The Reaper's Mate Read online

  Celia Aaron

  The Reaper’s Mate

  Celia Aaron

  Copyright © 2016 Celia Aaron

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Celia Aaron. Please do not participate in piracy of books or other creative works.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. Please store your files wisely, away from under-aged readers.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  MATHIEU

  Chapter Two

  ANNABELLE

  Chapter Three

  MATHIEU

  Chapter Four

  ANNABELLE

  Chapter Five

  MATHIEU

  Chapter Six

  ANNABELLE

  Chapter Seven

  MATHIEU

  Chapter Eight

  ANNABELLE

  Chapter Nine

  MATHIEU

  Chapter Ten

  ANNABELLE

  CHAPTER ONE

  MATHIEU

  I TAKE ONE LAST drag on my cigarette, enjoying the burn as the toxic fumes fill my lungs.

  “Those things will kill you.” The valet points at the cancer stick between my fingers.

  “You, maybe.” I smile and stub it out. In my palm.

  “Whoa.” He stares as I flick the butt into the trash can behind the valet stand.

  The cool air eddies around us, bringing the distinctive smell of the French Quarter wafting through the streets. Wet pavement, last week’s garbage, and all of it coated with the hint of something sweet.

  I take the dozen steps to the door of the grand ballroom and drag my cloak closer around my face. The humans won’t notice that I’m not one of them, but there’s no point in taking chances. I haven’t been made since ancient Rome, not that it mattered. I still bagged the human and sent his soul off to its final destination.

  “Invitation?” An evil clown stands at the door and checks the partygoers’ smart phones or paper invites. Ladies in costumes with short skirts, and men in dressy attire flood through the entryway. I get an eyeful of more than a few garter belts and thongs. It’s going to be a good night.

  I ghost past the security and solidify in the mass of people removing cloaks and overcoats.

  “May I take your, um … coat?” An assistant in black tie stands and tries to figure out if my robe is something he can hang along the racks at his back.

  “It’s all costume, my man.” I shoot him a smile. “Nothing to check.”

  He stares up at me, his face going pale as he catches a glimpse of my eyes. Those always freak the humans out. Such a light blue that they appear almost clear, with a swirling black pupil.

  But it’s Halloween night and oddity is expected. The attendant will be able to chalk it up to colored contacts, and I’ll be able to let off some steam.

  I start to turn away from him.

  “Sir, the weapon?” He points to the scythe hanging across my back.

  “It’s plastic. No worries.” I whip it around, twirling it expertly and more than necessary. My hands move faster than his eyes can track, and I end my flourish and hold the black hilt in my palms like an offering. The decidedly non-plastic blade shines in the light from the glittering chandeliers, and hushed whispers erupt all around me. “Still want to take it, friend?”

  He backs up a step, his eyes bugging. At this point, the attendant doesn’t realize it—not consciously—but he knows. On some level deep down, the visceral basement of his mind, he can sense that I am Death. All the blood drains from his face, and his hands tremble. Mortal fear.

  He takes another step back and shakes his head. “We’re good here. Go on in.”

  “Thanks.” I re-holster my blade and wink at him.

  He winces.

  I turn and try to blend in with the other partygoers. It isn’t easy when you’re seven feet tall, dressed in the blackest of robes, and carrying a magical scythe. But I do what I can, keeping my hood drawn around my face and never meeting anyone’s eye.

  Music thumps through the room as a DJ in sunglasses programs his computer and pretends to be some sort of modern day Beethoven. Laughable, really. I’m the reaper who claimed Beethoven. He was far gloomier than expected. Every time I tried to crack a joke about the afterlife, he just stared at me and tapped his ear as if it were the worst thing he’d ever heard. Buzzkill.

  The dimness of the room soothes me, and the crush of bodies serves as an adequate camouflage. I rock to the beat, my body catching the rhythm as I pretend to be a mortal for the night.

  I start to get my groove on when a fizz of effervescent life crackles in the crowd, reminding me that I’ll never fit in. The mortals can’t sense the glittering aura, but the buzz of electricity alerts me to my target; it has to be her.

  Humans approaching their end carry a bright, flickering light, something like an afterlife strobe. Instead of fading into darkness, they burn even brighter before going dark forever. This particular mortal is glowing like a roman candle, her aura sending out glittering sparks.

  I scan the swaying crowd, keeping an eye on the glow from my mark. The partiers dance and laugh as the beat drops and the lights begin to pulse in rhythm. They’re silly, quite a few of them high, and all of them brimming with life. I let the beat carry me right along with them.

  Unlike many of my reaper brethren, I love humans. They’re here and gone in the snap of my fingers, but at least they truly live. Unlike me. Sure, I get extravagant pay for my reaping duties, plenty of vacation days, and all the demon harlots I can dick, but it’s not the same as what the humans have. Intangibles, I suppose.

  I shrug off my thoughts and sway to the music, joining in the mass of life as I peer over the crowd toward my target. Even when I’m off, I’m on. I can’t help but be drawn to that last gasp of flickering brilliance Annabelle Lyric is throwing off like fireworks.

  I know a few bare facts about her. She’s twenty-eight. Party planner. In charge of the very party I’m attending. She’ll survive the ball, but the drunk driver afterward is a show stopper.

  The dazzling glow cuts through the crowd, as if Annabelle is heading straight for me. Too soon, love. She has a few hours before she’ll feel the sting of my blade.

  A blonde in a devil costume begins to shake her ass against me. I move with her, following her hips as I let myself go. Pretending I’m not a reaper. Pretending I’m not stuck in this godforsaken calling for the rest of my immortal life. The blonde is small, but she’s got moves. I grab her hips and sway to her rhythm, though my eye keeps returning to Annabelle’s sparkle. She’s only a few humans away, drawing my attention as if she’s a blinged-out reaper lure.

  I turn, dragging the blonde with me as I lean over to get a look at Annabelle. My hands drop, and my body stills. Annabelle’s aura blinds me for a moment. When my eyes finally adjust, I see an angel. She’s tall with chestnut brown hair, deep blue eyes, curves that make my mouth water, and a perfect pout of a mouth. Dressed in white, her feathery wings shoot out behind her.

  Something in my chest begins to burn. I’m stunned. Could it be? A mark sears into the skin over my heart, the scorching sensation unmistakable. Fuck me.

  It’s her. She’s the one. The outline of Annabelle’s soul binding to mine singes into my flesh, an
d I know I’ve finally found her. Eons spent alone, millennia spent wishing for more. And now she’s here.

  I can’t tear my gaze from her. She’s my mate, but she’s fated to die before the night is out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ANNABELLE

  “ARE YOU SHITTING ME?” I push past a pair of goblins who may or may not be fucking on my dance floor.

  My earpiece crackles and Vera’s voice comes through, “No. Only two cases of champagne left. The rest is on a truck out back, but the driver padlocked it.”

  “Where the fuck is he? We need to get into that truck now.”

  “I don’t know, boss. But we think he went over to Bourbon and got trashed. Maybe picked up a trick. We haven’t seen him for hours.”

  I press the heel of my palm to my forehead. “Where’s Luigi?”

  “Can’t find him.”

  “Marco?”

  “He took a chick upstairs.”

  “Do we have any staff that can break the lock on the truck?” I fight the urge to tear up. “Any staff at all that isn’t too busy dicking around on the job?”

  Vera stays silent for a moment. “Maybe if we had a bolt cutter or something, but you and I are the only ones available, and we aren’t strong enough.”

  “I don’t care. Meet me at the truck. We’ll figure something out.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  The crackling stops, and I try to calm down. If we run out of champagne, Mrs. Trevor, my client, will make sure no one in town hires me again. I can’t let that happen. I steel my spine and turn on my heel to make my way to the back of the venue.

  Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees dance over to me, blocking my way.

  “Guys, let me pass.” My voice is drowned out by the music. At least the DJ I hired is doing his job.

  Michael Myers presses against my front as Voorhees tends the back forty.

  “Guys!” I don’t have time for this.

  Voorhees grabs my ass and tries to press his hips into me. I push him, but Myers presses his plastic knife to my throat.

  I’ve had it. I lift my foot to stomp the shit out of Myers’ foot, but he’s backing away. No, he’s being dragged away by the biggest man I’ve ever seen. The giant tosses the guy against the wall next to the DJ. A plume of plaster covers the spot, and I think I can see light from the hallway on the other side of the wall. Holy shit.

  The giant turns around and points a long finger at Voorhees. The boy squeaks and starts to back away. That’s when the pungent smell of piss hits my nose. The giant barrels toward me, passes me, grabs the shrieking Voorhees by the neck and slams him on the ground. The drunken guests point and laugh, but don’t stop dancing. This is New Orleans; a party isn’t a party without a fight.

  “Stop!” I run over and grab the giant’s arm. It’s thick and hard, muscle layered on muscle. He turns to me, and I almost fall out of my heels. His eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen. Sparkling light blue irises and midnight pupils that swirl like a galaxy.

  He stands, towering over me and stealing my breath away. I release his arm and scurry backward. He moves toward me, covering three of my steps with one of his. Jesus.

  I bump into some dancers and find myself pinned as he approaches. In his black robes, he looks almost ethereal, as if Halloween is his night and everyone else is just pretending.

  “Angel.” His voice. Strong and deep, cutting through the loud music like a knife through sinew.

  My knees go weak. Why? I don’t know. His large palm grips my elbow, steadying me. I stare up into his face. Pale skin, a few days of stubble, strong jaw, sharp nose, and those eyes. I can’t look anywhere else once they drag me in. How did he get that effect?

  “Boss?” Vera crackles into my ear, and I jump. “Not to be a twat, but it’s getting chilly out here, and I’m wearing an outfit that consists of a little bit of spandex, spit, tape, and prayer.”

  “I’m coming.”

  The giant smiles, dimples pressing into his cheeks and stopping my heart. “Soon.”

  I can’t place his accent. Sort of Russian but also English somehow?

  I drag my gaze away from his, though it takes every ounce of willpower I possess.

  “Excuse me.” I try to step past him.

  He blocks my path with unnerving speed.

  I affect my best “boss” tone. “Look, sir, you’ve assaulted two of our guests. I need to check on them, and then I have more business to attend to.”

  “Like the truck out back?”

  I glance up but then away before his eyes snare me again. “How’d you know about that?”

  “Just a guess.” The hint of laughter in his tone sends a thrill down my spine.

  “Please, let me by.”

  “I can’t.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his black robes flowing like water over smooth rocks. His hood hides his hair, but I can tell from the shadow on his cheeks that it’s dark, maybe even raven black.

  Get it together, Annabelle. It doesn’t matter how handsome he is; I’m not in the mood for another prank pulled by an overgrown frat boy. “If you don’t get out of my way, I’ll have security escort you out.”

  A dark laugh escapes him. “You think you have enough security to escort me anywhere?”

  I know I don’t. All my workers seem to have taken the night off. I drop my head to my hand and rub my fingers along my brow, as if that will give me the key to getting around the giant who seems intent on standing in my way.

  “I won’t leave you. That’s not an option, but perhaps I can help?”

  “What? How?”

  “Allow me to check on the men who touched you.” His voice turns into a low threat. “That’s one task I’ll happily finish for you.”

  “No.” I meet his eyes again.

  His lips quirk up on one side, as if he is pleased with my direct gaze. I study him a little longer and an idea forms. “You’re big.”

  His chest puffs out beneath his arms, and his smile intensifies. “Yes. I’m rumored to be the largest of my kind.”

  “Of your kind?”

  He nods. The DJ switches tracks, and a slower song plays. The frenetic flash of lights lowers to a more bearable level. I’m still taken aback by the giant, but the relative calm soothes me and helps me formulate a plan.

  “Listen, you look tough enough to handle my booze problem. If you want to help, head out back.” I turn and point toward a set of double doors at the rear of the room.

  He moves to my back with uncanny speed. One moment it’s only air, the next he’s pressing lightly against me. Holy shit is that an erection? I step forward. He follows. Definitely an erection—the largest I’ve ever felt—pressing against my back.

  A ketchup and mustard bottle couple have helped Voorhees to his feet. He sees the giant and me, and turns to hurry away through the crowd. Smartest move of the night.

  “Seems fine to me.” The giant puts one large hand on my waist and turns me toward where he put Myers through the wall.

  I maneuver through the partiers, but they don’t part for me. I almost take an elbow to the face as one guest does his best “Magic Mike” impression.

  The giant grows impatient. “Move!” His voice booms over the speakers, and I swear I see another small plume of dust shoot up around the hole in the wall.

  A path clears ahead of us, and I hurry forward. The giant presses his palm against the small of my back, his hand large enough to span the entire distance. The thought pleases me far more than it should.

  When we get to the spot, sure enough, Myers is gone. The Hotel Aurelia, one of the finest buildings in the French Quarter, has a person-sized hole in its wall, and I have no valid explanation for the damage. This could ruin me. If Mrs. Trevor were to see it, she’d trash my fledgling party planner business, and all my hard work would go to waste.

  “See? If he’s strong enough to run like a coward, then he’s fine.” The giant’s voice carries more than a hint of satisfaction.

  I whirl on him.
“Do you have any idea what it will cost to fix this? Is this a game to you? I’m in charge of this party, and you are dead set on ruining it!”

  “It’s just a wall.” He runs his fingers down the feathers attached to my back.

  I tremble despite the fact that I can’t feel his touch. I’m angry with him, but the way he looks at me with those otherworldly eyes sends heat racing through my veins and tension pooling between my thighs.

  No! You’re angry with this asshole. “This wall is three times older than you are, and you just tossed a guy through it!”

  “I’m far older than some bits of wood and plaster.” He raises his hand and runs the tip of his index finger down my jaw, to my throat, then lower to my collar bone. The top I’m wearing is Halloween-appropriate for New Orleans—low cut and sexy. I had second thoughts about the outfit, especially since I got it from the plus size section of the Halloween shop, but the way he looks at me—as if I were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—dissolves my usual self doubt.

  His eyes drop to my breasts, and I swallow hard. I should grab his hand and stop its descent. I don’t. Instead, I bite my lip when he trails his fingers over the swells of my breasts. My nipples harden and tingle, and I wonder if I’ve somehow been roofied, though I haven’t had a drink all night. What is wrong with you? It doesn’t make sense, but I don’t want to fight it. Instead, as I stare into his eyes, I want to give in. He raises his other hand to cup my cheek. I can’t find my breath as he leans down, way down, until he’s only a whisper and a prayer away from my lips. His black robes fall around me, cloaking me in his darkness, and I close my eyes.

  “Boss, seriously, my junk is freezing off.” Vera’s voice in my ear startles me back to reality.

  The giant growls. And I don’t mean like a frustrated groan. I mean he actually growls as he pulls back. That’s when I know I need to get away from him. The eyes, the darkness, the way he feels like a shot of opiates in my veins—no, no, and a big no. I turn on my heel and walk away.