Torin jerked his head to Aisling, her quip not what he’d expected. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said with a shake of her head. “She looks petrified.”
“Aye.”
“Want me to talk to her?”
Torin thought about that for a moment. “She might respond better to you.”
“But?” Aisling asked, her brows raised.
“I don’t know. There’s just something…off…about her.”
Aisling rolled her eyes. “Here we go again.”
“I know what you’re thinking, but it isn’t going to happen.”
She snorted. “You, Balladyn, and I are the only Reapers who haven’t found our mates. The last time I went on a mission with Cathal, he found Sorcha. He also kept saying there was something about her.”
“I’m not Cathal, and I’m not looking for anything.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter if you’re looking or not. When love comes, it’ll knock you off your feet whether you’re prepared or not.”
Torin studied Aisling. They all had pasts. Once they became Reapers, they were no longer Light or Dark. They did, however, keep the coloring of their former lives. Aisling had been a Dark Fae. She never spoke of her past. Hell, none of them did. But if the nightmares she had meant anything, then she had one hell of a former life that hadn’t loosened its hold.
Yet, he didn’t think her comment about love had anything to do with her past. In fact, he suspected it had something to do with Xaneth, though Aisling would probably never admit to it. She, even more than Death, was intent on finding the royal Light Fae who had been tortured by his aunt and Queen of the Light, Usaeil.
Aisling put her hands on her hips and sighed as she looked around. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” Torin asked, frowning.
“Looking at me like I might fall to pieces any second,” she answered as she glared at him with her red eyes.
Torin bowed his head in acknowledgement. “We might not be blood, but we’re family. We look out for each other. Always.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she asked, a tinge of anger in her voice.
“I think we all need to be reminded that we aren’t in this alone. That we have others to lean on.”
“I’ve always been alone, Torin. I’ve only ever been able to depend on myself—until Erith offered me a position as a Reaper. Death may have found us, but it was Eoghan who brought us together.”
Torin smiled, thinking of that day. “We’ve survived so much. We’ll get through this.”
“First, we need to see what information, if any, our target has.”
“I’ve a feeling she won’t open the door.”
Aisling twisted her lips. “We can’t wait for her to come out.”
“She’s hiding.”
“Then we need to find out who she’s running from. Or…we can jump into the room and alert her to who we are.”
Torin ran a hand down his face. “We don’t have time to wait.”
“Nope.”
“Fek,” he murmured.
Aisling shrugged and knocked on the door.
Torin glared at her.
She smiled, shooting him a sassy look.
Time stretched as the target within didn’t utter a sound.
Aisling knocked again. Then, in her best helpless voice, she said, “Hello? Is this room open? I’m trying to get away from someone. All the others are occupied.”
Torin turned to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest when the target still didn’t reply.
Aisling threw up her hands in defeat.
Torin really didn’t want to teleport into the room. He didn’t want anyone to know about the Reapers, not to mention, the female could start screaming. Or she could attack them. Neither option was viable. But neither could they wait her out. If she had information, they needed it.
Immediately.
And if she knew who the Reapers were, then she was already dead. Death didn’t let anyone who wasn’t part of the Reapers know of them and live—unless there were special circumstances and very good reasons.
Torin dropped his arms and turned to Aisling.
“I tried,” she whispered.
That only left one choice.
Chapter Two
What the fek had she gotten herself into? Breda pulled her knees up to her chest and dropped her face into her hands. Stupid. That’s what she was. Utterly stupid. And it was going to get her killed.
She dropped her head back against the headboard and looked out at the room. Dim lights in the ceiling pointed to the red leather sofa on the opposite side of the space. The walls were black and accented with black crown molding. The floor was black tile with a large, red and black rug spread over it. Crimson satin covered the large four-poster bed, and black bindings hung from each of the corners.
The room was made for lovers. It wasn’t a place she could stay indefinitely. But, at the moment, she had nowhere else to go.
“So fekking stupid,” she said to herself.
At least, the walls were soundproof. She didn’t want to know what was going on in the rooms around her.
Her eyes snapped to the door when someone knocked. Breda’s heart slammed into her ribs, knocking against them in a chaotic cadence. The female voice that reached her did little to calm her nerves.
Had they found her? Already?
Breda’s mind raced to find a way out of the Sly Stag and Ireland, although she knew they would find her no matter where she was on this realm. If only she could go to another realm to escape. She’d had narrow calls before, but she knew there was no getting away this time. Because once they found her, they would inflict unimaginable agony upon her—for centuries.
Another knock sounded. This time, the voice asked for help. Breda hoped the woman wasn’t really in trouble because nothing would get her to open the door. Humans liked to call it fight or flight, and she was absolutely in flight mode.
No sooner did that thought go through her mind than a man and woman appeared in her room. Breda instantly jerked back, though there was no place for her to go since she was already pressed tightly against the headboard. Her gaze moved from the Dark female to the Light male. Neither looked like soldiers, but the fact that they had gotten into the room when they shouldn’t have been able to, meant they were either from the Others or they were…Reapers.
Either way, she was fekked.
Her stomach clenched in dread.
“Hi,” the woman said as she tilted her head of black and silver braids that fell to her waist. She wore a black moto jacket with a red shirt beneath, paired with black jeans that had rips at the knees, along with the most beautiful pair of combat boots Breda had ever seen. “We were hoping you’d open the door so we could talk.”
“We only want to ask you a few questions,” the man said.
Breda’s gaze moved to him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing more subdued attire—a black tee showcasing his impressive build, denim, and black boots. His shoulder-length black hair was longer on top and shoved to the side as if he had run his hands through it. Something about his silver eyes held her ensnared.
The more she gazed into the beautiful orbs, the calmer she became. She frowned, thinking he was using magic, but she felt nothing. He was clean-shaven, his rugged looks catching her attention from his jawline to the intense way he watched her.