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  The rash, reckless thoughts now running through his mind were far from normal. In fact, they frightened him a little because of how fiercely he wanted to give in.

  He’d gone thousands of years without feeling even a tiny nugget of anything resembling lust, and with one look at Catriona, he’d been bowled over. It made him feel like a randy teen, who walked around with a constant hard-on.

  He focused his mind on something other than tearing her clothes off. Her green eyes watched him as a fox might watch a hound. No longer did he sense fear, but she wasn’t exactly comfortable with his presence either.

  Not that he could blame her. No one was ever comfortable around him. He could ease everyone by using glamour, but to be honest, he didn’t give a fuck. This was who he was. Either they got used to him, or they didn’t. It didn’t matter to him.

  Or it usually didn’t.

  “You’re Dark.”

  He didn’t pretend her words were a question. “Aye.”

  “If you’re not here to kill me, then why did you want to speak with me?”

  A good question. He’d followed her to her grandfather’s and watched their interaction. He hadn’t been allowed inside because of the carved symbols around the doorways. But he’d seen enough to know that Cat and her grandfather were close.

  He hadn’t intended to show himself to her that night. He could’ve remained veiled, but he’d let it drop—he’d let her see him. There was something about her that enticed him.

  Was it her bravery or her beauty?

  He’d meant to formulate a plan and use glamour to disguise himself to get close to her so he could be prepared when Bran showed up. That plan was forgotten when he saw her step out of her car and look his way.

  “Fintan?”

  What had she asked? Oh, that’s right. “I want to know about you.”

  “What for?” she asked with a bemused expression.

  “It’s not as common as you might think for a Fae to leave a human with a child. It’s even rarer for three of my kind to visit the same family.”

  She blew out a harsh breath and turned her back to him, her head bowed as she put her hands on the back of a kitchen chair. “So I’m a curiosity you’ve come to study?”

  “I want to know what it is about your family that continues to draw the Fae.”

  Her head lifted. “I don’t have magic. It doesn’t seem to matter how many Fae decide to screw someone in my family, not everyone gets something.”

  He could argue with her, but Fintan decided it was best to let her think what she would. Her words were clipped, angry. That kind of resentment could only be the result of something as horrid as a death. Then he recalled what the Light Fae the previous night had told him about Catriona’s family being killed.

  Yet not everyone in her family was dead.

  “Who did you lose?”

  “My brother and sister.” She turned to face him then.

  Fintan fisted his hands so he wouldn’t reach for her when he spotted the raw, visceral pain in her eyes. He was a Reaper, and that meant he lived alone. There could be no feelings of desire or longing.

  With a savage shove, he tamped down such emotions.

  “Why didn’t they come for me?” she demanded with her eyes ablaze with rage and grief.

  “I don’t know.” It was one of the reasons he was interested in her.

  She snorted and walked into the kitchen. There, she grabbed a bottle of red wine and took out a glass. She held it up, silently asking him if he wanted any. Fintan gave a shake of his head and watched as she poured the liquid.

  She took a drink and stared into the glass. “My grandfather thinks it’s because I don’t have any magic, but I know he’s wrong. The Reapers are toying with me.”

  He jerked at the mention of Reapers. So she, like the other Fae, assumed his group was responsible for the deaths. “What do you know of the Reapers?”

  “I hear things. Some Fae might attempt to hide what they are, but none of them try to keep their conversations secret. I suspect it’s because they believe mortals are beneath them. What do you know about the Reapers?”

  “Why are you so sure it’s them after you?”

  Her head jerked up as her gaze clashed with his. “Possibly because my family has lived in this town among the Fae for eight hundred years without any Hayeses being murdered.”

  “There was a mass killing of Halflings around the world,” Fintan said after a minute. “I heard a rumor that it’s the Reapers who stopped the murders.”

  Green eyes narrowed a fraction. “Then who began it?”

  “A group who wanted to make it look as if the Reapers were responsible.”

  She took a drink, seeming to considering his words. “I don’t suppose it matters what group killed my siblings. In the end, it was a Fae.”

  “Would you feel the same had it been a human?”

  “That’s different.”

  He raised a brow. “It isn’t. You’re part of both worlds.”

  She swallowed and lowered her gaze. “I’ll reluctantly admit that I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  He found his lips softening as if attempting to smile—something he halted instantly. “I know what’s coming for you.”

  “How?”

  “Does it really matter?” he asked.

  “No, I suppose not. Why would you tell me?”

  “I want to kill him.”

  She walked to the sofa and sat. Then she motioned to the loveseat, indicating that he should sit. “Him. So it’s one man?”

  “I want to kill the leader of a particular group of Fae.”

  “Why?”

  He walked to the loveseat but remained standing. “Revenge.”

  “So you want to use me as bait to catch him.”

  “I do.” Fintan sat on the edge of the chair. “Help me get vengeance for your family and the other humans who died because they had Fae blood.”

  “Your offer is . . . appealing.”

  “Except?”

  “I have nothing with which to protect myself.”

  He found he liked her more and more. She didn’t ask for him to protect her, but a way to defend herself. Her fearlessness only made his lust grow. “I’ll be with you.”

  “No.”

  “Fae stand outside your house during the night, waiting for the day when Bran comes for you.”

  That news didn’t seem to faze her. She drank more of the wine and crossed one leg over the other. “I want a weapon like yours. The one that can turn a Fae to dust.”

  “I can make that happen, but I’ll still be with you.”

  “I can’t have a Fae with me all the time. It’ll draw attention.”

  He didn’t remind her that she was the one who drew attention. Whether she knew it or not, he was going to be with her. There was no way he’d leave her alone for even one moment.

  Because catching Bran meant they could find Eoghan. After that, Fintan would take great pleasure in killing Bran slowly for all that he’d done.

  A lock of red hair fell into Catriona’s eyes. She moved it aside, her gaze on him. “And when you catch this Fae? Will I be left alone?”

  “If that is your wish.”

  “You’ll give me such a promise?”

  He gave a nod.

  “Who are you to be able to do such a thing?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Her eyes widened as if alarmed by his words. “Yes.”

  “I give you my word.”

  She set her wine on the table next to her. “I don’t know you. You may be very honorable. I’m counting on that as we work together because we have a mutual enemy. But, let’s be honest. Once we’ve apprehended your prey, you’ll leave. You won’t have any idea what happens to me. Nor do I expect you to. What I want is your promise that you and those connected to me won’t kill me or my family.”

  “They won’t. I give you my vow.”

  They both knew she had no choice but to accept his promise. It was th
e first time his word had been questioned, and he didn’t like it. Never mind that he knew she had valid arguments.

  All of this was based on the idea that Bran would kill her, but Fintan was keeping his options open in case things went the other way. The Hayeses being the most powerful Halfling family wasn’t something a power-hungry Bran would allow to slip through his fingers. Which meant Bran didn’t know about Cat.

  Yet.

  “Then we have a deal,” she said and held out her hand.

  He looked at it, both eager to touch her and realizing it wouldn’t be a good idea. Still, he reached out and clasped her hand.

  With a firm shake, she released him. All the while, his skin tingled where their palms had met. The desire he thought he’d rid himself of returned with a vengeance—and a hunger that threatened to break apart his icy restraint.

  His gaze lowered to her lips. He saw them moving as she spoke, but all he could think about was kissing her. It took a full minute before he was able to get himself back under control.

  “We can work out the details later,” she said.

  Fintan mentally shook himself to clear his head. “There will be few details. I’ll make sure our enemy knows you’re here. Then we wait for him to appear.”

  “This Fae’s name is Bran?”

  He glanced at her lips again. “Aye.”

  “What makes you think he’ll come?”

  “He wants to rid this realm of every Halfling.”

  “And the Reapers?”

  He stood. “What of them?”

  “What if they show up?”

  “They won’t.”

  She rolled her eyes. “How can you be sure?”

  “I’m sure they have other things to do.”

  “Right.” Catriona got to her feet. “I want this to be over. I want my grandfather to be able to leave his house again. I want to stop looking over my shoulder.”

  That caused him to raise a brow. “Will you?”

  “What?”

  “Stop looking over your shoulder once Bran is caught?”

  She shrugged, her lips twisting. “I’d like to think I will. By the way, how do you know the Fae responsible is named Bran?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I like long stories.”

  Once more, he found himself wanting to grin. “He’s an old enemy who likes to cause trouble. I’m the kind of Fae who likes to make such men go away.”

  “That wasn’t such a long story.”

  “It’s the condensed version.”

  To his surprise, her lips tilted in a soft smile. “When do we start?”

  “We already have. Sleep easy tonight, Catriona. I’ll be watching over you.”

  Fintan grabbed his coat and started for the door.

  “Cat.”

  He paused and looked at her over his shoulder. “What?”

  “Call me Cat. Everyone does.”

  He gave a nod and walked from the house. As soon as he was outside and the other Fae saw him, they scattered. In the next step, he veiled himself. No one, especially other Fae, needed to see what he was about.

  Cat surprised him. He’d expected some sort of resistance about being bait, but then he hadn’t counted on her courage or willingness to stand and fight.

  There was fire inside her, a need to live that overrode her fear. That could be a deciding factor if Bran did come for her—but not to kill her.

  If Cat had even a bit of magic, she could protect herself. The fact that she had none left her exposed. And it made him wonder how, in a family as powerful as hers, she didn’t have magic.

  He thought of the weapon she’d asked for. The Fae weren’t in the habit of giving Halflings things that could kill the Fae, but in this case, she was justified in asking. And he was going to make sure she got her weapon.

  Once in the shadows across the street, he turned toward the cottage. His gaze locked on the front window where Cat stood, staring outside. Her eyes wandered around. Was she looking for him?

  He hoped so. Then he instantly regretted his thoughts. It was Eoghan’s sacrifice and disappearance that had upset the balance of things. It had to be that, which was causing him to . . . feel.

  Or was it?

  Fintan drank in the sight of Cat’s face before she snapped the curtains closed.

  Chapter Five

  Death’s Realm

  For thousands of years, Cael’s course had been laid before him. He’d carried out Death’s orders, knowing he was helping to keep the balance.

  From the first moment he’d accepted the position, he’d felt as if he had a mission. As if he finally belonged.

  That feeling hadn’t changed, only solidified. He’d been born to be a Reaper, to be Death’s executioner. It was a role that had some benefits, but many detriments. Though few of those disadvantages bothered him.

  He had everything he’d ever needed in his men.

  Quickly, he halted the next thought that began the moment he thought of Death as he walked through the Fae doorway that only the two of them could see.

  He blew out a breath. So much had changed for the Reapers in a very short time, and he wasn’t sure what the future held. Regardless, he knew his role. He would stand with Death until the end of time.

  Pushing such thoughts aside, he looked around at the thick foliage of Death’s realm. Trees stretching high into the sky swayed with the gentle wind. He followed a path that meandered through the various plants and flowers that grew in dense clusters.

  Bees buzzed while the songs of dozens of birds rang through the air. A dragonfly darted in front of him before zipping around and flying higher.

  Cael’s gaze landed on the white tower that rose before him, gleaming in the sunlight. Every time he came to this realm, he was reminded of all that he’d worked for.

  It still boggled his mind that he’d come from being the last of the first seven Reapers to the leader of a new group. He and Eoghan had survived Bran’s betrayal only to learn that Bran had escaped the Netherworld and set a course for retaliation.

  It had begun with the slaughter of millions of Halflings. Now, Eoghan was . . . gone. Cael refused to believe that his friend was dead. It was why he’d begun to search different realms, in the hopes of finding some clue.

  So far, there had been nothing.

  “Your worries weigh heavily upon your shoulders,” said a soft, feminine voice behind him.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the sound of her words before he turned to face Death. He gazed into her fathomless, lavender eyes and was lost.

  In her beautiful gaze, he felt as insignificant as a speck of dirt in the cosmos. Because she alone had endured from the beginning of time, standing in judgment of those who disrupted the balance.

  Exquisite didn’t begin to describe her. She was timeless and ethereal. She had a face so perfect that she put every Fae to shame. Impossibly high cheekbones and a mouth that he hungered to taste only added to her allure.

  “Yes,” he replied as he looked at her wealth of black hair piled atop her head while wisps of ebony curls fell about her face and neck artfully.

  It drew his gaze to her creamy, unblemished skin. She wore her favorite attire—a black gown with a long, full skirt.

  The satin molded her to her upper body, accentuating her small waist and the curvature of her breasts. The neck rounded slightly as it came all the way up to her collarbones. The sleeves were of the same satin and stopped at her wrists. The satin skirt had nary a wrinkle or crease. Every edge was trimmed with a bright green thread in a Celtic design.

  “Mine, as well,” she said and turned away.

  His eyes locked on the deep V of the back of the dress that dropped to her waist. He longed to run his fingers down her spine, but he held himself in check.

  No one touched Death.

  “Why did you come?” Erith asked.

  He followed her, watching as butterflies trailed behind her. Even the flowers seemed to turn toward her as she neared them
. He was forever awed watching her.

  “It’s Fintan,” he said.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “He carried out my judgment on the Dark as effortlessly as always. Was there a problem?”

  “There never is with him.”

  “My cold Reaper. You worry because he hides his emotions.”

  “He doesn’t hide them. Fintan no longer has them.”

  Erith stopped and turned slightly to look at him, a black brow raised. “His feelings are still there. Fintan had reason to bury them. It was the best thing for him.”

  Each of the Reapers had experienced a betrayal that led to their deaths. It was how Erith had chosen them. Once in the group, it was up to each Reaper if they wanted to share their story. Fintan had never spoken of his past.

  Death, however, had given Cael the story to each of the Reapers so he could better lead them. He never let any of them know because sometimes pasts were better left forgotten.

  “While Fintan hunted the Dark, he came across a Halfling,” Cael told her.

  Erith continued walking toward the tower. “I assume he believes Bran will come for this Halfling.”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “Or?” she prompted, glancing at him over her shoulder.

  Cael watched a curl bounce alongside her neck. “There’s the possibility Bran might want her.”

  “Which is why he hasn’t killed her,” Erith said with a nod.

  “Either way, Fintan wants to set a trap using the Halfling.”

  Death was quiet until they reached the tower. There was a curse that drifted down from one of the windows. She smiled sadly. “Seamus is still searching for how Bran is giving his army so much power.”

  Cael didn’t bother to mention that he knew Seamus also searched for how her magic seemed to be diminishing. There was a connection between her and Bran that allowed the ex-Reaper to grow stronger as Death weakened.

  It was one of the many reasons Cael wanted to kill Bran.

  “Tell me of this Halfling,” Erith urged as she moved to a table and chairs and sat.

  Cael followed her, sitting across from her. “I was hoping you might know her.”

  “The name?”

  “Catriona Hayes.”

  Death sat back. “I’ve not thought about the Hayes family in decades. Three Fae visited the family, each leaving a child.”