Page 24 of Reaper’s Ruin (Reaper’s Ruin Trilogy #1)

I’d just met a Reaper. Well, another one besides Rhyker.

And Taelon was hot. Objectively, undeniably hot.

The kind of hot that would have short-circuited my brain back when I was alive.

If I’d met him at a bar in Minneapolis, I’d have stumbled over my words, done something embarrassing and awkward, then sprinted out of the bar texting my friend that I’d met a total smokeshow, humiliated myself and needed to find a new bar to hang out because I could never show my face there again.

With his tall, athletic build, sharp jawline, and hair pulled back in that half-up style that some guys just couldn’t pull off, but he absolutely did, Taelon looked like he’d stepped straight off the set of a Viking show.

He had that rugged warrior thing going on—intense eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled, facial scruff that was just the right length, and an easy confidence that said he knew exactly how attractive he was without being obnoxious about it.

Were all Reapers hot? Or had I just happened to stumble onto the only two hot reapers in this Shadowveil they talked about?

Taelon had that charming rogue thing going for him—mischievous grin, easy swagger, the kind of guy who’d flirt with your grandma just to make her day and make her blush. In life, I would’ve melted. In life, I always picked the safe ones. The good guys. Guys like Taelon .

Stephan over Damon. Dean over Jess. Jacob over Edward. I mean, sure, in my favorite romance novels I swooned over the bad boy with the soft side, but in real life, I’d have run screaming from him.

But apparently, dying had scrambled my wiring. Because now?

I only had eyes for the scariest Reaper in existence.

A walking, talking real life Shadow Daddy as dark and dangerous as any fictional man I’d read about.

The guy every other Reaper called Death like it was his damn title.

As hot as Taelon was, and as funny and charming and witty like my living body would have wanted, my little dead girl heart only seemed to beat for the biggest, baddest Reaper of them all.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“We should find a place to sleep,” Rhyker said, his deep voice jolting me from my inappropriate thoughts. “It’s getting late.”

The shadows had lengthened across Centralia, the golden light of late afternoon giving way to the soft blues of evening. My physical body, this strange magical shell I now inhabited, was reminding me of its needs. Hunger. Exhaustion. The dull ache in my feet from walking all day.

“Yes, please,” I agreed, stifling a yawn. “I’m dead on my feet.” I paused, then snorted at my own accidental pun. “Pun absolutely intended.”

Rhyker gave me that look—the one that suggested he found me somewhere between amusing and bewildering. I was starting to live for those looks.

He led us to a small inn at the edge of the market district. The building leaned slightly, as if centuries of existence had made it tired, but the windows glowed with warm light and the smell of roasting meat drifted from within .

Rhyker approached the innkeeper, negotiating in low tones while I waited by the hearth, warming my hands.

The fire felt so good against my skin. It was still strange to feel things again—temperature, texture, the weight of my own body.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d taken sensation for granted when I was alive.

“We have a room,” Rhyker said, returning to my side. “Upstairs.”

I looked up at him, suddenly aware of the implication. “A room? As in, singular?”

“It’s all they had,” he said flatly. “And it took the last of our money.”

“Oh.” My stomach did a little flip.

One room.

With Rhyker.

I’d read countless books with the one-bed trope.

I’d stayed up extra late, flipping pages faster and faster to get to that moment they had to share a bed.

The delicious tension. The scalding close proximity.

The moment all that pent up sexual tension finally exploded, leaving me squealing with joy as I’d devour those tantalizing pages.

Now I was going to live it.

Things like oysters were supposedly aphrodisiacs, but apparently, so was death—because ever since I’d died, it seemed I’d become a giant, walking hormone. Or maybe it wasn’t death. Perhaps it was the stone-cold hot zombie Reaper bodyguard causing my desire to go haywire.

Rhyker led me up a narrow staircase to a small room at the end of the hall. He pushed open the door, revealing a space barely large enough for the bed that occupied most of it, a rickety chair, and a small table with a basin of water.

One bed. Small enough that even if we both squeezed in, we’d definitely be touching .

Oh, God.

This is it.

The one-bedroom scene was really happening to me.

And I couldn’t lie.

I was here for it.

It was wrong. Naughty. Ridiculous even. I was dead and on the hunt for my killer so I could find my peace.

But all I could think about was slipping beneath the sheets with Rhyker.

An accidental touch here. A whoops I didn’t mean to brush that there.

And finally, a clothes ripping, body slamming complete bangathon.

I’d had sex in life, of course. But they’d both been boyfriends. The sex had been... fine. Vanilla. Regular. And now I was dead, and I had no idea if I was going to get reaped and cease to exist or if I finally made it through my door, what awaited? Was there sex in Heaven?

All I knew was that right now, in this strange, inexplicable existence of mine, I wanted to do that one thing I never would have done in life.

Never would have been brave enough to go for.

But here, in my afterlife, I wanted to fuck the bad boy in the single bed and live out that fantasy in these last fleeting moments of my existence.

“You take the bed,” Rhyker said, already turning to leave. “I’ll keep watch outside.”

“Wait, what?” I reached for his arm, stopping him. “You’re not staying in here?”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate,” he said stiffly.

“But where will you sleep?”

“I don’t need sleep.”

“But you’re in a physical body now. Of course you need sleep.”

His jaw tightened. “I’ll be fine.”

Now I wished this was just a scene in one of my books and not real life because I would have thrown it across the room .

But as frustrated and simultaneously disappointed as I was, I was also touched.

Disappointed that I wouldn’t get to see what that hot shadow daddy looked like underneath all that leather (did he even take it off to sleep?), crushed I was getting denied my only chance at living out one of my romantic fantasies, but also touched by his old-fashioned gallantry.

“If you’re sure,” I said, unable to keep the hint of disappointment from my voice.

He nodded once, then stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him.

I sighed, looking around the room. At least I had a bed, which was more than I’d expected when the day began. Even if it didn’t have a hot, shirtless Reaper in it waiting to let me act out all of my hidden desires.

I moved to the small window, looking out at the now-darkened streets of Centralia. So much had happened in such a short time—discovering I was dead, learning I was on some royal hit list, meeting a second Reaper, finding out Rhyker was known as Death itself.

And lusting for him like a complete idiot.

I turned away from the window, trying to figure out how to light the small oil lamp on the bedside table. I missed electricity. And indoor plumbing. And Google. I fumbled with a flint striker, cursing under my breath.

“Come on, you stupid—”

I gave up, moving through the dark room toward the chair to undress. But in the dim light, I misjudged my step, stubbing my toe on the chair leg.

“Ow! Son of a—”

The door burst open with enough force to make the hinges groan in protest. Rhyker’s massive frame filled the doorway, dagger in hand, his body a coiled spring ready to strike. His eyes scanned the room, seeking threats, then settled on me hopping on one foot.

“Oops,” I said sheepishly. “I stubbed my toe. Sorry. I’m okay.”

He looked like a god of vengeance backlit by hallway light muscles tense under leather... all because I’d stubbed my toe. I should’ve been embarrassed. Instead, I kind of wanted to stub it again.

He lowered the dagger, tension draining from his shoulders, replaced by something that looked almost like relief. Then his expression hardened again.

“Be careful,” he growled. “We don’t know what happens if you get seriously injured in this form.”

“I think I’ll survive a stubbed toe,” I said, trying not to smile at his over-reaction. The fierce Death himself, rushing to my rescue because I’d stubbed my toe. It was almost... cute.

He turned to leave, then hesitated. “I need to procure more funds for our journey. We’ll need better clothing to blend into the Storm Court. You get some rest. Lock the door behind you and don’t open it for anyone. And here. Take the dagger, just in case.”

“What? No. No way I’m staying here alone. I’m coming with you,” I said immediately, all thoughts of sleep forgotten.

He frowned. “It’s safer if you stay here.”

“I’m already dead, technically,” I countered, crossing my arms over my chest. “And in life, I sat everything out. I always said, ‘There will be time for fun after.’ After my test. After high school. After college. After nursing school. After. It was always after.” My voice caught slightly.

“And then I didn’t get an after. I got murdered. ”

I stepped closer to him, looking up into those storm-gray eyes. “So, no. I’m not staying behind. I want to be part of things in this little chance of an afterlife I have. Because if I don’t find my peace, this could be it for me. The last days of my existence. ”

Something shifted in his expression—conflict, consideration, and then resignation.

“Stay close to me,” he said finally. “And do exactly as I say.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Reaper, sir,” I replied with a mock salute, relieved when the corner of his mouth twitched just slightly.