And maybe give me some orgasms, but we’ll get there with time.
Baby steps.
“Sooo. About that popcorn?” I fold my hands together and gaze up at him innocently, pushing my lips out.
He blinks, seeming at a loss for words, and I call that a win. I think I like making him speechless.
“Come on! Chop, chop! Let’s go. Who knows how long this will last? What if it’s permanent? Oh my god.” I squeal and clap my hands together.
Next to me, the wraith winces, reaching a hand out to cover one of his ears.
“You’re a reaper?” The shifter stares at me incredulously.
If I had to guess, I would say he’s the leader of this little group. If I want to get my popcorn, he’s the one I’ll have to impress.
“Pretty sure.” I shrug, already bored of this conversation.
Above me, a bird flies by, cawing, and I turn my head to watch it, transfixed. What would a feather feel like? Soft, I imagine.
“How can you be ‘pretty sure’?” Irritation laces the shifter’s tone.
“I don’t know.” I shrug again. “I just…arrived in my little prison room and started reaping souls. I’m pretty sure that means I’m a reaper.”
He exchanges a glance with first the elf, then the blood fae, and then finally the wraith. Confusion draws his brows together.
“Is that normal for a reaper?” he asks, and at first, I think he’s talking to me.
But the wraith is the one who answers. “I’ve never researched them before, but from what I gathered over the years, they’re born and trained by their families until they eventually take over. I don’t even think they’re immortal, though they do have longer-than-normal lifespans.”
Huh. Interesting.
But not as interesting as my popcorn is going to be.
Look, I may not know a lot, but I do know my one purpose in life is to reap souls. If that doesn’t make me a reaper, thenwhat else am I? I wonder if I’m some elite super reaper. Ohhh, like an assistant manager to the other reapers, though I’ve never done anything even remotely “manager-like” in all my centuries of existence.
“What are we going to do with her?” The shifter thrusts a hand in my direction.
Are those tattoos on his skin?
“Ohhh. Pretty,” I murmur, instinctively reaching for him.
I’ve always wondered what a tattoo would feel like. Is it different from normal skin? Coarse? Rough? Soft?
Just before my finger can make contact with the angel wings, the shifter pulls away from me with a snarl.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I growl, mimicking his tone. Then, a thought occurs to me. “What are your names?”
The shifter folds his arms over his chest and scowls, obviously not in the mood to talk, but the elf takes a step closer.
“I’m Krystian, love. That brooding, angry asshole is Everett. The wraith is Zaid. And the blood-soaked psycho is Rafe.”
Zaid smiles timidly, though he doesn’t make a move towards me. Everett continues to scowl. And Rafe? He just watches me, his head tilted to the side, blood sliding down his face and neck in steady streams.
I wave at him.
He blinks.
