Page 13 of Grim Tidings

It’s a messy kiss. Partly because I’m too impatient to slow down enough to do it properly, and partly because she’s too demanding to meet me somewhere in the middle. She knows what she wants from me, and I’m desperate to give it to her. Her nails scratch up the back of my neck before fisting roughly in my hair, angling my head to the side. I smile against her mouth, then band my arm around her lower back, hitching her closer. She follows beautifully; a gorgeous, low moan caught in the back of her throat.

“That’s right,” I whisper against the corner of her mouth. “Just like that.”

I trace my palm up the column of her spine until I can get a good grip on the back of her neck, walking her backward until she’s pressed firmly between the brick wall and my body, my bones practically vibrating.

“Stop talking,” she demands, and I laugh into our next kiss.

“Got it.”

She tastes like cigarettes and orange peels. Something darker. Awareness hovers just out of reach as I sink further into her, a dark cloud of desire curling around my middle. She feels so good. Tastes even better. I groan out a rough sound and reach under her knee, hitching her thigh at my hip.

“So fucking pretty,” I mumble into her bottom lip. I press into her and she sighs out my name, the whisper echoing in my ear.

I hear it like an echo. A siren’s song. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Billowing black smoke over my eyes and burning ash on my tongue.

Gabriel, she breathes, and the shadows echo the sound.

Gabriel, they say. Gabriel.

I wrench myself away with a gasp, breathing heavily. I know that feeling. That muted press, like the slide of a dull blade over the back of my neck. It’s not urgency or the pound of desire.

It’s magic.

I grip her jaw and tilt her face to the light as the shadows in the alley shift and roll between us. Her mouth is kiss-bitten and red, her lips parted around each heaving breath. It’s almost enough to have me tipping back into her, but … no. There.

Darcy stares back at me with wide, startled eyes. Black expands beyond her pupils, reaching out like tendrils of smoke.

She swallows heavily, and the shadows abruptly stop dancing. Her eyes go back to normal.

But I’ve seen it. And I know what death magic feels like as surely as I know my own.

I put space between us, shoving both hands in my hair. My own magic unfurls in response to the threat. Power explodes from the middle of my back, a cascade of sparks that illuminate the narrow alley as the gossamer threads of my wings expand.

She makes a soft sound of surprise.

It’s a fine act, but I know her kind. We’ve been trading blows since time immemorial. Everything I’ve ever lost has been at the hands of someone like her.

“You’re a Reaper,” I manage through clenched teeth.

She drops her head against the brick wall and closes her eyes.

“And you’re a Guardian,” she sighs.

Chapter Four

Darcy

The one time I let myself deviate from the plan, and it’s with the worst possible choice.

A Guardian Angel. Of course.

I don’t know how I didn’t recognize the feel of his magic. Their office is directly across the hall from ours. I can usually spot their self-righteousness half a mile away. If the Reapers are avoided within the department, then the Guardians are revered. Friend to all, enemy to none.

Except to the Reapers. The Guardians have always had a bone to pick with the Reapers. I’ve heard the snide comments in the hallways. The holier-than-thou scoffs they never bother to hide. Something about the dark versus the light … or two sides of the same coin. I don’t know. I’ve never been particularly interested in navigating the tangled web of interdepartmental politics.

I want no part in ancient battles. I’d very much like to go back inside, collect my things, and bury my head in the sand until my designated soul decides to appear. I’m humiliated and I—

I desperately need a cigarette. I stare mournfully at the extinguished butt, ground into the pavement by our feet.