Page 89 of Reaper’s Curse

Aoes stepped into my peripheral. “Kind of gross, but can we all calm down and discuss this matter like civilized gentlemen?”

Both Winter and I ignored him and continued to glare at one another. Sucking back a breath, Winter shoved his iron-banded wrist between us and attempted to push me back.

I snorted and thrust the prince’s arm away. “You can’t hurt me with your iron,” I said. “Fae blood does not course through my veins.”

“Then what are you?” Curiosity more than fear or intimidation toned the prince’s question.

Right then, I decided that Winter’s failure to fear death when it stared him in the face would be his eventual downfall.

I released the prick’s shirt and took a step back, crossed my arms. “Doesn’t matter. Now tell me what you’ve done to her.”

“Listen, Ace. You need to chill.” Aoes dropped a hand on my shoulder, and I immediately shrugged the touch free.

“Answer the question.” I bore a deathly hole in Winter’s skull with my glare, and the prince didn’t squirm an inch.

He merely stared back.

“Ace—” Aoes attempted again.

Winter threw up a hand, halting Aoes’s appeal. “It’s all right. I’ll answer him.”

With a wary expression, Winter dove into his story without further hesitation, explaining how some of his magic had somehow curled up inside of Raven, and his attempt…or presumed success…at extracting the power from her had been intense. As he understood, a bit much so for her, scary to a degree.

Aoes poured a glass full of liquor and downed it in one gulp while he listened, then he poured a second glass and offered it to me. I refused, and so Aoes emptied that glass, as well.

Some of the events from my street fight with Raven were starting to make sense. If she had Winter’s magic at that time, that would explain the blue of her fingers and hands, the chill of her skin, and the ice glazing over her eyes.

Had the Killian wanted her dead because of the foreign magic living under her skin? And if that magic had now been syphoned out, would he grant her clemency?

I thought I’d helped her when I’d used the collector’s eye on her, and maybe I had, just not enough.

I hadn’t helped enough. I heaved a breath and clenched my jaw. Stared at the wall beyond Winter.

Whatever was happening to her wasn’t normal. Not for a reaper. Were the unusual events because of where we were, the undying Citadel of Veritas? Or did it have to do with exposure to me, a reaper who was also something else?

I had the keen sense that, despite the curse and all those frozen in age, time was not on my side. I needed to get to the bottom of things, and there appeared to be more dots to connect than years under the curse’s reign.

A low growl worked at the back of my throat, and I shifted to hold both males in my view.

Winter straightened in his seat, then tugged his shirt and jacket into proper form. Aoes scooped up a lonely glass of liquor left on the table, swallowed the contents, and then slammed the empty glass onto the table with a thump.

He wiped the back of his hand across his lips. “You guys clearly rub each other the wrong way, but can we all agree that you both want what’s best for Raven, and for the people here? You want to keep them all healthy and safe.”

I considered telling them both that I couldn’t care less about the people of Veritas. I’d been sent here to reap them all…or many of them, anyway. But such a statement would not endear me to them in the slightest.

“Of course I care about the people,” Winter blurted. “Raven included.”

Aoes eyed the prince before sweeping his scrutiny over me. “Then can we agree, at least for her sake…that we’ll attempt to get along? Maybe even work together?”

Winter pushed his hair from his face. “I’m not sure if what you ask is possible.”

Aoes’s gaze dipped to the iron bracelet encircling Winter’s wrist. A hidden meaning or communication seemed to pass between them for a brief moment, before Winter looked away.

“Fine,” he said. “I can try.”

I narrowed my gaze and inhaled deeply, taking in Winter’s current scented secretion. I detected no malice or deception, merely irritation and a hint of defeat.

As much as I found the idea of working with Winter displeasing, I was a professional reaper, and I suspected I was equally professional in my duties as a soul hunter. I could tolerate and, to an extent, combine efforts with the pompous ass.