Page 5 of Gods and Graves

CHAPTER FIVE

THEA

“ L isa, you bitch! How could you cheat on José with José’s twin brother? And José! How could you impregnate Lisa’s mother?” I scream at the television screen—some sappy Spanish soap opera centering around a dysfunctional, and a slightly incestuous, family.

It’s been an entire hour since I’ve been called away to reap a soul. My last one was a ninety-five-year-old woman on death’s bed. I’d been gentle with her, offering her my hand and pulling her into my embrace. I didn’t want her to see the dagger, so I quite literally stabbed her in the back.

“José! Don’t do it! Don’t you dare do it!” I jump up and down on the couch.

Well, float up and down on the couch. I don’t need to sit if I don’t want to. Actually, I don’t really know how it works. I float normally and can drift through walls, ceilings, and floors. However, this room, and the items in it, are different.

For one, I can’t leave. The walls are completely solid.

For two, I can actually touch the furniture in my prison. Lie on the bed. Recline on the couch. Flick through the channels on the television. Hold a paintbrush.

Yet, if I choose to, I can float in the area or pass through the television.

Whatever magic keeps me contained here is fucking outrageous.

“José! I swear to fuck—” I begin, then curse when, on the screen, José pulls a beautiful woman into a passionate embrace.

Anna, Lisa’s sister.

So now José—the horny fuck—has slept with every woman in the family.

“You’re going to regret this decision,” I tell José seriously, as if he can actually hear and respond.

Sometimes, I like to imagine the characters can.

And sometimes, they actually do. This usually occurs after I reaped multiple souls back-to-back and haven’t had time to return the dagger to the pedestal. My hallucinations will create a life-sized José and Lisa and Anna and Mary and Fernando.

A sudden pain bursts through my chest, setting every nerve ending aflame, and I gasp.

Fuck.

Not again.

The dagger flies off the pedestal and into my waiting hand, the runes already aglow with that strange, heady magic.

“Wait!” I beg to whomever is listening. “Let me finish this episode. I need to know if Lisa is going to take him back!”

Of course, no one listens to my desperate pleas. No one ever does.

Bright light seeps across my vision, like a fresh ink blob getting doused in water. The world around me changes and distorts.

Tall, spindly trees poke through the forest floor, and a blazing sun bears down, with wispy, feather-like clouds cloaking the lower half.

“Who’s the lucky contestant today?” I murmur, pivoting on my heel to take in my surroundings.

Forest…

Daytime…

And no people.

No one.

Nada.

Nothing.

I huff and fold my arms over my chest, tapping one of my feet impatiently.

“Hello!” I call out. “Can someone die already, please? I have a soap opera to get back to.”

Predictably, there’s no response, and my irritation grows.

Why can’t the person already be dead?

Why am I always forced to watch it happen?

Pounding footsteps precede the appearance of a huge beast.

A wolf?

No, not a wolf.

A hellhound.

The creature’s massive form wears a cloak of coal-black fur that ripples with an unnatural, molten sheen—as though its very hide is imbued with the essence of fire.

Its eyes—two burning orbs of crimson—glow with an intense, demonic light.

Its elongated snout twists unnaturally, baring yellow teeth as sharp and jagged as broken glass and dripping with saliva that sizzles when it touches the ground.

The beast is large and terrifying and intimidating and?—

“You’re fucking adorable,” I coo, placing my hands on my knees to stare at it better. “Who’s a good hellhound? You’re a good hellhound. Yes, you are. Yes, you are .”

Hellhounds are mindless beasts created when hell’s fire bubbles to the surface. They hunt indiscriminately and burn their victims alive.

Adorable.

The creature paws at the ground, and a low, guttural growl reverberates from deep within its chest.

Is this the creature I’m reaping? I’ve never done it with animals before, only humans and supernaturals. I wonder if the creature’s victim is nearby. Maybe that’s who I’m?—

An arrow sails through the air and embeds itself into the hellhound’s side. The monster releases a howl of rage and anger, whirling around to face the attacker.

“Mamma Mia,” I murmur, ogling the man stepping from between two trees. “Who are you, and where have you been all my life?”

I’ve seen hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of men in my time on this earth, and none compare to him. Just his presence ignites all of my nerves and makes my nipples pebble.

Blond hair, the strangest shade of white-gold, frames an angelic face plucked from heaven itself. He’s muscular, but not in a way that’s overwhelming or excessive. A white T-shirt clings to his physique in a way that shouldn’t be legal. The slightly pointed ears let me know he’s an elf.

“Over here!” the elf calls, his arrow still trained on the snarling beast.

Holy crap.

Is that a British accent I detect?

I begin to subtly fan myself, even as an uneasy feeling slashes at me.

Is he the person I’m here to reap?

For some inexplicable reason, ice-cold fingers of dread creep down my spine.

I don’t want to stab him, dammit. He’s too sexy to die.

Another man races out of the forest holding an onyx sword—one of the only substances capable of permanently killing a hellhound.

“Good grief. Did I just intrude on a sexy man convention? And how do I get an invitation to attend every year?” A frisson of electricity curls in my chest as I study the newest man.

Sandy-blond hair, though it could actually be a shade of light brown. Hazel eyes. Broad shoulders. Thick, corded biceps. Tapered waist.

I find myself licking my lips repeatedly and force myself to stop.

Too creepy, Thea.

Knock it off.

“Let’s take him down.” The muscular man steps forward, his sword raised.

“Um… I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I interject, but of course, they don’t hear me. “I think you’re forgetting that hellhounds usually—” Three other beasts emerge from the forest, their heads lowered and growls rumbling through their chests. “They travel in packs, dumbass.”

Everyone knows that.

It’s in the Hellhound 101 guidebook.

The elf curses and swivels until his arrow is aimed at a different hellhound, this one approaching from the right.

“Fuck! Zaid, we need you,” he calls.

I nearly shit my pants—metaphorically, of course, because I don’t actually need to poop—when the shadows beside me combine to form a third man.

This one’s smaller than the other two, but he’s no less attractive.

Pitch-black hair falls slightly in front of his face, which is pale and sharp, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline.

He holds a sort of unassuming beauty that captivates me more than any of the others. It’s…unusual. He’s unusual.

I can’t put my finger on what it is about him. Maybe it’s the fact that his features aren’t perfectly proportionate like the elf’s are. Maybe it’s the tiny scar on the other side of his jaw. Maybe it’s the strange color of his eyes—not blue but not quite gray either.

Butterflies spin drunkenly in my stomach.

“You’re a wraith, aren’t you?” I move until I’m only an inch away from his face, standing on my tiptoes to study him better. “Want to be my shadow daddy?”

The wraith—Zaid, apparently—lifts his hands in the air, and two whips of shadows slash at the nearest hellhounds, forcing them back. More and more shadows appear and begin wrapping around the creatures, holding them still.

In front of me, the sandy-haired supernatural lunges at the closest hellhound, his sword raised.

The elf fires arrow after arrow at the hellhound advancing on him. Each place the arrow touches causes the skin to sizzle and crack.

The last two hellhounds are still contained by Zaid’s shadows. I wonder how long he plans to do that. Is he going to join in the fight or?—?

”WHOOO!!” The voice comes from above me—far, far above me.

I jerk my chin up to stare at the tallest tree, where a figure balances precariously on the highest branch. Then, to my absolute horror, he jumps.

“Um…okay, then,” I say, blinking.

The man lands on one of the hellhound’s backs with a deranged cackle.

“Dude, do you know you have blood on you?” I ask the newcomer, gesturing vaguely towards my own face.

Actually, he’s drenched in blood. It coats his shoulder-length black hair, streaked with red and blue, his tan skin, and his clothing. When he smiles, I notice some of his teeth are sharper than the others.

A vampire, maybe?

No. Not a vamp.

A blood fae.

I can tell by his hair. Those red and blue strands? They’re natural, not dyed. Only fae have hair like that.

A blood fae, a wraith, a shifter, and an elf.

It sounds like the start of a bad joke.

The fae begins to stab the hellhound repeatedly with his dagger. Only when the creature falls still does he jump to his feet and move to the next victim. God, even the way he walks is terrifying. He moves like a predator that suggests he’s not trapped with the hellhounds—they’re trapped with him.

It’s kind of hot, if I’m being honest.

Warmth radiates through me as I watch the four men fight. They’re strong. Powerful. Lethal.

And one—or all of them—is going to die.

The reminder cools my raging libido like a bucket of ice water. A tremor works its way through me, and panic claws at my gut.

Which one will it be?

As I watch, the shifter gets slightly too close to a hellhound’s paw and risks losing his head.

I yelp and call out, “Be careful, okay? Don’t stand too close to their damn paws. It’s common sense to not put your head in the path of a deadly object, yeah?”

The shifter ducks at just the right moment, then he slams his sword up, spearing the creature’s chest. The hellhound’s molten eyes widen then glaze over. Its body goes still.

“Woo!” I cheer, pumping my fist. “Three down. One to go.”

I turn my attention towards the final creature, still engaged in a battle with the elf. The creature’s skin is sizzling and deteriorating before my very eyes, yet it doesn’t stop its relentless advance.

“Come on. You got this, elf boy. You can do this,” I encourage from the sidelines, praying the fire in my chest cremates the lump in my throat.

It’s hard to breathe.

The elf fires off one more arrow, then he dives out of the way of the hellhound’s attack.

But the monster doesn’t slow down as it continues to race forward, its head lowered and nostrils flared.

Is it coming for…me?

No, not me.

The wraith beside me.

A scream catches in my throat just as the hellhound tackles the wraith to the ground, its talons digging into his skin.

“No!” I scream, desperate to do something, anything.

Without thinking, I slam my dagger into the hellhound’s flank, and the great beast goes still. A tiny whimper escapes it just before it falls on its side, dead.

Oh… fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Did I do that?

I stare at my dagger in disbelief.

How is that possible? My dagger can’t pierce the flesh of living creatures. Is it because the hellhound isn’t actually living? Is it because it’s a part of hell? Is it?—

A voice reaches me then, his gravel tone scraping across my skin. “Who the fuck are you?”

I whirl, only to immediately pause when I see a sword aimed at my head.

Wait, what?

I flick my gaze to the right and then the left, but…nope. There’s no one standing directly behind me or beside me.

“Um…you talking to me?” I ask, expecting him to ignore the question entirely.

They always do.

“Who the fuck else would I be talking to?” The shifter takes another step closer, and the tip of his sword slices at my skin.

Holy shit, that hurt.

That hurt.

I can feel pain—and not the usual agony I experience daily reaping souls, where it feels as if all of my internal organs are being rearranged and then stomped on. No, this is different.

I can feel .

The sword against my neck. The grass under my bare feet. The wind battering my cheeks.

Then I do probably the most idiotic thing imaginable.

I begin to laugh.