The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance)) Page 2

  The emotions were powerful and foreign and not his own. That’s when he suspected these were not his feelings but hers. What’d happened to him outside, what happened to him now, it could only be one thing. She was a projecting empath--a being capable of transferring their thoughts and emotions onto another.

  One minute ‘til midnight.

  The screams in the center of the dance floor rose to cacophonous levels. His witches gaze ripped from him to the disturbance, little knowing she watched the beginning of her end. Her human male sidled up to her side, gripping her elbow with a worried frown.

  Thirty seconds.

  Cian turned, gazing at a brunette and blonde witch glaring with fury at the other. Panic fluttered desperate wings in his throat. She was going to die and with her the smile that ripped through his soul.

  Some protective instinct snapped to life inside him. Not pausing for thought, he pulled his glove on over his skeletal hand.

  The brunette witch lifted her hand and hazy red curls of power undulated between her fingers. She screamed, “--you’ll never have him!”

  From her fingers shot a shaft of pulsating ruby colored energy. People yelled and fell to the floor. The intended target, the blonde, was barely nicked on the arm.

  He didn’t think, merely reacted, and threw himself in the path of the blast. They never glanced up from the scene before them. The energy ripped through his back, sizzling through the flesh, even as he knocked the witch and her human to the ground. He landed with a hard grunt on top of them.

  Then there was chaos. An explosion of sound erupted behind him and Cian bowed into the pain. Sweat stung his brows. The magick ate at him like flames licking at a pig’s carcass, the hot sizzle of burning flesh reached his nostrils and he grimaced.

  Undulating waves of heat seeped through the front of his shirt. He glanced down, expecting to see blood. An iridescent bubble of silver encased the three of them. She’d thrown up some type of shield.

  It wouldn’t have helped. She’d thrown it too late.

  He had only seconds before the invisibility left him. The moment for death had passed. Using glamour, he weaved a net of illusion around himself. He wanted no one to witness the blood staining his back.

  Fast, as only an immortal could, he picked himself up and ran out the club. Every step was agony, ripping the wound open further, causing him to grit his teeth against the dizzying pain.

  Only then did he realize what he’d done. The irrevocable action he’d committed tonight. He’d broken the single most important rule of the reaper. Spare none. The Morrigan, his Queen, had preached that with threat of torture to any who dared to disobey.

  She would want his blood, unless he fixed this first. Frowning with resolve he turned and fled. He must return.

  They had to die.

  But not tonight.

  Eve gripped her husband’s arm tighter as they walked across the sidewalk to the mall entrance.

  After last night’s incident any sane person would have probably barricaded themselves away, but not her. That was the life of a witch, especially one who chose to live in a city in as much turmoil as San Francisco. Still, there was no other place in the world she’d rather be.

  Ten years ago, by congressional act, California had granted the first and only place the supernatural’s could come out of hiding and live as they truly were. Werewolves no longer had to hide in tunnels, vampires could roam the streets freely at night, and witches could practice their craft without fear of retribution by the normals. She’d never looked back.

  Not to say that it was one big love fest. A snake could shed its skin several times in a lifetime, but that would never change its true essence. In the end a snake would always remain a snake. Just as a vampire could not help but feed, or a werewolf would go mad by the light of a full moon.

  Having so many volatile and sometimes dangerous groups in such close proximity practically begged for the violence to occur.

  She accepted it and moved on, because freedom was worth any price. Incidents like last night were rare. Besides she was a big girl who could definitely take care of herself.

  Thankfully she’d been able to cast a barrier between her and Michael before the rogue witch’s curse had struck. Or things could have really gotten hairy. The blast had been powerful enough to knock both her and her husband to the ground. She bore a bruise in the center of her ribcage, but she was alive, and that’s all that mattered.

  She glanced around, inhaling the sharp nip to the wind. It was a cloudless, gray day. The type that made her want to curl up in front of a roaring fire with a steaming cup of chamomile, cocooned against her husband’s body. Instead, she and Michael were doing some last minute Christmas shopping. Typical.

  She didn’t notice the small rut in the road and stepped down hard. Muddy water splashed up her leg. A large black gob of goo landed square on her blood-red pumps.

  “Dang it!”

  Michael glanced down. One side of his mouth curled into a half-formed grin. She growled and picked up a dead leaf to scrape up what looked like a mixture of dog crap and vomit.

  “I don’t even want to know what that was.” He laughed.

  Eve stood and glared at her husband’s smiling face. Turning her nose in the air, she dropped the leaf with disgust and walked away.

  “Honey.” He grabbed her hand and chuckled. “You gotta admit. It was pretty funny.”

  “Ha ha. I’m howling with laughter.” She pointed a finger to her deadpan face. “This is me in hysterics.”

  Michael hugged her and slowly she smiled, never really that mad to begin with, but loving to be a little dramatic all the same.

  “Why does that only ever happen to me?”

  “Because you’re just so cute, the goddess had to give you some sort of flaw.”

  She nailed him with a glare and then sighed with exasperation when he refused to look at her. Michael wouldn’t be ruffled today. She’d lost. So she turned her attention to other things.

  The mall was appropriately decorated, a large Christmas tree guarded the entrance. Festive lights hung swagged from one light post to the next, and of course, the melee of people shoving against her at a constant, repetitive pace with barely an apology to be gained. She sighed. To say she had a love-hate relationship with the holidays was putting it mildly.

  But Michael had been acting secretive all day, alluding to some great gift she’d find under the tree come Yule. In truth, her husband’s enthusiasm for life was contagious. She wouldn’t miss the annual last minute shopping for the world. Though she’d never tell him so.“Michael,” she grumbled, “let’s go home. It’s freezing. My feet hurt, and...” she paused, trying to think of the next excuse to come up with.

  He smiled as expected. “Love you, shrew.”

  She rolled her eyes, trying desperately not to snort with laughter.

  Then as if the weather felt some need to remind her how cold it was--and that she had no freaking business being out in the first place--she was blasted with a sweep of frigid air up her trench coat. Goosebumps broke out along her inner thigh and a chill zipped down her spine.

  She shivered. “Stupid weatherman. I should hex his behind. He said temperatures of sixty.”

  Michael’s lips twitched. “When you gonna learn that Were don’t know his ass from his head? The man’s worthless. Call a toad a toad and a bad weatherman a bad weatherman. Period.”

  She nodded. “Hear hear.”

  ***

  Eve fingered a delicate gold and emerald butterfly broach. “Baby, do you think Tamryn would like this?”

  He glanced up from browsing at a case of black pearl necklaces. “Sure. I guess.”

  She laughed. “I guess? The standard male answer for everything, right? Why do I even bother?” She caught the heavily made-up clerk’s eye and nodded.

  The blonde glided over in a sea of expensive perfume. Orange blossom undertones so strong Eve wiggled her nose to stop the sudden urge to sneeze. The clerk sent a blatantly
lustful smile in Michael’s direction. Eve hid her laughter under a pursed lip and raised brow. “The butterfly,” she prompted and handed the lady a fifty.

  Michael grinned and encircled Eve’s waist from behind, laying his head on her shoulder. She rubbed her nose, but the tingling still didn’t stop. She sneezed and he chuckled. A soft lock of his doe-brown hair brushed the side of her neck. Eve swept his hair aside and sighed.

  “You just love it when that happens don’t you?”

  “What?” he asked in a rush of innocence. “When you sneeze? Why yes,” he flicked the

  tip of her nose, “I think it’s adorable.”

  “You know very well what I mean,” she twisted her lips and swatted his finger away. “You’re too gorgeous for your own good.”

  Throaty laughter spilled from his lips as he swayed with her in time to the strains of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ floating through the overcrowded department store.

  Eve snuggled deeper into his arms. A little’s girl’s squeal of delight floated to her, the sound full of joy and innocence. The sharp tang of pine mingled with the sweet hint of peppermint and jingle of bells all around made Eve suddenly glad they’d come. This really was the best time of year.

  Michael nuzzled the side of her neck with a slow up and down exploration; his moist breath fanned her flesh and tightened her body. Even after five years of marriage he still had the power to make her heart flutter and her knees tremble.

  “Michael,” she whispered.

  “Hmm?” He placed a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck.

  Goose bumps skimmed along her forearms. “I’m ovulating.”

  He went still for a split-second then nipped on her ear lobe. His large hand framed her stomach. “Let’s go make babies then.”

  Her lip twitched, and she wiggled her bottom against him. Michael growled low in his throat and pinned her arms to her side, holding her still. “Eve,” he warned.

  She turned and draped her arms over his neck. “What?”

  He dragged her closer, a mischievous twinkle in his emerald green eyes. “Imp. You’re just lucky I’m wearing a coat long enough...”

  “Excuse me.” A strained voice interrupted them.

  She turned. The sales clerk held her purchase and change in one hand. Her narrowed eyes and curled lip were too much for Eve to ignore.

  She quickly took the bag and without missing a beat leaned forward. Enough to part her button-down shirt at the collar and make her pentagram swing free from between her breasts. “He ain’t on the market, babe.”

  The clerk, obviously human, turned deathly white. No human liked to tangle with the dark arts. And though that wasn’t what Eve did by any means, the blonde didn’t know it, and Eve sure as heck wasn’t going to correct her assumption. Judging by the reaction, the threat had done its job.

  With a smile and a jaunty wave, she turned on her heels and marched off.

  Michael held out his arm. “What in the world did you say to her, Eve?” She didn’t miss the tinge of humor lacing his voice.

  She grinned. “What? And give you a bigger head than you’ve already got? I don’t think so.”

  He chuckled and grabbed her hand in his, caressing her knuckle with the pad of his thumb. Laughter glittered in his eyes. Then he became serious and turned her face to look directly at him. “I love you.”

  The way he said it made her shiver. One of those freaky moments in time that when you look back on them you wonder if there was some sort of sixth sense involved.

  Her smile slipped for a millisecond, the memories of what had happened only last night came sharply into focus. What if that hadn’t been an isolated incident but fate? She always tried to be aware of the signs and the environment around her. What if she was being purposefully ignorant? Ignoring the obvious?

  Don’t make more out of this. Don’t be stupid. Everything’s fine.

  Pushing the neurotic fears to the back of her mind, she gave him a crooked smile. “I know, Mikey. And I thank the Goddess every day for you.”

  ***

  Cian stood outside the entrance to the mall and waited for his dark witch and the man to walk out. Last night seemed a nightmare he was destined to relive over and over. He couldn’t shut out the image of seeing that bolt of energy headed toward her. The emotions she’d felt had snapped through him, so extreme he remembered them vividly. Her golden eyes had narrowed with panic, fear. A cloying miasma of emotion that had turned his stomach.

  It had felt like somebody reached a hand into his chest and squeezed his heart in a painful grip. The terrible itch of a healing laceration had him irritable, pissed. He’d lain awake all night wracked with coughs and shivers, until the flesh had begun to knit itself together. It would heal. But give him hell for his stupidity.

  Like any fae his natural healing abilities were legendary. The older the creature, the stronger the power to regenerate. Too much damage could kill, but it was rare for a fae to die from physical blows. They’d have to be ripped apart, pieces scattered to the winds, for death to happen.

  He rubbed his back against the rough exterior of the mall, much as a bear would trying to scratch an itch. The need to relieve the irritation was insatiable and maddening, almost worse than the pain had been.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled the biting wind. The cold traveled through his lungs and burned him with frost. Cleared his head, but not his heart.

  In all the centuries none had ever been able to sense him. I shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have followed so close. I should never have walked to that mirror.

  But the intoxicating possibility had been more than he could stand. And for one sweet moment it had all been worth it. To have someone notice him. To have someone be aware that he even existed at all.

  A small, noisy crowd of humans walked toward him. His eyes snapped open. They were laughing and holding on to several department store bags. They hadn’t noticed him, but he decided to err on the side of caution. She had seen him. He didn’t need that happening again. His skills as death depended on silence and stealth.

  Using his essence he transformed himself ordinary, hardly worth a second glance. He couldn’t go fully invisible until the harvest time came upon him.

  How better to get people not to notice than to look as pathetically average as possible? Through all the years of using this guise he’d never once been remembered. Blending in so well with the norm, that no one could ever give the same description of him twice. Right now, he needed people to look past him, not see the peculiarities that branded him not quite human.

  His hair turned a drab brown, short and barely reaching his collar, his eyes became much the same color. The process happened so fast; no one would even have time to react at all. It would seem to them as if he’d been this way the entire time.

  Once the group had passed, he relaxed and returned to thoughts of her.

  He’d be lying if he said he’d changed himself merely to remain anonymous. There was another truth. His witch had seen him in true form and in some small corner of his mind he didn’t want to shatter her illusion of that man. He didn’t want her to believe that man a killer. For some reason that mattered.

  Regardless, death beckoned. It must happen today. That was the way of things. He was the balance to life. For one to be born, one must die. Last night had been a mistake he wouldn’t make again, couldn’t afford to make again.

  He frowned, his stomach twisted with anxiety. It was almost a physical pain to think of her crushed, the life expunged from her body. Could he stand to see her pain, her suffering?

  How much longer can I do this?

  A dangerous, dangerous question. One that had caused other Reapers stronger than him to decide fading was the only possible solution.

  The hollowness of knowing he’d never be anything other than death consumed his thoughts until the time for action came. Several minutes later, an electrical rush of power surged through his body. His witch and the male had finally walked out of the mall. The fin
al phase of death’s transformation was upon him. Knowing that he was now invisible to all, he strolled purposefully toward the car garage.

  Today’s scenario would be no better than last night’s. He could see it in his mind, like an image on a television screen. A carload of teenagers barreling through the garage, the interior of the car heavily laced with the thick stench of cannabis. The driver was laughing, blaring an Ozzy tune ‘Crazy Train’, unaware that soon he’d be indicted for two counts of vehicular homicide.

  Cian often wondered at times like these why the humans couldn’t feel it. The end of their lifeline, the disturbance in the air, death; for him it was like the blast of trumpets, loud and hard to ignore.

  Turning his attention back to the couple, he waited. The man popped open the trunk of a green sedan, laid down his packages and flashed the woman a smile. She stood by the hood of the car, her midnight curls blowing in the stiff wind.

  The faint rumble of an approaching engine echoed eerily through the garage. The vibrations traveled through the soles of his boots. Soon. It’ll all be over.

  For a crazy second he wanted to scream at them. Move. Get out of the way. But he held his tongue. He wouldn’t interfere. Not again. His skeletal hand twitched and he yanked off the glove. No more mistakes.

  The car made a sharp left around a concrete post in the garage and swerved headlong toward the couple with a loud, echoing cry of rubber.

  For Cian the scene was agonizingly slow; each detail sharp and clear, as if it were taking minutes, when in truth it would all be over within seven seconds.

  When they finally noticed it was already too late.

  Her golden eyes grew wide in her face. Blood rushed from her skin, leaving her a pasty white. Her hands covered her mouth as a scream of raw fear flew from her lips. “Michael!”

  The smile on the man’s face died. He turned--unable to run for cover, to hide from his fate. She ran forward, arms outstretched, and tried to pull the man toward her.