Page 41 of Reaper’s Ruin (Reaper’s Ruin Trilogy #1)

I glanced down at my arm where I knew my scythe still lingered even though I couldn’t claim it in this mortal form.

What if she didn’t get her door? What happened to her then?

***

As evening fell, the castle buzzed with excited activity. Servants rushed through corridors carrying trays of delicacies and bottles of storm wine. Nobles dressed in their finest attire made their way toward the grand balconies and gardens, eager to secure the best viewing spots for the display.

As Soraya and I headed toward the night’s celebration, I adjusted the collar of my jacket, grumbling beneath my breath at how much I hated this outfit. The fine fabric felt restrictive, nothing like the soft, form-fitting leather that I’d worn for centuries.

“You’re fine. Stop fidgeting,” Soraya whispered then grinned widely, greeting a Storm Court noble walking past.

“If I never have to put on another flouncy outfit it will be too soon. We are getting that list tonight.”

I’d spent long enough playing this role—pretending to be a visiting noble, smiling and nodding at people I would have gladly reaped given the chance. I was ready for this charade to end.

We made our way to the main courtyard nestled inside the gardens where tables laden with food and drink had been arranged around a central dance floor.

We wound our way past the intricately shaped hedges and glowing storm flowers toward the crowd gathering in anticipation of the night’s main event.

Music filled the open air—a quartet of string instruments playing a lively tune that had several couples already spinning across the polished stone.

The never-ending lightning high above streaked across the moonlit sky, one bolt racing after another like an endless game of tag.

Soraya took it all in with that same wonder she’d shown since our arrival, her eyes bright with excitement despite the seriousness of our true mission. I found myself watching her more than our surroundings, captivated by her genuine joy in each new experience.

My attention snapped away from her when I caught sight of Prince Alaric approaching with two older men flanking him. The moment I saw them, every muscle in my body coiled tight, ready to strike.

There he was. Tall with that severe jawline and cold, calculating eyes.

Lord Cassius.

The man who had murdered Soraya and her mother. The man who had stolen her future.

The man I was going to kill.

Bloodlust surged through me like wildfire, a primal rage I hadn’t felt since watching the fae slaughter the last of humanity.

My hand twitched, instinctively calling for my scythe, but it wasn’t there.

But even if it was, my scythe would be too quick.

Too clean. I imagined wrapping my fingers around his throat, watching the light drain from his eyes slowly as I whispered who I was, what he had done.

“Rhyker,” Soraya breathed, her voice barely audible. I felt her stiffen beside me, her entire body going rigid.

I slid my hand to the small of her back, both a steadying gesture and a reminder of my presence. I’m here. He won’t hurt you again. Not while I draw breath.

“Steady,” I murmured. “Remember who we’re pretending to be. ”

I watched her gather herself, a deep breath expanding her chest as she forced her features into a mask of polite interest. The transformation was remarkable—from terrified to composed in seconds. Pride surged through me, briefly displacing the murderous rage.

“Lady Soraya! Lord Rhyker!” Prince Alaric called, gesturing them forward with a warm smile. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

We moved toward them, my hand never leaving Soraya’s back.

I watched his face for any indication he recognized her but saw none.

And why would he expect a soul he murdered in the Mortal Realm to be standing before him in the Stormspire Keep?

Each step closer to her killer required every ounce of control I’d learned in eight centuries.

I arranged my features into what I hoped was a neutral expression, though it felt more like a grimace.

“Your Highness,” Soraya curtsied elegantly, her voice betraying none of the turmoil I knew she must be feeling.

“Allow me to introduce my uncles,” Alaric said. “Lord Marwyn and Lord Cassius, my most trusted advisors. They were called away on business these last days and missed all the excitement.”

Lord Cassius bowed slightly, those cold eyes sweeping over us both. “A pleasure,” he said, his voice like silk over steel. “I apologize for my absence for what sounds like a lively few days. I hear you slew a Voltmauler, Lord Rhyker? With nothing but a hunting knife?”

The casual way he spoke, as if he hadn’t plunged a dagger into Soraya’s chest a week earlier, made my vision tinge red. I wanted to tear him limb from limb, to make him suffer as she had suffered.

Instead, I inclined my head and replied, “I did what was necessary to protect Lady Soraya. I’ll always protect Lady Soraya. ”

“A remarkable feat,” he said, studying me with new interest. “I’ve hunted many dangerous beasts in my time, but killing a Voltmauler with bare hands is truly... exceptional.”

“I find I have a particular talent for killing,” I said, meeting his gaze directly. “Some deserving creatures never see death coming until it’s upon them.”

Something flickered across his face—a momentary unease—before his mask of aristocratic indifference returned. He clearly sensed the threat beneath my words, though he couldn’t possibly understand the true meaning.

“Indeed,” he murmured. “A useful talent.”

“I heard it was quite the spectacle,” Lord Marwyn added. “People will be telling the story for years to come.”

Lord Cassius turned his attention to Soraya, and I felt her trembling beneath my palm.

His gaze swept over her appreciatively, and I held my breath looking for any recognition in his eyes.

But they showed none, instead only flickering with that all too familiar flash of appreciation every man had when they looked at her.

At the beautiful Storm Court noblewoman, not the human-fae girl he had murdered.

“How lucky for you to have had such a strong defender in your time of need, Lady Soraya.”

Soraya’s voice remained steady as she replied, “Lord Rhyker is indeed a powerful warrior I am lucky to have at my side as my protector.”

I marveled at her composure—standing face to face with her killer, maintaining this charade. She was stronger than I’d given her credit for.

A servant approached, whispering something in Prince Alaric’s ear .

“Ah, duty calls,” he said apologetically. “I’m needed at the eastern pavilion. Uncle Cassius, Lord Marwyn, would you join me?”

“Of course,” Lord Marwyn said.

Lord Cassius bowed to Soraya. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Soraya. Perhaps we’ll have the opportunity to speak further during the celebrations.”

“I look forward to it,” she lied perfectly.

With final nods, the three men departed, disappearing into the crowd of nobles.

The moment they were out of sight, Soraya sagged against me, her knees weakening. I guided her to a stone bench partially concealed by flowering bushes where prying eyes couldn’t see her reaction.

“That was him,” she whispered, her voice shaking now that she no longer needed to maintain the facade. “That was definitely him. The man who killed me. Who killed my mother.” Her eyes met mine, filled with a terrible realization. “The man who is possibly... my father.”

My hand found hers, covering it completely. A gesture of comfort I hadn’t planned, hadn’t known I was capable of anymore.

“Do you think he recognized me?” she asked, fear edging her voice.

I shook my head. “He didn’t. As expected, he would never expect to see a dead girl from the Mortal Realm here in Faelora. Not to mention when you died, you were in a strange night gown and now you’re dressed to fit in here. It just wouldn’t snap into his mind to make the connection.”

Her fingers curled around mine, seeking strength. I gave it willingly, squeezing gently.

“Are you alright?” I asked, the gruffness in my voice softening in a way it never did for anyone else .

She drew in a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she stood. I watched her gather her courage, piece by broken piece, until determination replaced the fear in her eyes.

“I have to be,” she said firmly. “We have a job to do tonight.”

I nodded and rose beside her. The fireworks would start soon. We needed to rejoin the celebration, to maintain our cover until the time was right.

“Just stay close to me,” I told her. “I won’t let him near you again.”

What I didn’t say—what I didn’t need to say—was that someday soon, Lord Cassius would pay for what he had done. And I would be the one to collect that debt, in blood and pain and terror.

But for now, we had a plan to follow. A list to find. Answers to uncover.

“Lady Soraya!” a voice called, and I tensed immediately.

Lord Destan approached, his annoyingly handsome face lit with a smile that set my teeth on edge.

He was young, barely more than a boy, but his station as one of Prince Alaric’s close companions gave him an inflated sense of importance.

And he’d been paying far too much attention to Soraya these past days.

“Lord Destan,” she replied, her tone warmly polite. “What a lovely evening for a celebration.”

“Made all the lovelier by your presence,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

My jaw clenched as I swallowed my snarl.

But instead of reaching out and snapping his wrist like the vision I saw so clearly in my mind, I stood silently, my face a mask of indifference as I calculated exactly how much force it would take to break each of his fingers individually.

My bet was that he was a screamer. Or at least I hoped he was because I would enjoy the symphony of his agony if he dared to touch her again .

“The fireworks will begin shortly,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to my sadistic thoughts. “I’ve secured a perfect viewing spot on the eastern balcony. Would you join me? The view is spectacular.”

Before I could intervene, Soraya smiled that bright, engaging smile of hers. “I’d be delighted.”

I stiffened, but she turned to me with a meaningful look. “Lord Rhyker, I’ll meet you by the fountain after the display. You mentioned you had something to attend to?”

I understood her intent immediately—it was the plan after all. She would remain visible at the celebration while I slipped away to search Lord Cassius’s chambers. I would return before the fireworks ended, and no one would be the wiser. Logical. Strategic.

I hated it.

Hated leaving her.

But it was better than bringing her with and risking her getting caught with me.

“Of course,” I said, my voice carefully neutral. “Enjoy the fireworks, Lady Soraya.”

She hesitated a moment, her eyes searching mine as if trying to read what lay beneath my controlled expression. Then she turned, allowing Lord Destan to escort her away.

I watched them go, a dark, possessive feeling churning in my gut. It was irrational—I knew that. She was playing her role, just as I was playing mine. This was about finding answers, not... whatever this burning sensation in my chest was.

But instead of sneaking off toward my goal, my feet refused to move, my eyes locked onto her like a hawk.

I stood in the shadows of a stone column, watching as Lord Destan led Soraya to the eastern balcony. They joined a small group of nobles already gathered there, champagne flutes in hand, eyes turned expectantly to the sky where bursts of colored light would soon bloom.

I should go. Every wasted moment lessened the time I had to ransack his room and increased my chances of discovery.

But I hadn’t left her side in days, and there was a strange agony in being separated even for a short while.

As I stood there trying to will my body to leave her, I saw it—Lord Destan’s arm sliding around Soraya’s waist as he pointed up at a particularly spectacular explosion of silver light.

His body leaned closer to hers, his mouth near her ear as he said something that made her laugh.

Something inside me shattered.

A wave of primal, possessive rage crashed through me so violently it nearly stole my breath.

My vision narrowed, tunneling until all I could see was his hand on Soraya’s body— my Soraya—his fingers splayed possessively across the curve of her hip.

Heat surged through my veins, a murderous darkness I hadn’t felt since the fall of humanity, since I’d watched fae warriors cut down the last of my kind.

Mine.

The thought burned through me with shocking clarity. Not his to touch. Not his to make laugh. Not his to court or seduce or claim.

She was mine.

Before I was fully conscious of moving, I was cutting through the crowd with lethal purpose, my body a weapon aimed at the man who dared touch what belonged to me. Nobles scattered from my path, sensing the barely leashed violence rolling off me in waves.