Page 27 of Reaper’s Ruin (Reaper’s Ruin Trilogy #1)

A nervous laugh bubbled up from my chest. Here I was, trying to break into a royal court to solve my own murder, and all I could think about was whether Death was getting a peek up my skirt. And worse, part of me was excited by the thought.

“Soraya?” Rhyker prompted. “The wall?”

“Right! Yes. The wall.” I reached forward, grabbing the edge. “I’m going to pull myself up now.”

I leaned forward, trying to haul myself onto the narrow ledge.

My feet kicked slightly in his hands as I struggled to find leverage, making me acutely aware of how much of my legs were now exposed.

After an ungraceful scramble that involved far more grunting and wriggling than I’d have preferred, I finally managed to flop onto the top of the wall, lying flat on my stomach as I caught my breath.

“That was... interesting,” I muttered, flopping onto my back to stare at the lightning in the distance. I’d scaled a wall in a dress while Death held my feet. I deserved a medal. Or at least a snack.

I rolled over and peered over the edge, looking down at Rhyker, expecting to see him preparing for his own climb.

Instead, he took a few steps back, his eyes never leaving mine.

Then, with a grace that seemed impossible for someone his size, he launched himself at the wall.

He scaled it in seconds, finding handholds where I saw nothing but smooth stone, muscles flexing beneath his clothing as he pulled himself upward.

In moments, he was sitting beside me on the ledge, not even slightly out of breath.

“Show-off,” I whispered, but I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face .

His lips twitched in what might have been a suppressed smile. “Now we go down. I’ll go first and catch you.”

He swung his legs over the edge and dropped down with catlike silence. Then he looked up at me, arms extended.

“Jump,” he said.

My stomach clenched as I looked down at the drop below.

But as I looked down, it wasn’t just the drop I saw.

It was the man I’d just met, the Reaper I’d just met, the one I somehow trusted completely.

He had already kept me safe so many times, and as I looked into his eyes staring up at me from below, I knew in my bones that he would catch me.

He would always catch me.

I pushed off, and for a heart-stopping moment I was falling—then his arms were around me, strong and steady, catching me against his chest.

Time seemed to slow. I was pressed against him, my hands on his shoulders, his arms wrapped around me. I could feel the steady rhythm of his heart, smell the earthy scent of him.

His eyes met mine, something dark and hungry flashing in their depths before he quickly set me on my feet.

“We need to move,” he said, retrieving our bags. “The stables are this way. We can change there.”

We slipped through the shadows of the courtyard, avoiding the few guards who patrolled this section of the grounds. When we reached the stables, Rhyker led me toward an empty stall at the far end.

But as we entered the dimly lit building, I froze in awe.

These weren’t ordinary stables. Instead of horses, magnificent creatures occupied the stalls—beasts I’d never seen before, not even in fantasy films or illustrations.

“What are those?” I whispered, moving closer to one of the stalls where a creature watched me with intelligent silver eyes .

“Stormsteeds,” Rhyker said quietly. “The signature mounts of the Storm Court nobility.”

The creature before me was breathtaking.

It had the general shape of a horse, but with dramatic differences.

It had cloven hooves and its body was covered in sleek feathers rather than hair, primarily a deep slate-blue with iridescent highlights that shimmered in the stable’s low light.

Its head was more refined than a horse’s, with a proud, almost raptor-like quality, crowned by a feathered crest that rose when it noticed us watching.

Most striking were the wings—smaller than a true flying creature would need, but still impressive, folded neatly against its sides. When the Stormsteed shifted, I could see the wings briefly extend, revealing feathers in deep blue with silver-tipped edges.

“Can I touch it?” I asked, unable to tear my eyes away.

“Carefully,” Rhyker cautioned. “They’re temperamental with strangers.”

I approached slowly, hand outstretched. The Stormsteed regarded me with those intelligent silver eyes, then, to my surprise, stretched its neck forward to sniff my palm, its sharp beak dragging gently across my skin.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered as my fingers made contact with the soft feathers of its neck. They felt like silk beneath my touch. “This is crazy. I’m petting a flying horse-bird kind of thing. How is this real?”

“They can’t fly for long,” Rhyker explained, watching me with the creature. “But they can leap great distances and glide, which makes them invaluable in mountain terrain. Only the highest-ranking nobles and most powerful Storm Warriors possess them.”

I could have stood there petting the beautiful Stormsteed all day, but Rhyker cleared his throat .

“We need to hurry. We don’t want to get caught here and guards patrol these stables often.”

“It was nice to meet you,” I said, reluctantly pulling my hand away from the magnificent creature. It gave me a gentle nuzzle, then I gave it one last pat and walked away.

“We’ll change here,” he said, moving toward an empty stall at the back. “Be quick.”

The stable was dimly lit and filled with the soft sounds of the Stormsteeds shifting in their stalls.

Rhyker turned his back to me, giving me some semblance of privacy as he began to change.

I should have done the same, but I couldn’t help stealing a glance over my shoulder as he pulled his shirt over his head.

My breath caught in my throat.

His back was a masterpiece of sculpted muscle and smooth skin, interrupted by several long scars that traced pale, jagged lines across his back.

Most likely remnants from his human life.

I didn’t know and couldn’t ask since I shouldn’t have been peeking.

As he moved, muscles shifted beneath his skin in a way that made my mouth go dry.

I forced myself to look away, fumbling with my own clothing as I tried to concentrate on the task at hand. But my mind kept wandering back to that glimpse of bare skin, to the raw power contained in that perfectly formed body.

Focus, Soraya. You’re on a mission. This is not the time to drool over Death.

I pulled the gown for the masquerade from my bag—a stunning creation of midnight blue silk that shimmered with silver accents, the pattern reminiscent of lightning strikes against a night sky.

Perfect for blending in with Storm Court nobility and the one Rhyker had picked out for me special.

It was more elaborate than anything I’d ever worn, with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt that swished dramatically when I walked .

I slipped it over my head, then after it settled down around me, I realized I had a problem. The back of the dress laced up like a corset, and with the dressmaker not there to help, there was no way I could reach it myself.

I glanced over my shoulder to see if Rhyker was decent, then almost swallowed my tongue at the sight of him. He’d been stunning in black leather, delicious with his shirt off, and now he was devastating in his formal attire.

The deep navy, almost black jacket with silver accents fit his broad shoulders perfectly, tapering to his narrow waist. The high collar emphasized his strong jaw, and the Storm Court embellishments made him look like he could actually be royalty rather than just pretending.

How was it possible that clothing designed to help him blend in only made him stand out more?

“I, um—” I cleared my throat, trying to find my voice as I stood there awkwardly clutching the front of the dress to my chest. “I need help with the back.”

Rhyker turned, and for a heartbeat, his usually unreadable expression faltered.

The bodice hung loose behind me, the rich fabric sliding off one shoulder. I clung to it at my breasts, holding it up.

He didn’t say anything at first—just stared.

Then finally, in that gravel-and-smoke voice of his, he commanded, “Turn around.”

I did, heart hammering, as I suddenly became acutely aware of every inch of skin on display.

My bare spine was exposed from my shoulder blades to the small of my back, and I pulled my hair over one shoulder to give him access.

I heard the soft creak of the floorboards as he stepped closer. My breath hitched.

“Hold still,” he said, barely above a whisper—his breath warm against the nape of my neck .

Then his fingers touched my skin.

I didn’t flinch. I melted .

He found the laces, and slowly, methodically, began threading them through. Every time his knuckles grazed my back, goosebumps followed in their wake. My pulse quickened with each sensuous touch, and I worried he could actually hear it even over the distant thunder outside.

The dress pulled tighter with each draw of the cord—snug around my waist, then my ribs, then higher still pressing up my breasts.

My breath grew shallower, but it had nothing to do with the fit.

“Too tight?” he asked, his voice low and close.

“No,” I whispered. “It’s perfect.”

He paused at the small of my back, his hands resting there longer than necessary. His fingers flexed—just barely. A twitch. A hesitation. But I felt it.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The world seemed to narrow to just this room. This dress. This moment.

Then, with excruciating care, he tied off the final bow and let his hands fall away.

“There,” he said, voice rough. “Done.”

I turned, the dress now perfectly sculpted to my body. “How do I look?”

His gaze met mine, then swept down—slowly. Reverently. Like I was something he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to look at.

“You look like you belong here,” he said.

His tone was steady, but something else clung to it. Something he was trying to swallow down.

Want. Hunger. Restraint.

I could feel it hanging in the space between us like static in the air .

I wanted to step closer, to close the distance between us, to find out if his lips would feel as perfect as they looked. But with one long swallow I watched slide down his throat, he stepped back.

“We should go,” he said reluctantly.

He was right, of course. This wasn’t the time or place. We had a mission, a purpose.

I had a murder to solve. A door to find.

But still...

My gaze lingered on his as I tried to will my body back to some semblance of sanity his touch had stolen from me.

He looked away, and just like that, he was once again the focused, serious Reaper rather than the man whose touch had just set my skin on fire.

From his pocket, he produced a mask of polished midnight blue leather with intricate silver scrollwork along the edges. With deliberate movements, he raised it to his face, securing it with a thin ribbon that disappeared into his dark hair.

My breath caught. The mask covered the upper half of his face, framing those storm-gray eyes and making them appear even more intense than before.

Without the distraction of the rest of his features, his eyes became the focal point—deep, mysterious, carrying the weight of centuries.

The mask also drew attention to his impossibly strong jaw and those lips, full and perfectly shaped, the only part of his face still exposed.

He wasn’t just dangerous—he was temptation wrapped in shadow.

The kind of man who lured you off the safe path with a smile, and made you thank him for the ruin.

I realized I was staring and quickly looked down, fumbling with my own mask.

It was a delicate creation of dark blue silk with silver embroidery that matched my gown.

“Let me,” he said, taking the mask from my trembling fingers .

He stepped closer, raising it to my face.

His touch was gentle as he positioned it, his fingers brushing against my temples as he secured the ribbons.

I looked up at him through the mask, wondering if he could hear the thundering of my heart or if he just thought it was the eternal raging storm crashing high up above us.

For a moment, we stood frozen, masked and transformed, two strangers playing at belonging in a world neither of us truly fit into.

“Stay close to me,” he said, a command, not a request. “And remember, we’re looking for information, not confrontation. Keep your eyes peeled for the man who killed you, and tell me immediately if you see him.”

“Got it,” I replied, forcing myself to concentrate on the task ahead rather than the memory of his fingers on my skin. “Find the man that killed me, don’t get caught, don’t start any fights.”

“And don’t wander off,” he added.

I placed my hand on his offered arm, feeling the solid strength beneath the fine fabric. “I won’t leave your side,” I promised.

A promise I had no desire to break.

Together, we slipped out of the stables and into the gathering twilight.

The courtyard was filled with elegantly dressed fae arriving for the pre-coronation masquerade.

With our Storm Court attire and our masks completing our disguises, we blended seamlessly into the crowd flowing toward the main keep.

As we joined the throng of guests, I couldn’t help but marvel at how far I’d come from that terrified ghost in the marketplace. Now I was walking arm-in-arm with Death himself, infiltrating a royal court to solve my own murder.

And if the way my skin still tingled from his touch was any indication, I might already be in too deep.