Page 25 of Reaper’s Curse

“Merciful death, where did I leave my damn bottle of pills?”

A scoff and a footfall broke from the collected gloom in the far corner, and a tall silhouette stepped forward, bringing the full form of the Killian into view.

I immediately shoved, painfully so, to a sit. “Have you finally come to collect me?”

A sly smile snaked across the Killian’s face as he scrutinized me. “You need to readjust your mindset, soul hunter.”

I blinked and jerked back. My abductor had also called me a soul hunter. And Aoes, with the ability to see one’s energy signature, had suggested I was becoming something much more other than a reaper.

“What do you mean by calling me a soul hunter?”

“You tell me,” the Killian replied. “You, after all, are the one who was created to be the hunter.”

“Hunter of souls?” I inclined my head in question.

The Killian dipped his chin, his eyes narrowing with clear contemplation. “Let me ask you something, Chace Badden.”

At the mention of my name, and not some unknown title, I sat a tad taller.

“Do you think it’s a coincidence that you and Ms. Gunn were the two sent to solve this problem within the citadel?”

No. I didn’t. I really, really didn’t. Not anymore.

My muscles sagged, and my only response to the Killian’s question was the droop of my shoulders.

One side of the Killian’s lips twitched higher. “Time to release this shroud, for it no longer serves you.”

He motioned to me with a lift of his hand, but before I could react, the Killian lurched forward. He grabbed the collar of my shirt, lifted me from the sofa, and thrust me through the room, straight into the drunkard’s cell. Dropping me on the bench, the Killian stepped back and closed me inside.

I leaped to my feet in an instant, pushing against the closed cage. Panic rose through every cell in my body, threatening to overtake me.

“Don’t,” I yelled. “Don’t put me in a cage.”

Not another prison.

My heart ricocheted off my rib cage in a mad rhythm, my breath hampered and uneven. Once more, the world turned to a haze, and I tightened a white-knuckled grip upon the bars, holding myself upright, clenching my jaw against the bile rising up my throat.

“This confinement is temporary. This”—the Killian motioned to the bars, the limited space within—“is to help ensure your safety while you detox.”

He produced a small bottle from a pocket hidden inside his cloak. My missing medication. He removed the lid and spilled the contents onto the floor.

With a firm step and twist, he began crushing each and every single pill.

I fell to my knees and grappled through the bars in an attempt to salvage any pill I could grab hold of. The Killian kicked away my efforts, and I failed to secure a single capsule.

My headache, the auras…

The reaper of reapers dropped to my level and met my glare. “Those drugs have inhibited who and what you truly are. Kept you trapped in a mental prison of sorts. The time has come to ride through the release. The reward, you’ll find, is on the other side.”

I lowered my gaze to the spray of pill dust on the ground. I gasped but found no relief of air in my lungs.

“Reward is on the other side,” the Killian repeated and peeled my hold free of the bars.

I toppled backwards and collapsed on the ground. Gave in to the darkness and lost consciousness.

And with a moan, my world began to transform.

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