Sins of the Flesh

He went down on one knee then came up swinging, a rock clutched in his fist. Despite the weapon, they were nowhere close to evenly matched.

“Sorry. No time to play,” she murmured then hauled back and hit him, coming up from below to connect with his jaw. She didn’t put full effort into the blow, well aware that she was still hyped on reaper blood, her strength far greater than usual. Even so, his head rocked back, and for a second she thought she’d actually packed enough of a wallop to snap his neck. His gaze locked on her for what felt like eternity, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground like the sack of shit he was.

Breathing hard, she stared down at him.

“Serene,” she whispered. “I am serene. I am calm,” she continued, each word spoken with firm conviction. “I am a blue lake beneath a cerulean sky. I am—” She gritted her teeth and shook her head. “I am so fucked.”

Because she’d noticed something as soon as Kuznetsov went for her. She should have known he was going to do that, but the gift she’d relied on for centuries was still missing in action. The reaper’s blood had affected her ability to sense what was about to happen. The gray static she’d been subject to earlier had morphed into vast patches of…nothing. She was getting strobe-like flashes of unease, but no real sense of prescience. And that cost her her edge.

Her hope was that, as her body used up what she’d taken of the reaper’s life force, the effects would lessen.

She dragged Kuznetsov to the SUV and hauled him inside, not paying particular attention to gentle handling. Any bumps and bruises he got along the way were the cost of doing business.

Once he was settled and buckled in all nice and legal, she rounded to the back and pulled open the door. To the casual observer, a glance would reveal an empty trunk. But look a little closer and the floor of the trunk was too high. She yanked out the false bottom, revealing neatly separated compartments that held her emergency stash. Winter gear. A thermal blanket. Food. Water bottles. Basic climbing equipment: harness, rope, carabiners, nuts. A wallet containing fake ID and cash. Everything ready in anticipation of her destination.

She grabbed the blanket, two bottles of water and the wallet, slammed the door and got into the driver’s seat. There were a pair of sweatpants back there, and though they would be a bit snug for him, she could have grabbed them to offer Kuznetsov once he made the return trip from dreamland.

Could have, but didn’t.

His nakedness made him vulnerable, so that was how she left him. But she did toss the blanket over him. She didn’t want him hypothermic.

She peeled out of the lot, leaving the Porsche behind. Minutes later, she was almost at the ramp for the expressway. From there, she’d head to the parkway and go north, then west. The more distance she put between her and the fire genies, the tougher it would be for them to track her.

Not so for Malthus Krayl. No matter how she might wish it wasn’t so, the reality was that he’d probably be able to find her. Eventually. Soul reapers could move like the wind. They could make themselves invisible to both human and supernatural eyes. They could kill without weapons and heal from any wound.

And they always found their prey.

The second she’d stolen Kuznetsov from under his nose, she’d made herself the reaper’s prey. Taking his blood, using his own power against him, had only added insult to injury.

He would come after her. And he would find her.

Her best hope was to stay well ahead of him until she got to the one place a reaper couldn’t go. The reinforced fortress that the Asetian Guard called home.

But if he caught up to her before that, things would get dicey.

Sirens sounded from a nearby street, heading in the direction she’d just left. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed a flare of light and, above that, a thick curl of smoke twirling up to stain the night sky. The parking lot.

The fire genies had found the abandoned Porsche.

But despite the fact that she’d seen them take down the soul reaper, they weren’t the ones who worried her.

He was.

She had a feeling that for all his laid-back, bad-boy veneer, Malthus Krayl was one hell of a predator.





CHAPTER TEN



I go on the road I know in front of the Island of the Just.

—The Egyptian Book of the Dead, Chapter 17

DAGAN KRAYL REACHED for the bowl on the bedside table and rummaged for a lollipop. Beside him, Roxy stirred. He was naked, sated and his mate had just finished pulling mouthfuls of his blood out of his body into hers while he moved deep inside her.

Which suited him just fine. What didn’t suit him was the bone-deep unease that was suddenly crawling around inside him. He’d thought maybe he just needed a sugar hit, but as the sucker dissolved on his tongue and the sugar rushed through his system, feeding his half-human, half-god physiology, he was forced to acknowledge the truth. Something was wrong.