feels like that version of me died too. I would still kill him, don't get me wrong. I'd still relish every second of his life ebbing away between my palms. But I don't want to simply hide anymore. I don't think I'm meant for that life, because it doesn't feel like living.

I take Ashen's hand. His skin radiates warmth. I pull a deep breath to the bottom of my lungs. This feels like living.

"All right, vampire?" Ashen asks, looking down with a faint smile.

I nod. I give a smile in return despite a swell of nerves that churn in my belly.

We ascend the narrow staircase with our hands still clasped together. Ashen's blade brightens with flame. When we stop on the landing, Ashen turns the handle. He cracks the door ajar. I listen for sounds from the roof but there's nothing out of place. It's only the sound of birds traversing the sky. Cars down below on the road. I give a single nod and he pushes the door open.

We walk onto the roof. The bar is unlit, chairs turned upside down on the tables. We walk to the right and look down into the alley where nothing seems amiss. We check the other side that faces the front of the building and it's only cars and the empty sidewalk. I glance up at Ashen and smile. He returns my gaze with a wary look, but I see a touch of relief in his eyes. We move away from the edge of the building and start toward the fire escape at the far end. My eyes flick to the exact spot where Bobby Sarno's last breath was spent before I focus on the iron railings that curve toward the street below.

"I have to say, Reaper, I do love getting away with things."

A deafening crash bursts in my ears. A blinding light scorches my eyes. Ashen's arms wrap around me as we fall, a thousand pins of flame piercing my skin.

There is sulphur and smoke. There is pain and the scent of blood.

And then there is nothing at all.

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Chapter 31

My eyes are sticky. My lids pull apart and I blink the film of blood from my vision. Smoke and dust clog my lungs. I try to cough but the sharp points of broken ribs press into my chest. Thick, dark blood flows from the i

"That's just swell," I say to myself, but I can't hear the words I make or the sound of the metal as I flick the nail onto the broken bricks.

There's a weight across my body that presses my ribs into my lungs with every breath. I groan and cough as I try to sit up, but the most I can manage is to roll onto my back. The smell of blood is suffocating. My own. Jessie's, dried and coated with dust. The Reaper's.

I look down at my body. The weight across my torso is Ashen.

I grit and growl and fight the pain as I push Ashen's heavy frame to my side. His arm rolls away from me and hits the debris that lies scattered around us. I can't see his face. His head is turned away from me. I drag myself closer, calling his name over and over. I can't hear the desperation in my own voice. But I can feel tears that cleanse the cuts on my cheeks with their salty sting. I lay my hand beneath Ashen's face and turn his head toward me.

His eyes fix their unseeing gaze toward the sky.

"Ashen... Ashen wake up."

I caress his blood-streaked skin with broken fingers.

"Ashen..."

I lean my ear against his chest, hoping to feel the rise and fall of his bones, the evidence of movement in his lungs. He is still. My shaking fingers touch his neck and his lips, searching for any sign of a heartbeat or a breath. There is nothing. I wail in frustration and despair, but the sound that escapes from the very center of my soul is little more than a muffled cry in my own ears.

My fangs slide from their sheathes and I bite into my wrist, holding my dripping blood over Ashen's parted lips. It flows into his mouth just as I see the first grey flake peel from his skin and lift toward the sky. There's another, and then another, and then more, and more, until I can't count them. They lift around me and drift away on the breeze. Then a light, cinders and smoke, sparks that take flight. The features of Ashen's face dissolve beneath my hands. His flesh turns to dust and I close my eyes, tears flowing across my skin as I weep.

I don't hear it coming. A crack of blinding pain hits the base of my skull, and the world and all my sorrow disappear.

I smell antiseptic. Alcohol. The adhesive of bandages. The PVC of intravenous tubes. More faintly: clay. Kiln dust.

The brickworks.

A sharp and unrelenting pain pierces through my brain and muddies my thoughts. It takes a moment to realize I can hear again. The beeping of a heart monitor plays an inconsistent beat to my left. The pace is getting faster.

Memories surface like the broken planks of a sunken ship. The weight of Ashen's body on mine. An image of his lifeless eyes, pointed to the sky. The cinders that collapsed beneath my hand and drifted away in the breeze. Tears streak across my temples before I even open my eyes. I look down at my left arm, bound with silver handcuffs to the rail of a hospital bed. I turn my forearm in the light, but the tattoo is gone.

I close my eyes and my shoulders shake with silent sobs.

"Tears for a Reaper? What kind of koroleva piyavok are you?" a man says from my right, his accented voice thick with mockery. I look toward the open door of the room.

The Alpha.

Semyon Abdulov leans against the threshold, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark hair is slicked back. He wears a burgundy suit, the black shirt and silk tie beneath shimmering in the lights that shine too brightly above us. His glowing, snow-blue eyes crinkle at the edges with a smug, triumphant smile.

"Although, that might just be why you have survived so many years while your kin have not. You are unique. You make unpredictable choices. Most of the time." Semyon pushes away from the threshold and walks a few steps into the room, casting his gaze around the space before it lands on me once more. "Except the human. I figured you couldn't resist another chance to kill him. And we needed you to feed in order to survive. Most of your injuries have healed, no?"

Semyon walks closer and prods my ribs with his finger. The bones shift beneath the pressure and I hiss my fury at him.