Page 1 of Reaper’s Ruin (Reaper’s Ruin Trilogy #1)

I stood behind the Shadowveil, my scythe humming beneath my skin in anticipation.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hunting.

There’s a certain pleasure in taking what doesn’t belong to you.

I felt it with every fae soul I reaped—that fleeting, satisfying snap as their essence severed from existence. That final flicker of light in their eyes when they realized Death had come for them.

I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it. Reaping was meant to be penance—a purgatory sentence for a life lived in blood and regret.

But for me?

Introducing lost fae souls to Death was the only comfort I had left.

Because I was Death.

Eight hundred years of reaping had earned me that title, whispered through the shadowed halls of the Umbral Keep.

Eight hundred years without a door.

Eight hundred years of watching other Reapers pay their penance and find their endings. The Shadowveil was a place of transition, not permanence. Reapers came, served their time, and moved on once they’d made peace with whatever sins had kept them from their door in the first place.

All except me.

I remained. Eternal. Unchanging.

Death itself, with no interest in the peace they sought.

From my place in the Shadowveil that Reapers called home, I watched the lost soul through the misty barrier that separated us. A fae male who’d died weeks ago—his spirit lingering long past when it should’ve found its door.

I didn’t know how he’d died.

I didn’t know why he wouldn’t move on.

I didn’t care.

All that mattered now was the satisfaction of ending his corrupt afterlife with one clean strike.

He wandered the marketplace, still haunting the place he’d lost his life. He moved among the living, unseen, just inches from where I stalked him in the mirror world.

To me, Faelora appeared as if through a fog—colors dulled, edges softened. But it felt every bit as real as when I’d lived in it.

I shadowed him silently, matching his pace as he drifted through the crowd. He’d had weeks to find his door. To make peace. To move on. But some souls cling too tightly to what they’ve lost.

That’s where Reapers come in. We maintain balance—keeping the dead from poisoning the world of the living.

He paused, his shoulders stiffening. He glanced back, sensing something but seeing nothing.

They always feel us before the end. That primal instinct warning them that even in death... predators still exist.

I smiled, savoring his unease. He was fae, after all.

And the ones like him—the ones who refused to move on—deserved the erasure from existence I offered them.

No afterlife. No good ending. No bad ending.

Just... gone, with one swipe of my scythe.

That moment? I savored it. A sliver of vengeance for everything his kind had done to me .

He quickened his pace, moving into the dimly lit alleyway.

I smiled.

Perfect .

Only the darkest shadows let me slip momentarily through the veil, and the moment he stepped into the inky blackness absent of light, I sliced through to the other side.

One great wing burst opened the shadow, letting me slip into his world just long enough to reach out, grasp his incorporeal form, and rip him backward into mine.

His eyes went wide as the mist around him shifted and he tumbled through the shadow into the place between.

He staggered upright, breath catching as his gaze darted around. Confused. Terrified.

And then his eyes locked with mine, and I saw the fear bloom.

Now... he could see me.

Now he understood.

“Run if you want, little fae,” I growled. “I’ve always enjoyed a good hunt.”

He didn’t run. He just stared. Frozen.

He didn’t know what I was, but the fear was instant.

My danger was unmistakable—tall. Broad. Dark.

Ominous. I might’ve passed for human—albeit a violent one—until the shadows stirred.

They rose from within, summoned by the Reaper I kept leashed beneath the surface.

Like liquid night, they rippled under my skin, thickening just before I struck, as if the darkness inside me could sense the soul I was about to sever.

My wings, made of pure shadow, stretched wider behind me like living smoke.

His eyes bloomed in horror as I towered over him.

He had no idea what I was. Just that I promised death.

“Please,” he breathed. “Who... who are you? Where am I? What’s—”

I didn’t let him finish.

I never did.

Why give them final words when they’d given none to us?

My arm lifted. The tattoo on my forearm flared violet-black, morphing into my scythe. Tall. Carved from the same shadow flowing through me. An extension of my essence. Sharp enough to slice through existence.

It morphed into my hand, and I gripped it tight, relishing the feel of it against my skin.

One clean arc.

One soul, severed.

And just like that... gone.

The sound it made, his soul wiping from existence along with his scream—like thunder muffled in velvet—was music. A dark, perfect chorus I could play again and again.

I stood in the gloomy half-light of the Shadowveil staring at the place he’d been. I wondered if I’d ever reap enough fae souls to feel some sense of justice.

I still didn’t.

Maybe the next one.

And I looked forward to our meeting.

My duty now done, I sliced my veilwings through the shadows, returning to the Umbral Keep rather than walking the hours to get back to the central fortress of the Shadowveil.

As I emerged, the Umbral Keep loomed above me, an impossibly tall structure of black stone that seemed to absorb what little light existed in the Shadowveil.

Twisted spires reached upward like claws trying to tear at the perpetual twilight sky.

No stars. No sun. Only varying shades of darkness.

Home. For eight hundred years.

My wings receded into my body now that I no longer needed them. Reapers scattered as I descended the steps into the depths where we lived. They always did. New ones stared too long, veterans quickly teaching them to avert their eyes.

Death walks among us. Don’t draw his attention.

“That’s Death,” I heard one whisper to a newly arrived reaper. “Eight centuries here and he’s never moved on. They say he’ll even reap us if we cross him. Just stay out of his way.”

I didn’t acknowledge them. I never did. Their fear meant nothing to me, and neither did their existence. The only satisfaction I found in this half-life was taking fae souls, watching them dissolve into nothingness instead of moving on to their coveted afterlife.

It was a small revenge for what they had done.

“Reaper,” Sevrin’s voice called, deep and sharp.

The only one in the Shadowveil who didn’t call me Death, his little attempt at trying to hold some power over me.

It didn’t work.

I turned to see him approaching, his face set in its permanent sneer. As one of the four Enforcers of the Veil Lords, he caused almost as much fear in the other Reapers as me.

Almost.

“What?” I didn’t bother hiding my contempt.

He stood in front of me, his imposing height one of the few in the Shadowveil equal to mine, bringing us eye-to-eye.

Though he showed no fear of me, I could still sense it just beneath his surface.

But he hid it well with his stiff posture, chin lifted, massive shoulders squared, silver eyes leveled on mine.

“The Veil Lords have summoned you to the Soul Sanctum.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“They don’t explain themselves to me,” he said, bristling. “Or to you. Just report there. Immediately.”

“I’ll go there soon.”

“Now.” He swelled his chest as if it would intimidate me .

I tipped my head slightly. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to tell them their little messenger did his due diligence. But some of us don’t come running when the Masters call.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Remember your place. You’re just a Reaper. Not Death incarnate as everyone seems to think. Just another soul working off its sins.”

I smiled, cold and sharp. “And yet, here I still am. Eight centuries later. Seven more than you. And you know, they’ve offered me the position of Enforcer multiple times.

But I’m not interested in licking their boots.

” My eyes raked him up and down. “Unlike some.” His lip twitched as if he wanted to say more, but he thought better of it.

Even an Enforcer knew better than to challenge me.

I might not have their official rank, didn’t want it, but eight centuries of reaping had made me something else entirely.

“Just go,” he muttered. “They’re waiting.”

Though I had no reason not to head there immediately, I took the long route through the Umbral Keep’s winding corridors. A small show of power that I knew would irritate Sevrin further. Little pleasures in this never-ending existence.

Sevrin hated me because I stood where he thought he belonged.

.. the most feared Reaper in existence. In life, he’d died trying to steal a throne from his brother.

Even then, he couldn’t stand being second.

So in death, he followed every rule, clawed his way into the ranks, bowed to the Veil Lords, took the scraps of power they offered and wore them like crowns.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

Because I was the one they feared. The one they whispered about. The one the Veil Lords offered Enforcer to—again and again. Proof that all his obedience, his precision, his groveling for favor still left him second best. And worse? That I didn’t even want the power he craved .

To him, I wasn’t just Death. I was everything he couldn’t control. A shadow he could never step out of. Proof that true power doesn’t shout or beg. It waits. Unmoving. Until everything else breaks around it. He was the wave thrashing against the shore, loud and wild. I was the stone it broke on.