It’s been two years since I tried to overthrow Death…
Now, all I have to show for it is a life in exile without my lover and personal Grim Reaper, Brent Hume. He bargained his soul for my safety. If I could get him back, I would, but I don't don't have the first idea how. So I live for the night when Reaper’s bring nightmares to the living—and Brent visits me in mine. Doesn’t make for a good night’s sleep, but I’ll take what little of him I can get.
When Death comes calling, sending me into an old foe’s camp as a spy, my inner rebel awakens once more. If I play my cards right, I might improve upon my growing Master Scrivener powers and finally free Brent so that we can be together for good. I know he’ll do anything to keep me safe—even if it means I’ll never see him again. And that scares the Hell out of me.
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“I liked that dress on you. Sorry it’s ruined,” Brent said as I tossed the hippie frock aside and slipped into a pair of jeans.
The numbing elation of sex had faded. My body hurt like a bus had slammed it.
“As dresses go, I liked it, too.” I reached for the only clean shirt I had left: a black tank top. Just as I was about to pull it on, Brent moved with fast-as-light speed and tossed an arm around my waist. He laid his fingers over the scar from Gabriel’s attack.
I melted into his closeness, wishing he’d never let me leave the cage of his arms. “Gabriel attacked me. You would’ve been proud though. I still ran a half a mile before I realized what had happened.”
Brent’s attention was locked on the scar. It matched the scar on my rib cage where Nicholas Baird had attacked me two years ago. I was beginning to look like a pied animal.
Was it white with pink spots or pink with white spots? One of these days, I would own this evolving look. For now, I felt a little self-conscious.
“I should’ve been here to protect you from them,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter.” I put my hands to his bare chest, the muscle beneath unyielding to my touch. “Errol said something strange last night about Marin. It scares me.”
His hand traveled down the scar and cupped my breast as I breathed with relief. A gentle squeeze reignited feelings in me that would take a lifetime to satisfy. Everything was so fresh that even his hand on my skin forced my knees to buckle. Thank Hades his clutch on my waist was so tenacious.
His lips covered mine before I could tell Brent that Errol, and now I, too, were worried that Marin was actually a Scrivener. Brent didn’t care about what he didn’t know, as his tongue passed over the bridge of my teeth and then between them just as ardently it had as moments ago. This time, I put my arms around his neck to maintain stability.
“We should get downstairs,” I said between kisses.
He backed me into the vanity table and twirled me around to face it. Bent forward, I balanced on my hands as I watched Brent in the mirror, just as naked as before, the muscles of his abdomen flexed. His erection pressed against my jeans.
“I’m not done with you yet, darlin’.”
About the author:
Abigail Baker shares her home with a Siamese cat endearingly named "The Other Cat" and two rescued mutts with mundane human names that people think are cute. In addition to writing about rebellious heroines, she enjoys hiking, discovering craft beers, baking the perfect vanilla bean cupcake, and rock climbing (going as far as scaling 800 vertical feet to the summit of Devil's Tower National Monument in 2013.). Abigail won first place in the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer's 2010 Colorado Gold Writing Contest for Romance for THE BLOODSUCKER and first place in RWA's Golden Network's 2011 Golden Pen in Paranormal Romance for TATTOO OF YOUR NAME ACROSS MY SOUL (now THE REAPER'S KISS, Deathmark Book One). She regularly blogs about life observances, lives at the base of the Rocky Mountains, and can be easily found hiking any of Colorado's best trails.
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