Page 2 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood (Tales So Wicked #2)

Harrow

The Previous Winter

H ow foolish mortals are to believe they can cheat death.

Their blood and bones are as temporary and frail as the wafer-thin corpses of the dead and dying leaves that crumble soundlessly beneath my boots.

Every part of them is fleeting. Radiant smiles that sit forever embedded in a hollow skull.

Nothing more than a lipless set of emotionless, enamel-hardened pieces in the dirt of the damned, brainless long before the worms and decay devour their tissues and contemplations, that empty and thoughtless chamber carrying over from their monotonous lives and into their soon-forgotten tombs.

It’s all fuel to my world of death and despair, though I do ache for a more complex creature to fill the walls of my forever.

Such a pity that their simplicity is so endlessly immutable.

The hidden teeth in my shadows chatter in anticipation.

Prowling, stalking, weaving forward as silent as the grave.

They twist and writhe, eager to taste the demise of the wicked soul we are long since owed.

My hunger, that bottomless clawing need, heightens within.

It’s nearly time. The scent of an overripe soul is close.

The supple fragrance is tinged by the dark magic that has concealed its presence from me these past six years.

No longer. And now that I’ve found him, his fate will be so much worse than the natural death that was planned for him.

An unfathomable darkness wraps around me. It cloaks my near-human form, allowing me to blend seamlessly into the starless night itself. For even the stars tremble and hide when the harrowing is afoot.

The amulet that rests upon my sternum grows hot against my skin.

The burning green crystal that sits nestled within the twisted metal cage glows brightly, pulsing in short waves of vibrant light before dimming completely.

He’s here . I don’t always reap souls in person.

It is the only job of my many spirit workers from the shadow realm.

My precious pets ferry the dead to my domain on shining wings.

Most have chosen to take the form of a raven.

Those who die will inevitably find their way to my kingdom.

But when I have been wronged by the living, I make it my personal responsibility to ensure their unimpeded arrival.

We can’t have them skipping out on the endless torment and suffering that awaits them in the particularly nightmarish corner of the Underworld that’s set aside for those of the most violent and vicious natures.

My trek tonight leads me deep within the walls of a still and stony castle.

Life pulses from all around me. It’s a pity this monster has chosen such a beautiful place to hide.

But where he is a monster in soul and symbolism, I am a true monster.

For vile human actions, there are very real repercussions.

My victim is about to learn this firsthand.

The muffled cries of an unfortunate woman lead me straight to the door I seek. My shadows tip the knob, allowing the door to swing inward. My prize stands above a broken woman, meaty fist raised high in the air.

“ Frederic Bellingham .” The words hiss out from between my clenched jaws.

Frederic freezes, split knuckles halting mere inches from the woman’s battered face.

His thick, stubble-lined neck twists my way.

My insides glow with giddy delight as the color drains from his horrified face.

He can see me, of course. Those nearest to death always can.

I thoroughly enjoy the part where they begin to understand just what a grand mistake they’ve made.

My excitement falters as I take in his unusual aura.

The blinding white light that should be surrounding someone on the verge of their natural demise has been tainted.

Instead of a starry luminescence, inky tendrils of garish black and sickly green swirl around his physical form.

Residual effects of the spell that has kept him hidden from me all this time.

“It c-can’t be. It’s impossible. She said?—”

My shadows shoot forward, wrapping around his throat. His stubby fingers fly upward, dirty fingernails grasping at something he can never touch.

“Come now, Frederic. Did you truly think you could escape death?”

The woman’s chin whips from side to side as her faint and frightened face tries to discern the invisible force that’s just entered the room.

Her light is nearly impossible to see. And someone so far from death would never be able to accept my presence here.

To her, I’m nothing more than a ghost. Completely invisible.

That doesn’t mean she can’t feel my presence.

Most humans have enough self-preservation to flee when I approach.

Though her current predicament at the hands of a serial wife-beater and murderer insinuates she doesn’t have as much self-preservation as most.

I send a gust of air backward, slamming the door wide once more. When the terrified woman still does not move, I imbue the air around her with a sense of urgency, fear.

Run.

Her body shudders, hairs rising on end.

Run! The shadows whisper into her ears.

Finally, she moves, her bloodied skirts swishing behind her as she bounds out of the room.

“Ah, we’re alone.” I slam the door closed, exhaling in satisfaction.

The spell surrounding the miserable oaf before me flairs to life.

Verdant smoke lashes about, striking out at me.

It’s a pitiful defense. Whoever cast the spell must have assumed this mark would remain hidden forever.

The spell is completely inadequate for handling an encounter with the devil himself.

The defensive tendrils continue to strike at me, their sting that of a simple garden snake. Harmless, yet irritating.

“Let’s clear this nasty spell away, shall we?

” The muscles of my back tense and swell as my feathers push forth.

Frederic’s eyes bulge as he takes in the true size of my midnight-black wings that swallow up the dimly lit room.

They sweep forward, pushing a gust of wind across the space, knocking the windows wide on the other side.

I pump them again, tightening my grip on Frederic and grinning in triumph as the last smoky traces of the spell vanish out the open window. “That’s better.”

My wings tuck tightly behind me. My shadows loosen just enough for the purplish hue in Frederic’s cheeks to subside. A puddle collects on the floor the moment I move into his personal space. Why must they always soil themselves?

I step aside, avoiding the foul substance.

“Now, who was foolish enough to grant you the ability to hide from death?”

His dingy brown eyes grow cloudy, jaw slackening as my influence drips down his throat. Refusing to answer is not an option.

Frederic’s mouth parts to speak, but instead of words, I’m met with a sharp screeching that has my shadows recoiling.

Blood pools in his mouth until it overflows and dribbles down his chin.

Interesting . I squeeze the soft spots behind his jaw, forcing his mouth open wide.

My suspicions are confirmed. His tongue is in ribbons.

The limp, tattered flesh oozes with fresh blood.

Looks like this witch is more clever than I gave her credit for.

The moment Frederic thought to speak her name, his tongue became shredded into useless, wriggling strips of pink muscle.

It’s one of the more primitive identity concealment spells I’ve seen, but effective, nonetheless.

The fault falls on me. My thoughts were set on the largest of the spells, the one that had hid him from my sight.

I was so focused on the most obvious of the casts, I overlooked the other signs of magic.

This witch needs to be hunted down and sent kicking and screaming to my dark domain.

There, she’ll join all the others who thought they could cross Death and escape unscathed.

My teeth grind together in irritation. I am rarely outwitted. But alas, if I won’t get a name from this dribbling idiot, then Frederic is of no more use to me. My excitement dwindles. The game is over before I even started playing.

“Say your goodbyes to the living, Frederic Bellingham.”

My truest form creeps forward, slipping over me with ease.

I open my mouth as fangs drop into all the spaces where I had teeth before.

The claws come next. My fingers twitch with the need to bury into something still producing fresh blood.

The rest of my dark figure settles into place.

Frederic’s eyes are so wide I could scoop them out with a teaspoon.

The screams of agony that belt from his bloodied mouth intensify as I conjure a fresh wave of unforgiving shadows.

They solidify, taking the form of a tangle of thorny black roots, jutting up from the earth, crucifying him where he stands.

He whimpers, blood still pouring from his open mouth.

The shadow thorns dig deeper, burying themselves in his flesh and stretching his arms out wide.

I wait until he’s completely immobilized.

Then, I call them.

The low whistle that slips from my smirking lips would be nearly impossible for a human to hear. But my pets always come when summoned. The soft sounds of rustling feathers reach my ears from just beyond the broken window. My smirk broadens to an icy grin.

Frederic is nearly catatonic, but his eyes widen as the flapping of dozens of wings grows louder.

I move closer, leaning into my victim as the first of the ravens darts through the jagged opening.

They pour in like a dark cloud of fear itself.

The room is dwarfed by the sudden swirling mass.

They circle Frederic where he’s pinned by my shadows, cawing and squawking with eager anticipation.

They know not to start before they’re given permission.