When I arrive downstairs, Ashen is in the kitchen, pushing down the plunger of a coffee press. His back is to me but I know he heard me enter. I climb up onto a stool and sit at the island to watch.

It's a dark blue shirt today, the shade of midnight in the far North when the summer sun skirts the horizon but doesn't go down. When he turns his head, I see the edge of the tattoo skirting up from beneath his collar, the wing of a bird that disappears below his shirt.

"Good hunting?" he asks, and glances over his shoulder enough to see me nod. I smell something cooking and I can barely contain my smile.

Toast.

"It's not the same as your... blofee... but hopefully this will do," Ashen says as he turns and sets a steaming mug before me next to a small pitcher of cream and one of blood. I smile in reply. He looks at me like he doesn't recognize who I am. There's an element of confusion on his face. I wonder if I've drawn a wonky eyebrow. Then I have the idea that I should draw slightly messed up makeup every day and see how long it takes for him to say something. A wonky brow here, a little asymmetrical contouring there... I'd probably end up with a full clown face before he utters a single word about it.

The Reaper seems wary of the delight this idea has sparked in my eyes and turns away as though I'm plotting his demise. Which maybe I am.

And suddenly I think up a new game. The Attraction and Annihilation game. I will subdue him with my feminine charms and then I will destroy him. Maybe I'll destroy them all. It's a plan that has the element of impossibility that I enjoy.

As I'm mulling over this idea, the toast pops.

I can barely contain myself as he turns away to retrieve the butter from the fridge. I busy my hands with making my coffee, watching as he brings the plate of toast and the package of butter to the island and sits across from me.

"We will go to the Shadow Realm first and try to gather any additional information we can find. From there, we can take a corridor to Cairo," Ashen says as he pours himself a cup of coffee. I nod, tapping my pen on my notebook.

Ashen takes the butter and starts unravelling the foil. I'm already writing a note, but I keep my eyes on him. As he peels the foil away from the fang marks, his gaze collides with mine in a dead-eyed glare. "Seriously?"

I spin my note to face him and push it across the polished marble. The question is, Reaper... did I lick it? 

He stares at me, unblinking. I think I might have broken him. My smile blooms. The Reaper picks up his butter knife and flips it across his knuckles, and for a moment I think he might fire it at my chest. He looks at me the way he did the other day, like a puzzle, but this time he's understood something fundamental that he didn't see before. That it's not a puzzle after all, but a maze. And unless he keeps his head, he'll never find his way out.

The rotation of the blade in his hand stops when the serrated edge lodges in the butter through the imprint of my fangs. Something wicked flashes in Ashen's eyes. "If you think that is a disincentive, you're wrong," he says as he cuts a square of butter and deposits it on his toast, waiting for the heat of the bread to melt the edges. He looks at me with a gleam in his eyes, and I can't tell if it's fury or something more dangerous.

I give the Reaper a sweet smile as I pass him my reply. Next time, I guess I'll just have to put it down my pants. 

The warm brown of his eyes seems to shimmer in the dim morning light. He gives me a lazy half smile. Ashen leans across the island, holding my gaze. His eyes land on my mouth for a fraction too long and my heart thuds a heavy beat in my chest. "That's not what I thought you meant when you said make it cream."

I nearly let out a roaring laugh but I'm scared to make the sound. I almost busted myself the last time I did, when I imagined him reaping donuts. But I do give him a vibrant smile. I can't dampen the delight in my eyes, and I catch a glimpse of something in his that I didn't expect. Something real beneath the performative mask. It's like the ember of truth beneath the smoke that blinds you.

Desire.

And I know, better than anyone, that desire can get you killed.

I mustn't let myself forget. Not my sister's hands as she pushed me from the cliff and into the sea. Not the silver blade through her heart, the hellfire shimmering in the sun. Not the blood that spilled from her hands as she gripped the sword, taking it with her as she fell after me. I can't forget Aglaope. The second I do, I'll be next. And no whisper of desire will stand against the storm of their vengeance if the Reapers find out who I am.

Ashen is no different from the rest of his Realm. He's probably already planning my demise. It might not be his hand on the blade, but it will be his kill. Unless I kill first.

I write a note. I hold his gaze. I lean a little closer and there's only a whisper of space between us. I pass him my message, hiding my fangs behind my smile.

Be careful, Reaper. You're in danger of convincing yourself you know what to do with a woman like me.

I can see every shade of gold and honey in the rich brown depths of his eyes. I can see the ember brighten beneath the smoke. The Reaper can try to hide it, this spark of desire, but I'll still find it. I'll hunt it down. I'll fan it into a flame. And then I think I'll use it.

I think I'll use it to burn them all.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 12

Black smoke coils in a slow path toward the ceiling. It rises from a wide, flat cauldron resting on a dais in the center of the room. There are stones in the cauldron, black with shimmering seams of gold. There isn't a flame, and yet the smoke billows upward, trapped by the living room above. It flows across the ceiling and hovers among the tops of the brick pillars and arches that hold up the foundations of the house.

The Reaper takes a small, unlit torch from a basket by the door, holding it to the fire of a lamp along the wall. He casts it into the cauldron. Fire roars to life across the stones.

"Let's go," he says, walking toward the dais.

I look around as though there's some magical door to the Shadow Realm that might appear in all the embers spitting from the flame. The Reaper ascends the steps.

There is no door. There's no escape hatch.

The cauldron is the path to the Shadow Realm.

This parachute is a backpack and the backpack is on fucking fire.

I write a note and rip it from the journal, crumple it up, and throw it at the Reaper.

I miss.

It rolls down the interior edge of the cauldron and bursts into flame.

The Reaper turns and looks at me, and the note doesn't matter anymore. He gets the gist of it from my face. Which is:

Fuck you. I'm not getting in a cauldron of fire. 

"This is the corridor," he says, pointing to the cauldron as though it's an obvious and perfectly reasonable request to stand in a flame. "Let's go, vampire."

I shake my head. I take a step backward.

"You will not burn," the Reaper says.

Sure, that's easy to say when you're a demon and your name is fucking Ashen. My jaw tightens and I give him a death stare. To demonstrate my point, I rip another piece of paper from my journal and compress it in my fist, then throw it into the fire. Again, it bursts into flame. Ashen looks at it, then at me.

"Okay... I understand your concern, but you will not burn. You are an immortal."

I shake my head and take another step back.

He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand at all.