Page 1 of Gods and Graves

CHAPTER ONE

THEA

I t starts with a tingle, followed by numerous vibrations that reverberate up and down the length of my arms. Then I begin to feel lightheaded and nauseous, my stomach twisting into a thousand knots.

Finally, my dagger materializes in my hand and illuminates, the runes etched along its handle emanating a soft golden glow.

I groan and grip my head as I feel that familiar, incessant tugging sensation in the center of my chest.

Not now…

Not so soon after the last one…

Of course, no one hears me or listens to my plea.

No one ever does.

I’m speaking into a radio that has long since shattered.

The world around me dissipates one molecule at a time until I’m left in a sea of dazzling white light. I blink, and when I reopen my eyes, I’m no longer standing in my prison for the better part of an eternity.

I’m in a bedroom.

Where a vampire pounds into a succubus, sweat beading on his forehead from exertion and her hands gripping his shoulders.

“Yes, Jasper, yes!” The succubus writhes and moans on the bed, arching her back so her perky tits are practically in his face.

He lowers his head to suck on one of her nipples as his thrusts increase, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

I wonder which one of them it’s going to be this time. Usually, it’s obvious.

I have to say this is much more entertaining than some of my other…trips.

I’m not particularly attracted to either of them, but waves of blazing heat race through my veins, and my lower belly tightens. My core throbs as I watch the two lovers together. My nipples harden where they brush against the fabric of my shirt.

“Way to work it, Romeo,” I deadpan, though neither of them turns towards me. They can’t hear or see me, of course. No one alive can. “I love the enthusiasm. And way to be encouraging, Juliet. Ten out of ten performance.”

The vampire—Jasper, not Romeo, my preferred nickname for men in these situations—begins to strum her clit as his fangs sink into the skin of her breast. She cries out in pleasure, raking her fingers through his unruly brown hair.

“Yes, baby. Yes,” she coos, her lips curling upwards.

At first, I think her smile is because of the mind-numbing orgasm she obviously just had. Lucky bitch.

Then Jasper cries out—the sound anything but pleasurable—and trembles erratically. White foam erupts from his slightly parted lips, still stained red with her blood.

The woman’s smile turns cold. Calculating. Malevolent.

Ahhh.

Interesting.

There’s nothing more entertaining than a lover’s spat, especially when it morphs into murder.

“You shouldn’t have cheated on me, you lying bastard,” she hisses, climbing off the bed with an intentional sway to her hips.

She tosses a strand of silky red hair over her shoulder and grabs a bathrobe off a hook on the door.

She doesn’t close it, however, which makes me wonder…

what’s the point of it? I can still see everything , from her bloody tits to her mound of red pubic hair to her arousal drizzling down her thighs.

Have some damn modesty when you’re murdering someone. Geez.

Meanwhile, Jasper claws at his throat, silent tears streaking through the blood and foam on his face.

I volley my gaze between the two of them then pantomime eating popcorn. I honestly have no idea what popcorn tastes like, but I like to imagine. Crunchy, probably. And I know most have a buttery flavor.

Now what does butter taste like?

My mouth waters at just the thought.

“How could you cheat on me with my own goddamn sister?” The succubus bares her teeth at the sobbing vampire.

“Yeah, you tell him, girlfriend!” I fist-pump the air then take another bite of my imaginary snack. “Cut off his lying, cheating dick and feed it to a shark. Of course, you’ll have to buy a shark first, but…semantics.”

“P-please.” Jasper can barely get that one word out.

The poison in the succubus’s blood is already coursing through his system. If I have to hazard a guess, I would say he only has a few minutes left to live.

Even as I think that, a white orb coagulates beside the bed, slowly taking form until it vaguely resembles a humanoid male. Then, the features become more defined—sharp nose, square jawline, bushy eyebrows.

On the bed, Jasper releases one last rattling exhale and then goes still.

Beside the bed, the ghost version of Jasper blinks erratically, his gaze dancing from his body, to his lover, and then finally landing on me. Shock and horror bleed into his monochromatic gray gaze.

“Who the fuck are you?” He doesn’t sound scared yet, just confused.

I imagine it’s a shock for him to be wrenched out of his body and thrown into the world of darkness and shadows. A lot of times, it takes the spirit a few minutes to even understand what happened in the first place.

“Jasper.” I huff out a deep, heavy inhale, followed by a shortened exhale in a piss-poor attempt to mimic Darth Vader. “I am your father.”

Another exaggerated breath.

His brows draw together, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. No one ever understands my sense of humor—if you can even call it that. “Insanity” is another descriptor I’ve heard used once or twice.

The dagger in my hand begins to glow even brighter, and Jasper’s eyes dip to the weapon in shock.

Then that shock quickly morphs into toe-curling fear, his eyes widening and his skin losing color.

Well, more color. I don’t know why all the ghosts show up as some variation of white, black, and gray, but it’s almost as if the second their souls leave their bodies, so does their color.

The pulling sensation—like someone wrapped a cord around my heart and is tugging relentlessly with both hands—becomes impossible to ignore. The air around me practically crackles with electricity. Raw, unencumbered power eats at my veins.

This is going to suck.

It always does, each new soul destroying a piece of me.

Literally.

“Please. No.” Jasper shakes and cries, lifting his hands in the air as if he has a chance in hell of fending me off. “Take her! She’s the bitch who killed me!”

He points at the succubus, who is still monologuing over her lover’s corpse.

But my feet move of their own accord, and a drum pounds between my ears.

“Please! Please! No! No!” His crying ceases when I slam the dagger into his chest.

Almost immediately, tingles radiate up my arm in a way I imagine an electric shock would. I shake from the intensity of it, gritting my teeth to keep from screaming in pain.

Voices barrage me from every direction.

“We’re back…”

“Did you think we would let you go?”

“We’re watching. Always.”

And a new one joins in with the others, the gravel cadence unmistakable.

Jasper.

“How could you let her live when she killed me?”

Thousands and thousands of voices all echo around me, a symphony of macabre dissonance I can’t escape from.

The walls begin to ooze a strange black liquid, and spiders skitter across the wood flooring.

I have to remind myself repeatedly that these illusions are only in my head, but when a particularly large insect crawls onto my foot, I scream and kick.

I need to return.

Now.

Magic cocoons me like a warm cloak, and the bedroom fades away. I find myself standing in my eternal home, the dagger still clutched tightly in my trembling hand.

“Murderer…”

“Killer…”

“Death…”

Pain curls through my veins like liquid flames, overtaking my blood, burning me from the inside out.

God, is this what it’s like to die?

Thank fuck I’m immortal. But I could do without the agony.

My legs give out, and I fall to my knees, agony thundering through me.

You can do this, Thea. You can do this.

Slowly, a sob catching in my throat, I begin to crawl towards the very center of my room, where a raised stone pedestal stands—a startling contrast to the other modern amenities in my glorified prison.

Almost there.

Just a little farther.

Keep going…

With a gasp, I lift my hand and set the dagger on the pedestal. Almost immediately, the voices cease, the pain dissipates, and the hallucinations stop.

But I know the reprieve will only last for a short while.

After all, I’m death’s favorite reaper.