Page 52 of Reaper’s Curse

Reaping hell.

I was confused.

Whatever the thing was that had taken up residence inside of me, it was winning the struggle, taking command of my senses and faculties. It clouded my vision, my thoughts, and reason. My body shook with the effort to maintain a sliver of control, but that control was slipping…had slipped…and I was sliding beneath the waters of dominance.

No! I couldn’t allow the darkness to win.

From the coil within my belly, Winter’s magic erupted. Racing through my system and attacking the wicked corruption slithering through my veins. My skin frosted, my fingers turned blue, and my sight glazed with a fine crystalline layer.

Somewhere, someone was screaming. Maybe it was me. I couldn’t be sure.

And the male before me—the Killian or Chace—pounced. Pinned me against the wall, trapped my hands in his, and ignited his collector’s eye.

He was using a reaper’s tool…on me!

I jerked and flailed, but for all my attempts, I remained entombed in his restraint. When the white light of the collector’s eye washed over me, my fight evaporated. Velvety soft waves crashed into me, smoothing over the sharp edges of my aggression.

Under the combined push and pull of Winter’s magic and the reaper’s tool, my urges and desires shifted. The struggle remained but had softened. Became warmth spreading through my limbs instead of a volcano erupting in my chest. And the all-encompassing white light of the collector’s eye…

“Don’t fight me,” he said softly. “I don’t know how this happened, but I can help. Just give me⁠—"

I slammed my forehead into his, cutting off the powered-up reaper’s tool.

His hold gave. I spun us around, turning the tables, pressing him against the wall, and thrusting him into the fixed state of the defeated. His hands thrust between us as if to stop me, hold me back. But as one clamped down on my shoulder, the other flattened against my breast.

The burst of shock in his eyes matched the spur of emotion sparking to life within me.

His fingers curled, and his gaze dipped to his hand then shot back to my face. “I⁠—"

The whooshing in my ears exploded into a frenzy.

I fisted his shirt in both my hands and tossed myself backwards, tugging him with me and sending us into a roll and tumble. He landed, his back to the ground, immobilized beneath me.

His tousled hair obscured his forehead, but the face I gazed upon was still Chace. Not the Killian, but Chace, my fellow reaper. The reaper who had been missing, locked up in a cage somewhere, and now he was here, beneath me. Warm and real, and…clearly aroused.

My thoughts stilled, and the sound all around me faded.

His gaze clouded and his lips separated, and heat pooled at our point of contact.

Mere moments ago, I’d been mad at him, but why? Why had I been mad, when in truth, I’d been worried for days about his condition and whereabouts?

The hostility seeped from my muscles. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

My ragged breath dragged through my chest as my shoulders slumped, and my gaze wandered the lines of his face, the crash of emotions in his silver-flecked eyes—confusion, concern, want…

I averted my gaze, dipped my attention to his lips. Slightly open, split and wet with blood.

His hands settled on my hips, then slid to my thighs, drawing my gaze back to his. “I think I know what’s wrong. And I believe I can help if you’ll let me.”

His voice softened my edge and thawed the portions of me that were chilled with Winter’s magic. I returned my gaze to his expressive, inviting lips.

“Raven. I⁠—”

The whooshing that had previously consumed my hearing was replaced with the too-loud thump of my heart.

I dove my fingers through his hair and captured his next word with my mouth, crashing my lips to his. I didn’t know what I was doing, what prompted my action, but he tasted of honey-brewed whisky and rainy-day fires, chocolate and sin. And his hair…darker than midnight and as soft as spun silk. I would gladly stroke it for days.

“Gods,” I moaned.