Dahlia

  The Reaper was exactly who I'd needed tonight. Despite his threat to kill me and my suspicions that he was stalking me, I’d never been so relieved to see anyone before.

  He saved my life. I doubted anyone else would have tried.

  “Are you a damned idiot?” The Reaper growled as he stabbed the end of his blade into the ground in frustration and snarled, “Did you really believe you could just wander around in the open, covered in blood, without any regard for your surroundings, and no one would notice you?”

  “You saved me,” I gasped lamely in response as I tried in vain to wipe the blood from my face.

  It should have bothered me that he’d called me an idiot, but I didn't care. In truth, I was still trying to wrap my head around the events of the last ten minutes. And I was struggling to keep my thoughts straight after killing people for the first time—and from just seeing so much death.

  “You can’t just run from six Imms like that without a decent head start or a decent plan!” he stepped forward, grabbing the front of my bloody shirt and yanking me towards him as he chastised, “And what were you thinking—facing them directly like that? Did you forget all your training? What about surprise? Catching them with their backs turned? Use your goddamned brain, Dahlia!”

  Presently, I didn’t have the capacity to wonder how he knew about my father’s lessons, and those were points from my father’s lessons—surprise, stabbing in the back, never facing Imms directly.

  “Is that what you do?” I managed, my voice coming out in a weak croak.

  “Of course it’s what I do because I'm not a damned fool!”

  I blinked at the masked man, looking into his golden eyes and seeing genuine fear there, mixed with a dozen other emotions--fury, disgust, relief...

  The Reaper stared into my face, breathing hard through his mask as he seethed, “You almost died, Dahlia!”

  He wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t what I was worried about—not anymore. Now that my panic subsided, I could finally feel the rest of my emotions.

  And one stood above the rest.

  “I killed them—those Predictors,” I murmured, feeling tears fill my eyes as guilt suddenly overcame me, “Imm-God, why did I do that?”

  Silence fell between us for a long time as we stared at each other—him with those furious eyes and me with tears now running freely down my cheeks. His hands still gripped my clothes tightly in his gloved hands. His black and white mask was speckled with blood spray, much like I imagined my own face looked. His breath came out in a whoosh through the small mouth slit in the mask—each breath in time with the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

  I found no hint of his identity through his mask. His eyes were so much like everyone else’s in Firen. The skin I could see through the slits was tanned like ours, too, but his hair was hidden under his hood. I hadn’t recognized his voice, and now that I was close to him, I realized I also didn’t recognize the heavy, male scent he carried under the coppery smell of blood we both now shared.

  I likened his scent to the warm forest with a slight sweetness to it that I couldn’t place. His scent was lovely—intoxicating, even. Despite never seeing his face, I found the Reaper attractive in a way I couldn’t quite put into words. And his presence calmed me despite the horrors of the night—comforted me.

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  I sensed he felt the same, which is probably why he was so furious that I’d exposed myself tonight. Whatever this was between us, it affected us equally. He'd admitted as much the last time we'd met. He couldn't get me out of his head, just like I couldn't get him out of mine.

  The Reaper steadied his breathing for several moments before sighing, “It’s hard the first time, but it gets easier.”

  “I don’t want to—”

  “They deserved it, Dahlia!” The Reaper hissed. He looked around before dragging me down a nearby alley by the fabric of my shirt. “You had no better choice—you know that! You saved someone tonight! Don't you understand that? You did something good and selfless.”

  I knew he was trying to encourage me to keep saving people, but after how poorly things went tonight, I wasn't sure I'd try my hand at hero work again, at least not anytime soon.

  The Reaper dragged me along. My legs were weak and unsteady as I came down from the effects of the adrenaline that had been running through my veins for the better part of the last ten minutes. I almost couldn’t keep up with the Reaper’s slow pace. As if he noticed this, he readjusted his grip on me, taking my arm to hold me steady.

  I was grateful for that steadiness.

  “Maybe they did deserve it,” I finally muttered—not wanting to argue—before looking down the dark street and wondering, “Where are we going?”

  “As far away as possible before someone comes to investigate,” the Reaper explained—his grip on my arm tightening, “And they will investigate—soon, I fear.”

  I wiped at the blood on my face again, and a sudden thought occurred to me, “My scent—won’t they know—”

  “I doubt it,” he shook his head once, “Even when I was tracking you tonight, all I could smell was blood—not your own scent. They won’t even identify you in Redmond compound with all that Predictor blood around.”

  So, his sense of smell was good—probably better than my own.

  “You’re an Imm, then,” I decided, fighting back nausea at the reminder that I was covered in the blood of my victims, “You tracked me by my scent tonight. If you can—”

  He snorted a laugh, “You can’t really think that.”

  “It makes the most sen—”

  The sound of shouts behind us made my blood run cold, and the Reaper pulled me into a new alley as he muttered, “The assholes can’t even give us a moment’s reprieve.”

  We continued on in silence until we traveled several blocks, and the shouts faded away.

  “Now what?” I whispered as we made our way through the darkness quickly, letting the strength I’d regained in my legs set the pace.

  “Now, we get you home, and you’ll stay there—got it?” He spoke as though this was the obvious answer, and if I wasn’t still struggling to collect my thoughts, I would have bristled at his tone.

  But instead, I kept quiet as the Reaper led me through the streets in a roundabout way home. He said nothing to me directly, though he grumbled curses under his breath periodically. I was certain he was still furious with me, even if I couldn’t see his face to confirm his emotions. But what I didn’t know was why was he so livid? Why did he care?

  When we finally reached my home’s familiar front steps, he pushed me forward, “Now, get inside. Soak your blades in alcohol, burn everything you are wearing, and go straight into the bath. Understood?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Dahlia, just do what I tell you!” He snapped—his breathing becoming labored as he seemed to struggle to contain his wild emotions.

  I knew that feeling, and as I was reminded of my own volatile emotions, my rage finally returned—emerging from my anxiety and shock like a flame in the night.

  “Don’t talk to me like that—like I’m some sort of child you can just command!” I seethed, “I screwed up! I know that! I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear, asshole?”

  “That helps,” he admitted with a snarl, “But I wouldn’t need to talk to you like this if you had any sense of your own tonight.”

  “Why do you care, anyway?” I snapped, stepping back and pointing hard at my chest as I admitted in a harsh cry, “No one really gives a damn about me—why the hell should you?”

  He laughed—first in surprise and then in some sort of fit—as though I’d become some endless source of amusement for him. But when it was clear he didn’t intend to answer me, I refused to press—to beg him for answers.

  No. I didn't beg.

  Instead, I turned my back on him and unlocked the front door with shaking hands, careful not to get blood on anything, which was an incredible feat considering I was covered in it.

  As the door swung open, I turned back to the Reaper with gritted teeth—intending to suck up my pride and thank him. But this time, I wasn’t surprised to find he had already gone.