Sins of the Flesh

She rose and shot a quick look overhead. He hadn’t followed. Yet. But it would be only a matter of moments, perhaps seconds, before he got free of her blade and came after her. He wouldn’t let her get away that easy. He wouldn’t let his prize slide through his fingers without a fight. Which meant she needed to get out of here, the quicker, the better. She strode across the terrace and tried the balcony door. Locked. She almost kicked in the glass, but then she paused, aware of the reaper’s life force cranking through her like a drug. She tightened her grip and yanked with all the force she could summon. The metal twisted and shrieked as the lock gave way and the glass slid open. She stepped through.

Standing in the darkened living room, she did a quick scan of her surroundings. She could clearly make out the sofa and love seat, the end tables, even the individual tassels on the cushions.

Sharper vision, hearing, increased strength, all because of a few drops of blood. Reaper blood.

A shiver chased up her spine.

She could still taste it on her tongue. Rich. Delicious.

She didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to acknowledge that even as she had been revolted by what she had chosen to do, she had reveled in the taste of him and the feeling of power that slid through her veins. Roxy had never mentioned it was like this.

Of course, disgusted by the thought of drinking a soul reaper’s blood, Calliope had never asked for details. She realized now that her prejudices might have cost her. Information was power, and she’d denied herself some key knowledge. It was a mistake she’d take care not to repeat.

She kept moving, focusing on the benefits rather than the revulsion she felt for having drunk from him. It had been the surest path to success, and she was trained to succeed at all costs. She had no idea how long the enhancements would last, but she intended to use them to her greatest advantage while they did.

The dining room was dead ahead, then the breakfast bar, then the kitchen. A hall to the left likely led to bedrooms. A hall to the right probably to more of the same.

Thoughts spinning, she strove to weave a new plan from the severed threads of the one she’d been forced to abandon by the reaper’s unexpected appearance in Kuznetsov’s bedroom.

As she moved, she unzipped the pocket at her hip and pulled out her cell. Her direct superior, Sarita, answered on the first ring.

“I have the item,” Calliope said. “But delivery may be a problem.” Her intent had been to have dinner with the High Reverend of the Setnakhts, ply him with drinks and questions, and if his answers didn’t satisfy, hunt him in his home. He’d evaded and deflected all through dinner, so the hunt it had been.

“Was the patch not effective?” Sarita asked, the innocuous words in fact asking a different question entirely: Was Kuznetsov unconscious?

“It melts in water,” Calliope replied. When she’d embraced the High Reverend before she’d left in the cab, she’d placed a patch on his skin that would leach a drug into his system to make him sleep.

But he’d gone into the shower and washed the tiny patch down the drain, so she’d been forced to subdue him by physical means. Her plan from that point had been to loop his arm around her shoulder, take the elevator down and walk him out the front door. If anyone asked, she’d say he was her inebriated date.

Of course, he wasn’t supposed to be naked when she got there. And he wasn’t supposed to be keeping company with a soul reaper. Both of which had thrown a bit of a monkey wrench into her plans.

“But the item is inert, for the moment,” Calliope said.

“Do you require a pickup?”

“Unclear at this time.” Turning her head, Calliope listened to the sound of approaching sirens. Unwelcome, but not unexpected, given that she’d broken a window in a high-security building. She’d have preferred to leave humans out of the mix. The police would be a complication.

“I will put a team on notice in the event they are required,” Sarita said and ended the call.

Calliope zipped her phone back into her pocket and then froze as she heard a faint shush behind her. She spun, her body vibrating readiness. With one hand, she steadied Kuznetsov on her shoulder. With the other, she grabbed the blade from the sheath on her thigh. She’d noticed the reaper carried one there, as well. Only now, with her own blade in her hand, did she wonder why he hadn’t used it on her.

Her hand was dead steady, her breathing slow and even as she scanned the shadows looking for threat. This was second nature to her. This was who she had become.

There was no one behind her, but the fine hairs at her nape were standing on end.

She usually knew when trouble was coming for her, and even who—or what—that trouble might be. Except she hadn’t known the soul reaper would be there tonight. And other than an unpleasant feeling of premonition, she was coming up blank as she tried to see what would come next. She was getting a whole lot of gray static and not much else.

And the reaper’s blood seemed to be making her a bit paranoid, her heightened senses reading threat into every sound and every shift in the breeze.

Plan. She needed one. Now.

In the span of a second she weighed possible options, seeing the scenarios as though watching them on a screen.

The sound of the sirens was louder now as they drew nearer.