Page 140 of Reaper’s Curse
I schooled my features.
“If you’re truly done with it”―I added air quotes to my delivery―“as you say you are, why don’t you help me undo whatever spell ties the specters to the citadel?”
Chiara slid one foot across the floor and pointed her toe towards the symbol drawn upon the ground. “It’s right there if you wish to destroy it. But you should consider what that would mean.”
She swept her arm out in an arc, directing my gaze to the shadowed tunnel entrance. A form I couldn’t quite make out huddled in the darkness. The longer I stared, the more the form took on the shape of a male slumped in a chair.
“Without the specters,” she said, “things will get seriously hot around here. You can thank Prince August over there for that. He just might become forever lost.”
I jerked and pointed to the crumpled figure. “That’s Winter’s brother? The twins’ father?”
Camilla’s love, right there, within reach. I inched around the chamber, moving closer to August’s crumpled form and placing Chiara at my back. Not the wisest of moves, but I needed to see August for myself. Needed proof of his state.
He didn’t look anything like lust and obsession personified but rather resembled a large sack of grain.
“Do you hear what I’m saying, Raven?” Chiara’s boots scuffed across the ground, followed by the sound of her rising to her feet. “Forever lost. And I do not mean forever in the way you think. The two gloves have already been reunited.”
Mention of the gloves, not one but two, tugged at some sense of importance, only I was too wrapped up in the royal slumped in the shadows. He was far too thin, yet he was a sun-fire version of Winter. I couldn’t deny the family resemblance.
A scrape of stone came from somewhere in the darkened tunnel, beyond August’s location. I took a step back into the chamber as I strained to see what hid in the shadows. The cloaked figure dropped his hood and made no effort to hide.
The Killian glided forward, brimming with confidence, a smug grin on his face. “Time for the reaper to die, little one.”
First Chiara, now him. What is with their demeaning descriptors?
“Damon,” Chiara shouted. “This is not the way.”
Damon?
“It is the only way.”
Chiara motioned for me to retreat farther away. Maybe I should, but it didn’t seem right, leaving my fight to be carried by another. Besides, I had already stood against the Killian once, and I was still standing.
“You’re wrong,” she retorted, inching into the space between me and the reapers’ reaper. “We can find another way.”
“We don’t have time. He’s already set his sights on her,” he sneered, then whipped a scythe from his back and rushed at me.
Reaping hell. I was going to be sliced in half. I hadn’t brought my scythe, unable to appropriately blend or hide the reaper’s tool with the gown I wore. Heck, I wasn’t even wearing shoes for solid purchase.
The Killian shoved Chiara aside and dashed into my space, his reaper’s tool raised high and swinging downward. Aimed right for me.
Chiara slammed into me, knocking me sideways. I crashed to the ground, skinning the palms of my hands on the rough stone.
The Killian’s…or rather, Damon’s scythe swung downward without falter. The sharp blade, meant for me, cut through Chiara’s chest, igniting a crippling scream and an explosion of crimson. Blood splattered everywhere. It hit the walls, pooled onto the floor, and showered across the front of the Killian.
Gore tagged me along my arm and across the side of my face.
Chiara looked down at her ruined body, then met my horrified stare. “None of this may have happened if it weren’t for Prince August.”
Blood bubbled from her lips as she collapsed where she stood.
Her head lolled to the side, and with her last breath, she said, “Break it with our blood.”
Her arm flopped forward, and the band around her wrist cracked against the stone floor. Energy rolled through the space, as if escaping her lifeless form…or her bracelet.
The Killian roared—the sound reverberating through the circular chamber.
And me… My mind shattered into a million or more pieces.
