The Reaper's Curse #1 - Complete

Take Me, Not Her

Waking to the metallic tang of blood in her mouth, Alicia's bearings elude her for a few painful heartbeats. The sound of frogs and insects croaking in the dark bring her back to reality and a part of her wishes for unconsciousness again. At least there her stomach isn't cramped with hunger.

She shivers with the cold, the fire of the camp too far away to be of any warmth. Alicia breathes through her nose, trying not to panic, trying to think of something. Her aunt would have some elaborate plan, perhaps involving fireworks and a witty remark. She's had four years to adjust to life as an exile and Alicia has spent the past four years trying to forget the things she did for survival.

Alicia doesn't belong in this type of world, not anymore.

She tries to move, her muscles stiff, but finds rope still binding her to the tree. Searching around her, she spots a stone. She kicks out her legs, trying to disentangle her feet from her skirts, but footsteps crunching on dead leaves still her movements.

Narrowing her eyes, Alicia watches the man approach, scrubbing at something in his hands. The lines around his dark blue eyes deepen as he squints at her in the dark. Alicia recognises him as the man giving orders earlier and her back stiffens, wondering what he could possibly want with her.

"You haven't been an exile long, have you?" he questions, stopping before her, out of kicking distance.

Alicia's gaze drops to the glove in his hand, dark splotches on the leather. Glaring up at him, she doesn't attempt to reply, her lips painfully dry around the cloth still in her mouth.

The man kneels before her, wriggling his fingers back into his glove. "I have some questions for you." He reaches forward and yanks the cloth out of her mouth. Alicia jerks her head away from his touch and runs her tongue along her lips. "What's your name?"

Eyes darting around, is dawns on her that she doesn't have much hope of an escape, not with the emerald-eyed man leaning against a tree a small distance away and the rest of the men at the camp.

She lifts her chin and wills the iron that she forged within herself four years ago back into her spine. It's not easy considering she knows she doesn't have it within her to do every terrible thing for survival anymore.

"As I said to your friend over there, go fuck yourselves."

The corner of his mouth lifts, deepening the lines in his face. "I don't like hitting women, but I think I can make an exception with you."

She clenches her jaw, glaring at him. He doesn't seem to care for her scolding gaze, opting instead to run a thumb over the ruined material of her skirts.

"But if you cooperate, I'm sure we can come to an understanding."

"What do you want?"

"I want to know where David hid the supplies." He reaches out a hand, and she flinches from it, turning her face away. His gloved fingers brush against the discoloured side of her face, sure to have bright purples and blues blooming across the bronzed skin of her jaw and cheek. She's seen it before on herself too many times to count. "And I don't want to have to ruin this pretty face further."

She doesn't bite off his fingers. But she seriously considers it. Instead she meets his blue gaze. "Who's David?"

He grips her chin, forcing her to face him, to meet the wrath in his gaze. "Kathryn told you where he hid the supplies, and you're going to give me an answer."

She spits and saliva splatters his cheek. He presses his lips together, reaching for the cloth in his belt to wipe the muck from his face. She sees then what he was cleaning from his gloves, the pale material tarnished with it. Blood. The man had blood on his hands.