I had to get out of here.
“Relax.” The Reaper’s voice flung through the room with the same reception as a dash of winter’s air. “We’re only here for night and board. Resume.” He waved one hand bearing a decorated vambrace, then paused the gesture. A half smile wove over full, red lips. “Unless you happen to be the one rumored to have a tongue cursed still.”
Uneasy laughter filtered through the bar. They thought it humorous that a curse-bearer may be in the same tavern as a Reaper.
Thankfully, they could not hear the hammering of my heart against my ribs, even as they tightened with the inability to draw breath.
These men were here for me. I’d been careful for so long. Always sure to slip from town to town and never settle long enough for anyone to ask questions. I knew I’d overstayed in this tiny village, the name of which I couldn’t even remember, but to have the Reapers here meant someone had turned in a tip.
The Reaper’s announcement allowed an uneasy mood to return to the tavern. Conversations resumed, albeit hushed and timid. Mugs pounded against tables and the servers continued hustling around the dim room.
I raised a leg and slipped off the stranger’s lap. He’d awoken much sooner than I’d expected. I needed to leave before he realized I’d stolen his priceless orb – and was about to break it as the prophecy demanded to lift my curse.
He made no complaints as I left his company. Instead, he leaned over the side of the chair to the nearest patron and engaged in whatever rumors would spread about this sighting of the Curse Casters.
I moved slow, casual, avoiding any hint of attention toward me. The shadows near the back of the bar swallowed me whole. I let out a bit of my breath. A glint from a silver knob showed me the servant’s exit, all but forgotten in the commotion. I moved toward it.
Almost there.
The front door opened again. Another Reaper stepped inside, and though the silver along his clothes shone just as much, the rusty chain in his hands stood out more. The sight instilled instant dread through me, and as I tracked the links from his hand to coils on the floor then back upward, I feared what I would see on the other end.
A woman. Matted hair and mud-covered, she shivered though the night remained warm. No cloak adorned her shoulders, for she was not a Curse Caster, and the gray chain wrapped her wrists tightly together.
Hot prickles akin to glass shards rained over my skin. Her spine straightened as she experienced the same feeling. She snapped her head up, dark, bloodshot eyes scanning the tavern.
The Reaper holding the chain jerked it tight. He stooped to look into the woman’s eyes. “You feel one, don’t you?”
“I –” her voice broke before more words slipped through.
“That’s okay, love.” The Reaper patted her cheek, and she ducked her head in a way that made bile rise in my stomach. “The way your body moves tells you’ve felt another like you here.”
Another like her – damned, hunted, cursed – me. Once one bears the weight of a curse, they could always feel the presence of another. Our similar destinies called to each other, and death raked his claws over our skin.
The first Reaper straightened. His gaze, mocking moments ago, turned hot and wild. The hunt called to him and he responded with eagerness.
“Here?” He scanned the bar again. I froze and hoped the depths of the shadows concealed me for a few more minutes.
The chatter ceased again. Pale faces turned suspicious eyes toward each other. Friends, family, neighbors they’d known for years meant nothing when the alternative was meeting the sharp end of a sword.
“Guard the doors,” the man said. “Nobody leaves until we’re done questioning them. Shouldn’t be too hard. The wench can’t say a word.”
More Reapers barred the door, while the two began pulling people from tables and demanding information about the curse-bearer hiding in the tavern. I didn’t know what would happen to these people after their makeshift interrogation. The swell of panic that forced me to pause faded away, and I dashed to the back door.
Gravel voices hid my hurried steps. The door sharpened in the shadows as I neared it. I reached out. I could almost feel the cool metal knob against my skin.
But something heavy and hot snatched my hand first.
“Now, what’s this?” The hand grabbing mine spun me around. The first Reaper smiled, his wide chest much too close to mine. A whiff of fire and smoke drifted from his form as he tugged my hand to pull me even closer.
My thoughts faded. White static pulled my mind shut. The world narrowed into two pinpricks.
“Only the guilty need to run,” he whispered, barely loud enough for anyone other than me to hear. Long, dark hair framed his face, enhancing the stubble across his chin. His green eyes cut deeper than the sharpest blade.
I opened my mouth. I wasn’t sure what I expected to come out of it, as I knew words would not, but his stark presence demanded something from me.
The screech of a chair against stone floors echoed through the room.
“Wait now,” the stranger whose lap I’d recently vacated stood from his chair. His knees barely wobbled in the face of the Reapers, either telling of his bravery or his excessive ale consumption. “That can’t be who you’re lookin’ for. She’s been with me all night.” He raised his brows as though the Reapers may not understand his implications.
