“Oh…” I moaned, rubbing at my forehead. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t?—”
But then my eyes slowly fluttered open. And I saw him.
My Prince Charming.
December 10th
Mother
Aleksandr. When are you going to bring a nice girl home?
Aleksandr
I am too busy for women, Mother.
Mother
Too busy for women??? You know I am not getting any younger. You are twenty-nine years old, Aleksandr, and you have not brought one woman home to meet your family. Can you not find one nice date?
Aleksandr
I don’t want to date. And stop texting me. I am working.
Mother
You work too much. No wonder you haven’t found your future wife. You need to get out of that bloody warehouse and out into the world.
Aleksandr
No.
Mother
Has no one caught your eye in all this time? You know your cousins in Italy have started hunting for wives. Maybe you should follow their leads.
Aleksandr
No.
Mother
Do you prefer men, Aleksandr? Your father and I will support you in anything.
Aleksandr
Mother.
Stop.
Death was silent.It came in shallow breaths, in little sounds like the slice of a knife across a trembling neck. Sometimes, it could be dramatic—a fire in a warehouse, a gunfight in the park—yet I rarely deigned to attend to those. I preferred the hush afterward, the fragile moments when my ears rang with the buzz of a fresh kill, and my demons became silent.
Tonight, I was not as lucky.
The man begged and pleaded, voice raw from hours of screaming for mercy. As if my family were known for such a weak thing. The Drakovs were dark dragons, and dragons did not shy from their nature.
Besides, any tenderness I may have once had died years ago, replaced by a cool persona that gave me my nickname.
The Reaper.
