And Bryce couldn’t stop her laugh of pure joy as her mother leapt out of the helicopter behind them, took one look at Bryce kneeling in the meadow, and said, “Bryce Adelaide Quinlan, what’s all this talk about you jumping around between worlds?”
69
Ithan knew he’d have no luck convincing a Reaper on his own. At least without risking getting his soul sucked out and eaten. But fortunately, there were plenty of Reapers who would answer Jesiba Roga’s summons. Unfortunately, one arrived at the morgue within an hour of Jesiba’s request to the Under-King.
Ithan kept reminding himself of every exit, of his strength, of where the knife in his boot was, of how quickly he could summon claws or shift—
The male Reaper was relatively fresh, judging by the way he’d strutted—only a hint of a glide—into the morgue. This one seemed inclined to play rock star, with his torn black jeans dangling precariously off his prominent hip bones and an array of tattoos scattered over his unnervingly pale torso. No shirt to be seen. He’d bothered with ass-kicking black boots, left partially untied at the tops, and he’d strapped twin black leather bracelets at his wrists.
Gods, Bryce would have had a field day with this guy—his long golden hair was very carefully mussed. That is, until she beheld the acid-green eyes, and the throat that revealed precisely where his death blow had been. The wound had sealed over, but the scars remained.
“Thank you for coming,” Hypaxia said, standing beside the examination table with queenly grace. “This will only take a few moments.”
The Reaper glanced between her and Ithan, but sauntered over to the table, hopping on with a thud that set the metal shuddering. “Heard you defected, witchy-witch.” His voice was a hoarse, wicked rasp. It might have been dismissed as a result of the death wound to his throat, but it was typical of a Reaper. Exactly how Sigrid’s voice had sounded—
“Welcome to the House,” the Reaper continued, bluish lips quirking up in a sneer. He nodded to Ithan. “What’s a wolf pup doing here?”
Ithan mastered his primal fear of the creature before them and crossed his arms. “What’s it to you?”
“You’re Holstrom, right?” That sneer didn’t fade. If this shithead said anything about Connor—
“I was in the Aux,” the Reaper said, tapping one of his tattoos. “Lion-shifter pack.”
Oh shit. Ithan had heard of this guy. A low-level lion who’d shown up with his pack a few months ago on a routine Aux inspection of a vampyr nest in the Meat Market. The wounds on his neck corresponded with what the vamps had done to the guy. But to have chosen to become a Reaper, in the same House as the ones who’d killed him …
From the gleam in the Reaper’s eyes, Ithan couldn’t help but wonder if he had turned Reaper not to elude true death, but to one day exact vengeance.
Hypaxia approached the Reaper and said, “May I touch your head?”
The Reaper kept his eyes on the former queen. “Touch me all you want, sweetheart.”
For fuck’s sake. Ithan suppressed a growl, but Hypaxia remained unruffled as she placed her brown hands on his shining golden hair.
Ithan refrained from reaching for the knife in his boot as the Reaper inhaled deeply. Getting a whiff of her scent? Or preparing to eat her spirit? “Your soul smells like rain clouds and mountain berries.” The creep licked his lips. “Anyone ever tell you that?”
How Hypaxia kept her hands on his head, Ithan had no idea. He was half inclined to rip the shithead’s arms out of their sockets and use them to beat the guy senseless.
The Reaper inhaled again. “A little bit of witch, a little bit of necromancer, huh?”
“She needs to concentrate,” Ithan said through his teeth.
The Reaper slid those acid-green eyes over to him. He asked Hypaxia, “Am I distracting you, honey?”
She didn’t answer. The expression on her face was distant as she focused on what lay within the Reaper’s mind.
The Reaper inhaled deeply again, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Gods, your scent’s like fucking wine—”
“We’re done, thank you,” Hypaxia said politely, stepping back and making notes on the papers stacked on her desk. “Please give my regards to your master.”
The Reaper stared at her for a long moment, practically feral. Ithan barely breathed, ready to pounce, even though this lowlife was unkillable—
“I’ll see you around,” the Reaper said, more of a promise than a parting, and hopped off the table. He strutted again for the doors, this time with a bit of that Reaper’s floating gait, as if trying to show off for the witch.