The corner of his lips curled up. “Those who know me call me Reaper.”
“And what about people who don’t know you? What do they call you?”
“They don’t.”
What an arrogantly ominous reply! Rosilee almost rolled her eyes. “Reaper who?”
“Just Reaper.”
Rosilee scrunched her nose. “Is that supposed to mean anything to me?”
He shrugged. “No, I suppose not. What matters is that I’m here to help you.”
“Help me,” Rosilee said slowly. “With what?”
“For one, making the mistake of getting the black widow to set up a match for you.”
“How—”
“Secondly,” his voice lowered, black eyes blazing, “your problem with a certain mercenary.”
“You know about Baston? No, wait,” that was not the point. “Why would you help me?”
“A favor for a . . . friend.”
Her brows furrowed. “What friend?” Although, she already had a suspicion as to who that friend could be.
“A family friend.”
The man really didn’t like to reveal his cards. “Blake sent you?”
A brow arched, but he simply said, “No.”
The door cracked open and two women in uniform stepped outside, flanking the entrance. Behind them, a third figure appeared, dressed in black, a veil covering her face, filling the doorway. Even through the veil, Rosilee could sense the woman’s shrewd eyes studying them with interest.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
“She won’t be needing your services, madam,” the man, Reaper, spoke up.
“Is that so?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon murmured softly. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.” Decisive. Curt.
The woman’s head turned to Rosilee, waiting.
“I do,” Rosilee said, just as decisive, just as curt. Who was this man to decide for her anyway? She’d had enough of people deciding for her. She would decide for herself. “I do require your services.”
The woman nodded and in the blink of an eye, men circled the mysteriously familiar man, causing Rosilee to tense beneath her cloak. “I cannot allow you to leave,” said Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
“Why not?” Reaper asked darkly.
“Do you truly believe you can waltz into my territory, and just waltz back out without any consequences?”
“I haven’t stepped foot in your house.”
“Oh, but you still entered my territory,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.
A curse. “What do you want?”
