Page 42 of Reaper’s Ruin (Reaper’s Ruin Trilogy #1)

I smiled at something Lord Destan said, though I couldn’t have repeated his words if my life depended on it. My mind was still reeling from the encounter with Lord Cassius—the man who had plunged a dagger into my chest, who had murdered my mother.

The Realm Walker who may also be... my father.

And he hadn’t recognized me at all.

I’d stood there, looking into the eyes of my killer, and he’d seen nothing but another Storm Court noble.

The disconnect was jarring—this monster who had destroyed my life now smiling and making pleasant conversation as if we were meeting at a garden party.

Sure, I’d been in jammies, no makeup and a messy bun sitting on my couch, and now I was dressed in a gown with makeup and a perfect coif, but still.

No recognition. None. He’d murdered me and hadn’t even noticed I was the same fucking girl he’d stabbed to death.

I’d never been vindictive or homicidal. Always a “water off a duck’s back” kind of girl.

But seeing him standing before me, feeling his hand on my skin—the same hand that had driven a blade into me, again and again—sent a wave of nausea crashing through me.

It still churned in my gut alongside something new. Something I’d never craved until now.

Violence .

I wanted revenge. Vengeance. Justice. I didn’t think I’d ever find peace until I stood over his limp corpse, the same way he’d once stood over mine.

“Lady Soraya? Are you well?” Lord Destan asked, his hand coming to rest at my waist as he leaned closer. “You seem distracted.”

I forced myself back to the present, plastering another smile on my face. “Just admiring the view,” I lied smoothly. “The fireworks display looks like it will be spectacular.”

His answering smile was warm, too warm. In another life, I might have found him charming—handsome in that classic way, with his chiseled features and easy confidence. But right now, his hand that had now drifted to my hip felt wrong. Unwelcome.

“It will be,” he agreed, his touch lingering as he guided me closer to the balcony’s edge. “The Storm Court’s annual display is legendary, and for a King’s coronation it will be extra special. Have you seen fireworks here before?”

“No. This is my first time.”

“It’s incredible. The Storm Warriors infuse the fireworks with actual lightning for an effect unlike anything in other courts.”

I made appropriate sounds of interest, painfully aware of how his fingers had splayed possessively across my hip.

Part of me wanted to step away, to establish some distance, but I needed to play my role.

Lady Soraya, enchanted by Storm Court nobility, not Soraya Peterman, the murder victim trying not to fall apart at seeing her killer.

The ghost working with a Reaper to solve her murder who only wanted one hand on her hip, and it wasn’t this one.

“I have something for you,” Lord Destan said, reaching into his jacket. “A small token, if you’ll accept it.”

He produced a delicate glass flower that seemed to glow from within, capturing light and refracting it in impossible ways .

“Lightning-bloom,” he explained. “They bloom only during the fiercest storms, when lightning strikes the sand just right. This one caught my eye because it reminded me of you—both beautiful and rare.”

As I reached to accept the gift, a ripple of tension seemed to pass through the crowd. Nobles were stepping back, making way for someone moving through their midst with determined strides.

I glanced over Lord Destan’s shoulder and felt my breath catch.

Rhyker was approaching, and the look on his face...

Holy shit.

I’d seen Rhyker angry. I’d seen him determined. I’d seen him facing down a Voltmauler with nothing but a knife.

But I’d never seen him like this.

His eyes were thunderous, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking in his cheek. His entire body radiated barely contained violence, like a storm about to break. And his gaze—intense, possessive, murderous—was fixed not on me, but on Lord Destan’s hand on my hip.

My heart skipped, then raced. After days of cold distance following our kiss, after pulling away whenever I came too close, after acting as if nothing had happened between us...

Rhyker looked like he wanted to rip Lord Destan’s arm off and beat him to death with it.

“Lady Soraya,” he interrupted, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Your presence is required elsewhere.”

I turned fully toward him, surprise and confusion probably evident on my face, though beneath it, something warm and forbidden curled in my stomach at the naked possession in his eyes.

“Lord Rhyker? Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” His glare never left Lord Destan, who still hadn’t removed his hand from my body. Every second that hand remained seemed to darken Rhyker’s expression further. “You’re needed. Now.”

Lord Destan straightened, clearly affronted by Rhyker’s tone. “We’re in the middle of the fireworks display. It’s about to really get going. Surely whatever business you have can wait.”

Rhyker fixed him with a look that would have made a smarter man take several steps back. “Remove your hand from her,” he said, each word precisely enunciated, “or I will remove it for you.”

Lord Destan’s face paled, and his arm dropped away from me as if I’d suddenly burned him. “I—I meant no offense.”

The rational part of me knew I should be annoyed by Rhyker’s high-handedness—this possessive display, this interruption, this presumption that he had any claim on me at all. I was a modern woman, after all. I’d been raised by a strong mother to reject this kind of caveman behavior.

But that rational part was currently being drowned out by the thrilled, primitive part of my brain that was practically purring at the sight of him standing there, radiating deadly intent, all because another man had touched me.

After days of wondering if our kiss had meant nothing to him, of convincing myself I’d misread his signals, of doubting my own instincts... this was undeniable.

Rhyker wanted me.

And he wasn’t handling it well at all.

As I stepped to his side, his hand immediately found the small of my back, his touch firm and claiming. I shouldn’t have liked it as much as I did.

“What are you doing?” I demanded as he rushed me along and away from the party. “I thought I was supposed to be out there blending while you searched the chambers.”

“You were blending too well,” he growled, still moving purposefully as we reached the hall, leading me deeper into the castle. The muscles in his jaw were still working, his stride tense and predatory.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not leaving you unattended with these men.” His hand pressed more firmly against my back, drawing me closer to his side. “Do you know what that flower means? The one he was about to give you?”

“No.” I struggled to keep up with his long strides. “What?”

“It’s a courting gift. The first step in a ritual that ends with you in his bed.”

Heat surged through me—partly at the possessive way he said it, partly at the implication I would have tumbled into Lord Destan’s bed without a thought in my head because he’d given me a sparkly flower.

“I can handle handsy guys like Destan,” I said, grabbing his arm, annoyance creeping into my voice. “I’ve been fending off unwanted attention since puberty. I’m not going to spread my legs for some dude in a fancy jacket with a flower. It takes a lot more than that to get me into bed.”

The moment I said those words his strides stuttered. He looked at me, eyes flaring wide before that cold calculation replaced his shock.

“This isn’t your world,” he snapped, the muscles in his arm tensing beneath my fingers. “You don’t know their customs, their expectations. These are royals who don’t back off when rejected. They take what they want. You need to go back to our room and stay there until I’m done searching.”

That did it. My temper flared.

“So that’s your solution? Lock me in our chambers like some damsel who can’t take care of herself?” I planted my feet, refusing to be dragged further. “I’m coming with you.”

“It’s too dangerous. ”

“This concerns me more than it concerns you,” I countered, lifting my chin defiantly. “It’s my name on that list; my murder we’re investigating. And if you don’t trust me to handle myself out there, then I’m coming with you to the chambers. End of discussion.”

We glared at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills. His eyes were storm-dark, swirling with contradictory emotions—anger, frustration, and something deeper, hotter. For a moment I thought he might simply throw me over his shoulder and carry me back to our rooms.

Part of me almost wanted him to try.

“Fine,” he conceded grudgingly. “But you follow my lead. Stay close. Do exactly as I say.”

“Deal.” I nodded, not bothering to hide the triumph in my smile. “Lead the way.”

Together, we moved through the castle, using the cover of the festivities. The corridors were largely deserted, most servants and guards occupied with the celebration. I followed Rhyker’s lead, mimicking his silent footfalls as best I could in my impractical dress.

I was acutely aware of him beside me—the coiled tension in his muscles, the predatory awareness in his movements, the way his eyes constantly scanned for threats.

Part of me was still reeling from the encounter with Cassius, still struggling to process that I’d stood face to face with my murderer, but another part of me was fixated on Rhyker’s display of possessiveness.

Just thinking about the thunderous look in his eyes when he’d seen Lord Destan’s hand on my waist sent a thrill through my body that had no business existing in the middle of a dangerous infiltration mission where I felt like I was playing the part in one of the countless spy movies I’d seen .