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“I love the color in your hair. I have a yarn like that at home. It’s so black it looks blue in the light. Just lovely. It’s like looking at the night sky through a telescope.” Unused to compliments, I found myself at a loss for words. Clearing my throat of the wobble I was afraid would be there, I tried to give her a polite smile as I shifted the subject.

“So you knit as well?”

“Oh, yes. It’s a good hobby to have. Always have mittens and blankets around. Keeps my hands nimble and gives me an excuse to visit the yarn shop as often as I like.” She shrugged happily, and there was a part of me that was in awe of her.

“I always leave the craft store with far more than I intended to get, but isn’t that how it goes? Have to get what calls to you,” I said quietly, afraid I had given too much away.

“The muse knows what’s best, dear. Let it guide you. It may not take you where you were expecting, but that doesn’t mean it’s not where you are meant to go.” I let that set in as we sipped our tea in companionable silence.

Pathetic, I know, but growing up, my interactions with most adults were disappointing, shallow, and full of lies. Even when confused and disorientated, Elizabeth was so real. Her statements were genuine and to the point. She found joy and excitement in quiet things like gardening and reading.

It gave me hope that I could find that peace too. That I could have a life where every day was an opportunity to indulge in the things I loved, unrestrained and unburdened by outside pressures. The sound of the doorbell interrupted our conversation, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Excusing myself, Elizabeth waved me away as I stood up and scurried to answer. Quickly opening the door, I found myself faced with a giant of a man. He was well over six feet tall, covered in tattoos and scars, with a shaved head.

There was something hypnotic about him. He was all harsh angles and striking features. I would have loved to paint him, my hands already imagining the different strokes and layers it would take to portray his countenance.

He was terrifying, but I had never seen someone more beautiful. It was as if the devil himself was pulling the man back to hell, darkness seeping in from every corner of his being, just barely hiding the face of an angel. He took my breath away. It looked like a cloud of darkness clung to him at all times, but the way his face softened as he checked on his mom made him light up.

A dark thrill ran through me, and my heart was beating faster than usual. I wasn’t a sexual person. I didn’t have responses to men like that. Maybe it's the surprise, the odd events of the afternoon? All I knew was there was a part of me that had shaken loose under his obsidian gaze.

Damnit, Elizabeth. What did you get me involved with?

Chapter 2

Scythe

Exhaustion weighed on me, heavy and draining. I was tired down to my bones, but there was still more work to do. As a proud member of the Reaper’s Guard, my loyalty and dedication to the club was absolute. Now more than ever, we needed to work together, to not let recent betrayals create cracks between us.

Reaper was the founder and President of the club. I had known him since I was a child, and I both respected and looked up to him. When we found out that Crow, Reaper’s son, had been stealing from the club, anger was too meek a word to describe how I felt. How could he do this to the club, to his family?

Then, to make it worse, he hurt one of our women. Bash’s Old Lady was an accountant and was the one who figured out he was a thief. To distract us from his escape, he knocked Fiona out and left her locked up in the basement for hours. While we were all out on a wild-goose chase, she was nursing a concussion, trapped in the room we used to question enemies.

Part of me felt guilty. The paint shop was my territory, and I should have checked it sooner. I was the one who found her, and the memory still haunted me. Seeing her small form curled into a ball on the cold floor of the room we used to torture people had fanned the flames of rage already brewing within me.

Both Reaper and Bash were doing their best to keep their emotions in check as different projects needed to be prioritized in the wake of Crow’s disappearance. We were all working on rebuilding and moving forward as a club.

Everyone was working overtime to handle all the changes we needed to make to ensure the club and anyone under our protection was safe. Bash and Atlas were leading up Seph’s Trail and the work needed there. Bull and I were on Crow duty, having spent the past few months zig-zagging around the country, trying to catch up with him.

Having just returned from a trip, I was not happy to hear my phone going off just as I got home. When I saw the call was from an unknown number, I almost sent it to voicemail, but something in my gut told me to answer. A strange woman’s voice, deep and husky, came across the line, making it difficult for me to process what she was saying.

When she mentioned my mom’s name, though, I snapped to attention. Racing to the address she sent over, a million thoughts laced over each other. Is Mom okay? How did she get out of the house? Where is her caretaker? Who is the woman with the voice of a siren?

The house was small and a few blocks away from where my mom lived. I was off my bike and ringing the doorbell with a bit more force than necessary. I heard the sound of feet walking, and when the door swung open, I found myself speechless.

Delirium. That was the only explanation for the vision in front of me. I must be hallucinating after all the long nights trying to track Crow. The woman who opened the door was an assault on all my senses, a vision that took my breath away. It were as if I had been viewing the world in black and white, but could suddenly see color.

Thick hair, with strands of electric blue breaking up the onyx waves that fell down her back and draped over her shoulder. On the taller side, she had curves for days. My eyes couldn’t decide where to focus. She was dressed in an old paint-covered sweatshirt and leggings that molded to her shapely legs and ass.

“Hi! Are you Eliot? Elizabeth’s son?” Her voice wrapped around me like a velvety blanket, and I had to force myself to nod. She literally took my breath away, and I wasn’t capable of speaking at the moment.

Studying her face, free of makeup, her blue eyes shone like sapphires against her creamy skin. Freckles dotted the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks, which were growing pinker the longer I stood there gawking.

“What’s your name?” I had to know. I wanted to know everything about her, but I needed to start somewhere.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Lilah.” She stuck her hand out, and I hesitated. Touch wasn’t something I was comfortable with, but before I could think about it too hard, I was taking her small hand in mine. It felt like electricity shot through my body, and I almost jumped at the contact.

Her nails were cut short, different colors staining the tips and corners. Her skin was impossibly soft, and she was withdrawing her hand faster than I cared for. I followed her through the house, furnished with a mismatched collection of items that somehow worked together. It was colorful and loud and an assault on all my senses.