His restlessness reminds me of how much he used to hate it when Deviants dragged me out of our cell. He’d hide in a corner and wait for them to dump me back in. Once we were alone, he’d crawl to my side and cry himself to sleep, snuggled against my bruised body.
Those memories haunt me until I ask Angel to show me the baby monitor as we’re standing outside the hotel’s conference room. Watching my little boy sleeping peacefully untangles the knot in my stomach just enough to square my shoulders and get ready for whatever is waiting on the other side.
My hands tremble with nerves as Angel holds the door open, and I only start to relax once my mate rests a steady hand on my lower back.
I step into the cold room, and instantly, all eyes are on me. I keep my face void of any expression, but it’s hard to stay neutral when a dozen people are looking at me, trying to figure out who I am and why I’m here.
They might not recognize my face, but my Divine makes it impossible for them to look away.
High-ranking warriors and elders of the kingdom fill one side of the long wooden table, staring curiously as our group takes seats across from them.
Just as Angel pulls a chair for me between him and Seiji, the conference room doors burst open, and a man rushes in.
“Greetings, Horseman Alarie. I apologize for the delay.” The newcomer bows to Angel before moving to the only empty seat on his side of the table.
“Have a seat, Rick. We’ll start in a minute.”
Rick… sounds like dick. I bite back a snort and remind myself to act professional. Don’t fuck up your first impression, Nevaeh.
“Prince Nakaya.” Rick bows in Seiji’s direction first, then greets every other man in the room in a similar fashion while blatantly ignoring the female warriors.
So, he is a dick after all.
Rick’s misogyny shines so bright that it makes his once decent features seem repulsive now. He is about 5’8”, with tan olive skin and the most vacant obsidian eyes I’ve seen. His shoulder-length hair is pulled back into a neat bun.
Pity his personality pales in comparison to his looks.
Rick’s gaze searches the room until it lands on Grace, and his cheery, happy-go-lucky mask is replaced with something darker in a flash. He rakes his eyes down her body, and though his face remains passive, the disappointment in his eyes is unmistakable.
Rick doesn’t hide his shock when his eyes meet mine, an unfamiliar face among familiar ones. Disgust rolls off me when his gaze lingers just below my neck for longer than necessary. I’m wearing Angel’s hoodie, so I doubt there’s anything exciting to look at, but men like him don’t care what’s on display as long as it’s a woman.
“Who’s the pretty lady? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you, miss—?”
“Blackburn.”
If the gold flashing in my eyes didn’t stun him, my name surely did.
Every head snaps toward me with the same bewildered expression. I don’t blame them. It must feel strange to be sitting in front of someone they thought was dead.
One by one, Angel introduces me to the elders, Warriorheads, and elite warriors, each of them fumbling their way through the introductions. Then he stops at the last woman, who is patiently waiting for her turn.
“It’s a blessing to have you among us again, Princess Nevaeh. I’m Vesta, the head reaper.”
Her dark, hooded cloak makes perfect sense now.
“Papa made you wear that?”
Vesta chuckles, smoothing her hands down the sides of her robe. “He loathes wearing one himself, but refuses to discard them entirely because he likes mocking us more.” Of course, he does.
The Kingdom of Death is the only one of the four Horsemen actively involved with the human realm. The other three pitch in when the Sisters of Fate summon them—either to strip a land of life or stir enough conflicts to shake the world.
Papa might be theGrim Reaper, but even he can’t be everywhere at once. He has an army of demons under his command, each granted the power to reap souls to ease his daily workload.
As long as a demon is willing, Papa doesn’t hesitate to recruit them. He avoids the human realm like a fish avoids being out of water.
When we turn to the last man I have yet to meet, he pales—not from shock, but like he might faint from happiness.
“Nevaeh, this is Warriorhead Khatri, second in command to your father.” Angel introduces the man who’s staring at me with so much hope and familiarity in his eyes that it hurts to look at him.
