Darkness Unbound by Keri Arthur, now you can read online.
Chapter One
I'VE ALWAYS SEEN THE REAPERS.
Even as a toddler—with little understanding of spirits, death, or the horrors that lie in the shadows—I'd been aware of them. As I'd gotten older and my knowledge of the mystical had strengthened, I'd begun to call them Death, because the people I'd seen them following had always died within a day or so.
In my teenage years, I learned who and what they really were. They called themselves reapers, and they were collectors of souls. They took the essence—the spirit—of the dying and escorted them on to the next part of their journey, be that heaven or hell.
The reapers weren't flesh-and-blood beings, although they could attain that form if they wished. They were creatures of light and shadows—and an energy so fierce, their mere presence burned across my skin like flame.
Which is how I sensed the one now following me. He was keeping his distance, but the heat of him sang through the night, warming my skin and stirring the embers of fear. I swallowed heavily and tried to stay calm. After all, being the daughter of one of Melbourne's most powerful psychics had its benefits—and one of those was a knowledge of my own death. It would come many years from now, in a stupid car accident.
Of course, it was totally possible that I'd gotten the timing of my death wrong. My visions weren't always as accurate as my mother's, so maybe the death I'd seen in my future was a whole lot closer than I'd presumed.
And it was also a fact that not all deaths actually happened when they were supposed to. That's why there were ghosts—they were the souls uncollected by reapers, either because their deaths had come before their allotted time, or because they'd refused the reapers' guidance. Either way, the end result was the same. The souls were left stranded between this world and the next.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket and walked a little faster. There was no outrunning the reapers—I knew that—but I still couldn't help the instinctive urge to try.
Around me, the day was only just dawning. Lygon Street gleamed wetly after the night's rain, and the air was fresh and smelled ever so faintly of spring. The heavy bass beat coming from the nearby wolf clubs overran what little traffic noise there was, and laughter rode the breeze—a happy sound that did little to chase the chill from my flesh.
It was a chill caused not by an icy morning, but rather by the ever-growing tide of fear.
Why was the reaper following me?
As I crossed over to Pelham Street, my gaze flicked to the nearby shop windows, searching again for the shadow of death.
Reapers came in all shapes and sizes, often taking the form most likely to be accepted by those they'd come to collect. I'm not sure what it said about me that my reaper was shirtless, tattooed, and appeared to be wearing some sort of sword strapped across his back.
A reaper with a weapon? Now, that was something I'd never come across before. But maybe he knew I wasn't about to go lightly.