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  Chapter Seven

  Desire, as hot as lava, burned through Fintan. It was all he could do to not let loose the raging hunger that demanded a taste of Cat.

  Touching her had been his biggest mistake of the last millennium. His body roared with a hunger so great that his knees threatened to buckle.

  Then he’d looked into her emerald eyes. Passion shone as bright as the sun. Time stopped, as if the connection of their bodies had been the trigger.

  He’d been unable to look away, powerless to think of anything other than her.

  As she’d leaned toward him, he’d inwardly smiled. Despite his coloring, she wanted him, desired him. His emotions swelled and burst through his carefully constructed wall. He was drowning in them, but she was his anchor.

  She stood as steady as an oak while she beckoned him with her guileless gaze. In all his eons of time, he couldn’t remember wanting anything as much as he did her in that moment.

  He forgot Bran, forgot he was a Reaper. The world and everyone in it simply vanished as if it had never existed.

  Then a lock of her hair fell against the back of his hand. He looked at the deep red strands, a bellow rising within him as the link between them was severed.

  His vows to Death and the Reapers replayed in his mind, reminding him of his responsibilities. And they didn’t include making love to a Halfling.

  Fintan dropped his arm and moved away from her. He fisted his hand as his fingers pulsed from his contact with Cat. Another roar filled him, this one for what could’ve been.

  He swallowed past the lump of regret. Movement out of the corner of his eye had his head turning to the window. He jerked as he recognized Searlas, Bran’s lieutenant.

  With Cat shouting his name, Fintan rushed out of the house after Searlas. No sooner was Fintan outside, than the Dark smiled and vanished.

  “Who was that?” Cat asked as she came to stand behind Fintan, breathing heavily.

  “Searlas. He’s one of Bran’s men.”

  “So it worked.”

  “Aye.” He turned in a circle to make sure Searlas had left the area. Then found himself caught by Cat’s gaze.

  A small frown puckered her brow. Then she looked over his shoulder, her lips parting as her eyes grew round. He turned and saw the black smoke rising in the distance.

  “No,” she whispered and ran to her car.

  She fumbled with the door, and then slammed her hands against the vehicle when it wouldn’t open. “No,” she said again and dashed around the car toward the house.

  Fintan teleported in front of her. He grabbed her arms to halt her and made her look at him. “Forget the keys.”

  “It’s my grandfather,” she said and tried to shove him away.

  He knew exactly where the fire was coming from. Without another word, he teleported them to the seaside cottage. The house remained intact and unscathed.

  It was the small shed behind it that burned, causing the smoke to rise thick and black toward the heavens. In a blink, Cat was out of his arms, running to the house as she called for her grandfather.

  Fintan didn’t follow. The wards on the house would prevent a Fae from entering, but with Bran’s power, he could’ve set the cottage on fire. Why hadn’t he?

  Fintan’s gaze turned to the shed as a sinking feeling came over him. While Cat continued to shout for her grandfather as she searched the cottage, Fintan made his way to the outbuilding.

  He spotted the smoking, charred body and briefly closed his eyes. The fire roared out of control, consuming the shed and everything around it.

  It was easy enough to put out the fire with magic. He was debating what to do with the body and how to tell Cat when he turned around.

  His gaze immediately landed on her. She stood a few feet from him, staring at the body of her grandfather. Her face was ashen, her eyes glazed.

  There was no doubt in his mind that Searlas started the fire at the café. But why? And why kill the old man? To hurt Cat? Or to prove that they were in control?

  Fintan thought it might be the latter. That meant Bran knew it was a trap. And it confirmed that Bran had known about Cat all along.

  As Fintan stared at Cat, he watched as the shock of the scene settled over her. After a moment, she turned and walked away. He looked at the dead man before he set up wards around the area that would alert him if anyone—human or Fae—broke the barrier.

  When he finally finished, he went looking for Cat. He found her sitting on the beach, watching the waves roll in. Unsure if Bran or his men were near and veiled, Fintan pushed out with his magic but felt nothing.

  “For now,” he whispered.

  He made his way to Cat and sank onto the sand beside her. She looked lost, forlorn. And it did something to him. Some nameless emotion sparked within him.

  Then he recognized it for what it was: wrath. For all that Cat had lost, for everything that she had endured simply because she was a Halfling.

  “He was all I had,” she said. “And he died alone.”

  Her head turned to Fintan. As he watched, her eyes welled up with tears, and the moisture spilled down her cheeks in a flood.

  “I should’ve been here,” she cried before burying her head in her hands.

  Fintan wasn’t good with tears. In fact, he didn’t know what to do. He lifted a palm to place it on her back but stopped just short of touching her. Fisting his hand, he lowered it to the sand.

  Her shoulders shook with grief, and for the first time in his life, he felt helpless. Something in the back of his mind urged him to give her some kind of comfort.

  Gritting his teeth, he scooted closer. It took him two tries before he was able to lift his arm. He kept it hovering over her shoulders, unsure if it was the right thing to do.

  But her pain sliced through him as easily as a hot knife through butter.

  He lowered his arm, draping it across her back. When she didn’t shove him away, he tightened his grip. Her heart-wrenching tears continued. Then, to his surprise, she rested her head on his shoulder.

  It was the first time in his very long life anyone had turned to him for solace. He knew he was doing it all wrong, but he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

  The longer she lingered, the more at ease he became in this new role. There was no need for words. There was nothing he could say that would lessen her anguish.

  Finally, her tears began to lessen. To his surprise—and joy—she remained in her position. He looked down to see her wet lashes spiked, and tear streaks down her face.

  But he also saw courage. Though he suspected he was just now seeing the real Cat. The world had beaten her down, taking everything from her little by little.

  Yet she endured. She might stumble, but she didn’t stop. She put everyone else before herself. She didn’t fight what she thought was her fate. Instead, she worked it to her advantage.

  It took a special kind of woman to do that.

  “Tell me about Bran,” she urged. “My grandfather always told me that in order to prevail, I must know my enemy completely.”

  Fintan blew out a breath. If anyone deserved the story of Bran, it was Cat. Unfortunately, that meant he had to tell her who he was.

  Death’s rules echoed in his mind. He would be betraying one of his vows by telling Cat. That didn’t sit well with him, but Bran’s rampage wouldn’t stop anytime soon.

  So, with a deep breath, he made his decision.

  “What do you know of the Reapers?” Fintan asked.

  She drew in a deep breath. “They’re legends. Stories, really, to frighten Fae children. At least that’s what I always thought until I began to hear the Fae around town speak of them as if they were real.”

  “The Reapers are real. Bran was one.”

  “Was?” she asked and sat up to look at him. “What happened?”

  Fintan looked out at the water. “Perhaps you should know that if I tell you what you ask, Death could kill you.”

  “Death? As in a person?”


  “Yes. It’s forbidden for the Fae to know anything about the Reapers.”

  There was a slight pause before she said, “You’re Fae.”

  He glanced at her but didn’t answer.

  “I’m a Halfling,” she said. “Does that matter?”

  “No,” he replied. “It doesn’t.”

  She licked her lips. “I’ve got Bran after me. I need to know.”

  “Death is judge and jury for the Fae. The Reapers carry out the punishments. Death chooses Fae based on their warrior skills and how they died. Each Reaper was betrayed in some way.”

  She swallowed and brought her legs up to her chest. “Okay.”

  “When a Fae becomes a Reaper, Death adds to their magic, making them extremely powerful. Bran was one of the first seven Reapers. But Death put strict rules in place. Once a Reaper pledges themselves to the part, they can have no contact with their family or friends in any way. They are prohibited from telling anyone who they are. And it is forbidden for a Reaper to fall in love.”

  “Because they’re assassins and need to work in the shadows,” Cat said with a nod. “The rules make sense.”

  Fintan found his gaze drawn to her. He stared into her green eyes, the sun glinting off the red strands of her hair. “Bran fell in love. Not only that, he told his Light Fae lover who he was. In response to the rules being broken, Death had no choice but to carry out the punishment. She killed the Light.

  “Bran didn’t take it well. He worked to turn Reaper against Reaper. Soon, they were divided. Bran and three others attacked the remaining three. He killed the leader first, and the three who sided with Bran were quickly slain.”

  Cat frowned. “Why didn’t Death step in?”

  “Death did and sent Bran into the Netherworld. It’s a realm used as a Fae prison.”

  “But he didn’t stay there.”

  Fintan shook his head slowly. “For thousands of years, he did. But he recently escaped with some help. His mission is to kill the Reapers—as well as Death.”

  “So why go after half-Fae?”

  “He attempted to fool the Reapers by saying that Death ordered it, but the Reapers didn’t fall for it. Bran and his army went after them instead.”

  Cat licked her lips. “Then what happened?”

  “The Reapers tried to save as many Halflings as they could. Somehow, Bran has managed to pass on his power to his Dark army. It’s seven Reapers against hundreds with the same added strength and magic.”

  “How many times have you fought Bran?”

  “Three,” he replied before he realized that he’d inadvertently told her he was a Reaper.

  She shrugged and gave him a soft smile. “I knew as soon as you began speaking about the Reapers that you were one of them. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “You feared us.”

  “Perhaps, but that was before you helped me.”

  He blew out a breath as he turned to the sea. “I thought I was helping. Now I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve made things worse.”

  “It’s easy to live in a pretend world,” she said. “I did it for years. I pretended that I had magic just as my brother and sister did. Fantasizing hides the truth, and it’s reality that I’d rather hold onto now.”

  He gazed into her eyes. “Reality sucks.”

  “Sometimes. But if I’m going to be in this, I need truth above all else. No matter how harsh it is. Regardless if you think I can handle it. I must have it.”

  He slowly released a breath. “Bran won’t stop until he has you.”

  “What will happen if he wins against the Reapers and Death?”

  “Chaos. We keep the balance between light and dark.”

  The breeze snagged a lock of her hair and blew it across her face. She tucked the strand behind her ear and turned to the waves crashing upon the shore. “You came to me because you knew I could help you draw Bran out. He believes he’s smarter than us. Let’s prove him wrong.”

  Chapter Eight

  Cat wrapped herself in the heartache of losing her last family member. It would be her armor as she went after those responsible.

  As Fintan told her about the Reapers and Bran, all the pieces came together. It hadn’t taken long for her to realize that he was a Reaper. There had been a moment of panic. Then she looked at the facts.

  He was there to help her.

  He had given her a weapon to kill a Fae.

  Bran had murdered her grandfather, brother, and sister.

  If she was going to trust anyone, it was Fintan. There were few options for her, but she was betting everything on the white-haired Reaper.

  “You should stay here,” Fintan said.

  She thought of the cottage that was warded against Fae as she turned her head to him. “It didn’t help my grandfather. And you wouldn’t be able to come inside.”

  “I can keep watch out here.”

  “You said Bran could remain veiled a long time. He could be watching us now.”

  Fintan blinked before slowly nodding. “He could. He could’ve had men watching you for weeks. But you don’t stand a chance against him on your own.”

  “That’s my point. He could kill me at any time. Why hasn’t he?”

  Lines creased Fintan’s brow. “I don’t know.”

  “Before you arrived. If he was here, why didn’t he kill me? I wasn’t hiding.”

  “Nay. You weren’t.”

  It wasn’t what he said that bothered her, but what he didn’t. If Bran had the chance to kill her and refrained, that meant he had something else planned for her. And quite frankly, she didn’t want to even think about what that could be.

  She watched as Fintan rose and began to pace before her with long strides. Her gaze locked on his thighs and the way the muscles moved beneath his pants.

  What made a man such as him? He was quiet, but was that a product of being an assassin, or was it his nature? He was aloof, but was that because his looks garnered such attention?

  She wanted to know his story. He’d said every Reaper was betrayed and that led to their death. Someone had deceived him. That left a deep scar upon a person.

  Her thoughts then turned to his death. Had it been painful? Had he suffered? It shouldn’t matter. He was a Reaper now. In the end, he’d won.

  Hadn’t he?

  Suddenly, her story didn’t seem so sad anymore. Who cared that she didn’t have magic? She was alive. She hadn’t been betrayed. It was a wonder Fintan hadn’t laughed in her face as she spoke of her troubles.

  They were nothing compared to what he’d endured.

  His long, white hair was ruffled by the breeze, but he appeared unfazed as he continued to think. Most likely about Bran. She might’ve heard the story now, but she still didn’t understand Bran.

  It was easy to discern his motivations, however. Revenge.

  Though that seemed too simple. Fintan painted Bran as a power-hungry Fae with a god complex. Bran might be after more than just vengeance.

  As if her thoughts about Bran had conjured him, Searlas appeared behind Fintan.

  “Behind you!” Cat shouted.

  Fintan ducked as an orb of magic was thrown his way. Two more Dark appeared and attacked. She jumped up, looking around as she waited for someone to come for her.

  She was an easy target now that Fintan was otherwise engaged. But there was no one. She then turned her attention to Fintan . . . and was awed.

  The closest she’d come to seeing a fight was on the tele, but here it was, just yards in front of her. The grunts and the sounds of magic meeting flesh filled the air.

  Her eyes widened when Fintan elbowed one of the Dark in the throat before he leaned back to miss an orb thrown by Searlas. As nimble as Fintan was, and as good as his defense, it was still three against one.

  She gasped when a ball of magic slammed into his hip. It disintegrated his pants and sank into his flesh, leaving a black ring that looked extremely painful.

  Yet Fintan didn’t so much as acknowledge it.
He used his entire body as a weapon from his feet to his head. The speed with which he moved was impossible to track.

  She wondered why he didn’t have his sword. He could end them quickly with the blade. Then her neck began to tingle. It was the feeling that someone was watching her.

  Cat slowly turned to look over her shoulder to find a Fae with long, black hair, standing near the cottage. He smiled and held out his hand for her.

  There was no need to ask who he was. It was Bran. Though when he didn’t kill her right then, it confirmed her fear that he wanted something from her. If only she had the dagger Fintan had procured for her. She would plunge it into Bran’s black heart and smile while doing it. But it still sat on her kitchen table.

  She fisted her hand, then looked down in shock as she felt something in her palm. There, as clear as day, was the weapon. She turned around and rushed to help Fintan.

  Leaping onto a Dark who held a ball of magic against Fintan’s back, she plunged the blade into the Dark’s neck.

  The next instant, he was nothing but dust. Before she could move to the next, Searlas gripped her wrist that held the dagger. His red eyes blazed as he leaned down to look at her.

  “Take Bran’s offer.”

  “Kiss off,” she said and twisted out of his grip.

  When she turned around, Searlas was holding Fintan down with a huge orb of magic aimed at his face. Arms of steel locked around her from behind, preventing her from going to help Fintan.

  Her gaze met the Reaper’s. He gave her a small nod of encouragement. He was telling her she could do it, that she could fight against her attacker and win. It was all the reinforcement she needed.

  She leaned forward before swinging her head back and slamming it into her attacker’s face. The Dark released her with a spew of obscenities. She quickly pivoted and thrust the dagger up into the Fae’s stomach. Red eyes widened in disbelief before he turned to dust.

  Breathing heavily, Cat whirled around, ready to toss Fintan the dagger. Except Fintan used his strength and slowly turned the orb toward Searlas. It came closer and closer to Searlas’s face. Just before it touched him, Searlas gave a bellow and vanished.