Page 18 of Reaper’s Ruin (Reaper’s Ruin Trilogy #1)

“Siphons. They drink blood, live forever unless you find a way to kill them, which is tricky, honestly. Some have special powers if they’ve fed recently. Nasty things. Luckily, they mostly keep to the Blackspire Woods.”

Her jaw dropped. “You have real vampires here?”

“Siphons,” I corrected. “Of course. ”

“Oh my god.” She placed a hand to her chest like she needed to calm her heart. “Okay... what about werewolves?”

I frowned. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Like, shifters who turn into wolves during a full moon and have fated mates and territorial issues?” She gestured wildly. “Big wolf. Teeth. Growly. Always shirtless, honestly.”

I paused, then with a slight smile at her interesting explanation said, “Ah. Sounds like the Fenraen. They’re a northern tribe—part beast, part man. Not tied to moons, though. They can shift whenever they want, but they aren’t usually running around shirtless. It gets cold where they live.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “Okay, so do you have dragons?”

“Yes,” I said simply.

“ Real dragons?”

“Of course. Though they’re rare. Never actually seen one myself. Been hunted to extinction centuries ago. Did meet someone once though who could shift into one, though I didn’t see him do it.”

Her eyes widened. “Dragon shifters? What? No way!”

“Scaleborn they call them. Nearly extinct I believe. Or maybe they already are. Haven’t stumbled into a Scaleborn soul that needed reaping in a few hundred years. Or maybe they exist but they’re all finding peace. I don’t know.”

She was now just blinking at me, like I’d dropped some significant information on her that these people, or some of them better identified as creatures, were real. To me, they were just part of everyday life in Faelora.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Siphons are vampires. Faenren are werewolves. Scaleborn are dragon shifters. What else do you have here?”

“There are all sorts of species here. I wouldn’t even know where to start. ”

She blew up her cheeks then puffed out the breath. “Wow. Mind. Blown.”

With her now walking in silence still shaking her head, we finished our walk to Centralia.

She moved closer to me as we approached the Sylvan entrance.

The guards barely glanced at us as we passed through the massive western gate.

Inside, Centralia was even more impressive than it appeared from a distance.

Wide streets paved with smooth stones radiated out from a central plaza.

Buildings of white marble and pale stone rose on either side, their architecture a harmonious blend of styles from all five courts.

Flowering vines climbed trellises along balconies, and fountains burbled in small courtyards.

Soraya’s wonder returned full force as we moved deeper into the city. “This is incredible.” She turned in a slow circle to take it all in. “It’s like... like Venice meets Rivendell meets ancient Greece.”

Again, references I didn’t understand, but her delight was clear.

The main thoroughfare was lined with vendors selling everything from exotic fruits to intricate jewelry to magical trinkets.

Fae of all courts mingled freely here, distinguishable only by their chosen markers—a blue sash here, a flame-colored pendant there, silver frost patterns painted on arms and faces.

“How do you tell which court people are from?” Soraya asked quietly as we joined the line of travelers waiting to enter.

“Court markers,” I replied, nodding toward a fae woman whose elaborate silver circlet was set with aqua stones, marking her as Tide Court. “Jewelry, clothing colors, sometimes tattoos or body paint. Most fae display their court affiliation proudly.”

“But we’re not wearing anything like that. Are we gonna get busted?”

“Many choose not to declare court affiliation in Centralia. It’s one of the few places they can escape court politics, if only temporarily. ”

“This place is amazing. I could wander around in here for literal weeks and still be amazed.”

“Don’t forget, we’re not here for fun,” I reminded her, my voice gruffer than I intended. “Remember why we came.”

She gave me a little mock salute. “Yes, sir, Mr. Reaper, sir.”

“I’m not a Reaper anymore,” I said quietly, flexing my hand. The absence of power beneath my skin felt wrong, like missing a limb. “Not for now, anyway.”

Soraya’s smile softened into sympathy. “That bothers you, doesn’t it? Being... normal.”

“Normal is not a word I’d use to describe anything about this situation.”

She laughed again, the sound light and musical in the afternoon air. “Fair enough. But you know what I mean. Being in a physical body. Being human again.”

“It’s... strange,” I admitted. I couldn’t tell her how vulnerable it made me feel. How exposed. How every sensation was simultaneously overwhelming and intoxicating. “I haven’t needed to breathe or eat or sleep in eight centuries.”

“You know, we’re basically fancy zombies, right?” she said, grinning.

“I don’t know what a zombie is.”

“Dead people who come back to life and eat brains and shuffle around going ‘braaains,’” she explained, holding her arms out stiffly and making what I assumed was supposed to be a menacing face.

I stared at her. “I don’t want to eat brains. That is disgusting. The only people who eat brains in Faelora are a particularly menacing tribe of cannibals who reside in the Outlands.”

“Never mind,” she said, dropping her arms. “It’s a thing from my world.

Movies. TV shows. I’m not even going to ask about the freaking cannibals here.

Just promise not to take me near them.” She made a disgusted face, but then instantly, it transformed back into that pure joy that seemed to radiate from her like blinding light. “Oh, look! Sweet rolls!”

She pointed toward a stall where a fae woman with delicate green vines tattooed along her arms—a Sylvan Court marker—was pulling fresh pastries from a stone oven. The scent of cinnamon and sugar wafted through the air, drawing a small crowd.

Soraya darted forward, breaking away from my side. “Can we get one? Please? I’ve been dying to try one since I first saw them in that marketplace.”

“We don’t have much money,” I reminded her. “We need to save it for—”

“I haven’t eaten anything since I died, and I’m starving. Please? Just one?” she asked again, and something in those blue eyes made arguments die in my throat.

My resolve crumbled embarrassingly fast. “Fine. One.”

Her face lit up with such genuine delight that it made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t want to examine too closely. I purchased her a sweet roll, handing over a few coins from the pouch Selyse had given us.

Soraya took hers with reverent hands, bringing it to her nose and inhaling deeply before taking a bite.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she made a small, pleased moan that sent an unexpected jolt through my body.

I had to force out the images that invaded my mind of her moaning in a very different way.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, opening her eyes. “This is amazing. Like, the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Even better than Cinnabon.”

A loud rumble interrupted what I was about to say. I looked down at my stomach in confusion. “What the fuck?”

Soraya laughed. “You’re hungry too! What? Did you forget what hunger feels like?”

I had, actually. The sensation was so foreign that I hadn’t recognized it for what it was .

“You haven’t eaten in eight hundred years,” she said, her eyes widening as if just realizing this. “That’s... that’s a really long time between meals. I’m glad I didn’t come back as a Reaper because I love food way too much. I would have been so sad to never taste chocolate again.”

“I haven’t needed to,” I said simply.

“Well, you need to now.” She held out her sweet roll, her eyes widening in delight “Try it! It’s so good!”

I looked at the pastry skeptically, then with my stomach grumbling louder, took it from her and sampled a small bite.

Flavor exploded across my tongue—sweet, rich, complex. The texture was simultaneously soft and crisp, the spices warming. I hadn’t tasted anything in eight centuries, and now this simple peasant food was overwhelming my senses.

I must have made some kind of sound, because Soraya was watching me with a knowing smile. “Good, right?”

I nodded, unable to form words as I took another bite. The pleasure of it was almost too much to bear.

“Food is one of life’s great joys,” she said, then she shrugged. “Well, death’s great joys now, I guess.”

I didn’t want to stop eating the sweet roll, so I handed the vendor a couple more coins and bought Soraya another.

I watched her as she ate, unapologetically savoring every bite, licking sugar from her fingers with a lack of self-consciousness that was both endearing and oddly captivating.

There was something about her joy—so pure, so unrestrained—that made me feel things I’d thought long dead.

Things I didn’t want to feel.

Things I had no right to feel.

I was her protector. Her guide. Nothing more. I’d made a choice to help her find her door, to atone in some small way for my failure to save humanity. That was all this was .

So why couldn’t I stop watching the way her lips curved around each bite, the way her eyes lit up with pleasure, the way a strand of hair fell across her cheek? It did things I barely remembered to my insides the same way hunger had caused my stomach to growl.

“You’ve got a little...” She gestured to the corner of her mouth.

“What?” I furrowed my brow, unsure why she was pointing at her mouth.

“Here. Hold still.”

She stepped directly in front of me, leaning up on her toes as she reached up.

I recoiled as her fingers moved toward my mouth, but she didn’t hesitate, and instead, reached out, brushing her thumb across the corner of my lips.

“Just a little sugar there,” she said, but I could barely process the simple words.

The intimate contact sent a shock through my system—her skin was so soft, so warm as it brushed against mine.

I pulled back quickly, stunned by the response coursing through my body, but the sensation lingered like a brand on my lips.

She froze for a moment, her eyes widening slightly, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. “Sorry. Was that rude? I just didn’t want you walking around the Dark Market with smooge on your face.”

“It’s fine,” I said sharply, then spun away from her, needing a moment to regain my senses stolen by her touch. “We should go,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “We still need to find the weapons trader.”

She nodded, finishing the last bite of her sweet roll. “So, where’s this Dark Market? Do you know where it is?”

I snorted. “Of course. I was a Reaper for eight hundred years. I can say I probably came to the Dark Market more than any other place. Souls linger where they die, and there are many angry, murdered ghosts in the Dark Market.”

She pulled a face. “Well, that’s not comforting.”

I looked at her, eyes stern and serious. “It’s not supposed to be. This is a dangerous place we’re going.”

“Well, at least I’m already dead, so it’s not like anyone can kill me.”

Thought of harm coming to her, any harm, sent a wave of furious rage coursing through me. “We don’t know what happens to these bodies if we get hurt or killed. You must be careful. Do you understand?”

My words were harsh, but I intended them that way. I needed her to understand the type of place we were going.

“Okay. I will,” she said, and her face looked like she meant it. “Do we have to find a secret entrance or something?”

“Something like that.”

I started to turn away, but her hand caught my arm. “Rhyker? Thank you. For the sweet roll. For... everything.”

The sincerity in her eyes, the warmth of her touch—it was more dangerous than any threat waiting in the Dark Market. Because the criminals and killers lurking in those shadows were predictable. Their violence was something I could handle. Something I understood.

But Soraya? She made me feel things I’d forgotten how to feel. Made me remember what it was like to be human.

And that was more dangerous than anything lurking in the shadows of the Dark Market.