Page 6 of Riding the Reaper

“I see.”

“Yeah. And she looked at me like I was a piece of shit.” I’m shaking now, adrenaline spiking through me. I feel alive, more alive than I have all night. More alive than I have in years. I look him up and down. That towering frame. He’s fucking massive. The thoughts I’m having about him right now. I’ve been fighting those for years.

“So if these are really my last few minutes…” I reach out and brush the sleeve of his robe. “I’d love to find out if that cock of yours actually works.”

4

GRAVENTHOR

Most mortals are afraid of me. They weep. They beg. They bargain. Some get angry and throw themselves against the inevitable, as if the solution is to punch a reaper in the face.

Not one has ever asked me to fuck them.

I look at Sam Calloway, sixteen minutes left on his clock. His fingers are still on my sleeve. The light of his soul is brighter now, shining through the cracks of his mortal shell. Fierce. Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve stood this close to someone with so much life left in him. Longer still since anyone has looked at me with that challenging, hungry look in their eyes.

It stirs something. Uncomfortably so. I thought that part of me was dead.

But it’s ridiculous. Completely out of the question. I am a grim reaper. He is a soul in transition. The rules are clear. This would be a flagrant violation of the Reapers’ Accord. Section 4, Subsection 12: No reaper shall engage in physical, emotional, or romantic entanglement with an assigned soul. Such acts constitute a corruption of the natural order and will be met with severe consequences.

“Sixteen minutes,” I say, pulling my arm back. “This is not what I meant by using your time wisely.”

“What, you’re not into guys?” He grins. “Come on. Don’t tell me you did all this for nothing. The voice, the robe, the crazy-good makeup. You followed me into the woods, for Christ’s sake. You’re clearly trying to impress me. You’re trying to get laid. I see right through you.”

“I am not trying to…” Wait. Does he still think this is a costume? I thought we were past that. This is the problem with Halloween. The one night of the year when my job becomes a parody. In March, nobody would question any of this. “Sam, I am a reaper. This is my job. I am not trying to seduce you.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, hands up. “You’re method. You want to stay in character. Fine. I respect the commitment. But you asked me what I want to do with my last minutes, right? Well, I’m telling you. I want to get fucked, all right? I’ve never told anyone I wanted that. But I do. I want it so fucking bad it hurts. And you’re hot, okay? There. I said it. You’re fucking hot.”

My cheeks feel warm. An unusual sensation. Especially given the chill of the woods and the fact that, well, this body isn’t supposed to react like this. It functions, it walks, it carries me through the job. But blushing over a mortal? That feels like a system error. I’m not entirely sure how to process it.

“Flattering,” I manage, keeping my voice level. “You can talk about this desire of yours, sure. But I can’t help you with that.”

Sam goes quiet. Then he pulls a crumpled pack from his pocket and shakes out a cigarette. “Sorry, man. I don’t know why I said that. I’m a little pent-up, as you can probably tell.” He holds the pack out. “You want one?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Smart. Bad for your health.” He lights it with a cheap plastic lighter. “I’ve been sitting on this for years,” he says, smoke curling from his nose. “I always figured I was into girls. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right? So I dated girls. And I liked them. I liked Brianna. Or I thought I did. But there was always this other thing. This…” He trails off, searching for the word.

“Curiosity,” I offer.

“More than that. A craving. A guy like you,” he says, looking me up and down. “Tall. Strong. In charge. Someone who’d just… bend me over and make me take it. God, just saying that is making me hard.”

Another system error. This time, the stirring beneath my robe is impossible to ignore. It has its own heartbeat. That can’t be right. I clear my throat. “Perhaps we could discuss something else. The town you dislike so much, for instance.”

“Why would I wanna talk about this town?” He scoffs. “It’s a dead end. You got that right. If these are really my last few minutes, I wanna talk about the things I never got to do. Not the things I’m running from.” He takes another drag. “Can I at least get your name? You know mine.”

“My name is Graventhor.”

“Graventhor.” He rolls it around like he’s tasting it. “Fancy. Not something you’d hear in a diner around here, that’s for damn sure. Bit of a mouthful, though. Can I call you Gray?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Gray it is.” He grins, and it’s infectious. Makes him even more attractive, which is the last thing I need right now.

Sam exhales, sending a cloud of smoke between us. “So, Gray. You said you remember what it felt like. Wanting to fuck someone.”

“I said I remember the concept of it. A faint echo, at best.”

“A faint echo.” He flicks ash off the tip. “Because you just tried to change the subject when I said I wanted to get bent over and take it. You even cleared your throat. That felt a little more than faint.”