Reaper's Novice (Soul Collector #1) (24 page)

“You are not normal. Your gift is proof enough.”

My head jerks up. “Gift? What gift?” He leans back on the couch and crosses his legs at the ankles. “You can’t drop news like that and refuse to explain.”

“I can and have. Get accustomed to it. Fast. Now, about the music—”

“My parents won’t be happy.” I cringe at the thought of giving up on my dream.

“Your parents are the least of your worries and priority, Ana. Lie to them. Do whatever you have to do. You and I begin lessons soon.”

I tug the bracelets on my wrist. How did my life change so drastically? I brace myself for the next question. “You mentioned the scars.”

“Ah, those.” For the first time ever, his lips stretch to a smile. His face takes on a proud look. This is not good. I wish he would stop smiling. “I will save that for our first lesson. Otherwise, I will not have enough incentive to lure you.”

“Is everyone happy to feed me with veiled snippets of information?”

Schulz looks unusually happy. I’m not sure I want to know anything about the scars.

“What about Rolf?” I’m not sure where that came from. The results are immediate, though. Schulz stiffens. His smile vanishes, and his eyes turn to steel.
Whoa
.

I squelch the urge to smile. He unknowingly confirmed my suspicion that he knows something about Rolf. Maybe even where Rolf goes during his frequent disappearances.

“None of your business.” His tone is so cold my blood turns to ice. He stalks to the door, swings it open, and bows slightly. “Lessons begin on Monday.” I step into the hallway. “One more thing.” I flinch at his tone. “To avoid becoming the hunted, keep this information to yourself.”

***

It’s almost two in the morning when Zig appears to escort me home. He hovers on the doorway, his arms folded across his broad chest. “You don’t need to,” I say.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Are you planning on walking home?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I can make it to my room without your help. I picked up a few things during practise, you know.”

“Can you, really?” He swaggers into the room. “A gentleman
always
sees the lady home and safely tucked in bed.
Safely
.”

I roll my eyes as I tug the edge of my skirt lower. It’s so tiny it should be declared illegal. My dinner gown was disposed of, or so I was told. Don’t they have washing machines? I really loved that gown. “I’m not in the mood to argue, Zig.”

He halts before me, eyebrows raised, and smiles. “What are you in the mood for?”

“My mood,” I snatch the clutch bag from the bed, “has nothing to do with you.” I’m not sure the little shifting knowledge I mustered will help me reach home. All I know is I want to get far away from Grim’s castle, lose myself, and not think about tonight’s dinner. Even if it means getting lost shifting back home.

I brush past him and towards the door. His strong fingers wrap around my wrist, yanking me around. He narrows his eyes. “I have a theory.”

My heart thumps violently until I feel as if my chest will rupture. Sweat beads on my forehead. Does he know what happened in the library? I clear my throat and lift my chin forwards. “What theory?”

“You’re trying to pick a fight with me. Have to warn you, though, I
always
win.”

“
What?
” I squeak. My legs almost buckle in relief.

It happens so fast I don’t have enough time to process his actions. He slips one arm on my waist, and the other glides up my back until his hand holds my head firmly in place. I blink, and his lips are on mine, kissing me.
Kissing me!

What on earth? I twist my body to raise my arms. Too late. They are trapped between our bodies. Considering his height, bulk, and strength, which I feel pressing onto my bones, I’m at a disadvantage. His arm and hand are like steel around my waist and head. How had I not seen this coming? I stop my struggles, hoping he’ll get the hint. He doesn’t. His kisses taste like curiosity and peppermint. The eyes staring into mine gleam with amusement and… a challenge.

This is nothing close to Rolf’s sensual, toe-curling kisses. And I have a feeling Zig won’t stop anytime soon.

I lift my high-heeled foot and slam it down on his. Immediately, his lips leave mine. He takes a step back, a grin on his face. Is he made of stone? I’m sure I used
a lot
of force.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I brush my tingling lips with the back of my trembling hand.

“Cheering you up.” He shoves his hands inside his pants pockets.

Heat spreads all over my body until I feel as though I’ll explode into thousands of pieces. It pools on my fisted hands, tangling with tonight’s frustration build-up. I lift my right arm and swing. It lands perfectly on his chin, and I curse my height for the misplaced aim. I was aiming for the nose. He smiles wider, as if I patted him.

“Don’t you ever kiss me again, Zig.
Ever
.” My knuckles are on fire, and moisture gathers at the corners of my eyes. I swallow the tears threatening to spill.

“You
enjoyed
it. Your eyes say so.”

Before I can stop myself, I swing my left arm. It lands on his chest. His body doesn’t budge an inch.

“You can do better than that, lovely Ana.”

My tolerance quota of the day has been reached and surpassed. “Are you angering me on purpose?”

“Clearly, it’s working.” He holds his palms up, facing me, legs braced to balance his weight. “Come on.” With hands raised like he’s some sort of trainer, he looks hot.

I bite my lip as I stare at him. “Why are you doing this?”

He shrugs, still grinning, and beckons me with his hands. I kick my heels to the side and fold my hands into fists. Tiny fists compared to his huge ones. I swing anyway.

Five minutes later, I stop and lean forwards, wheezing unhealthily. Was that the best I could do? Five minutes and breathing like I’ll drop dead in the next second? So disgusting.

“You fight like a girl.”

I gulp air, lift my head, and glare at Zig. “I
am
a girl.”

He chuckles and pats my shoulder. “A girl who desperately needs fighting lessons.”

My chest is on fire. “Why would I need those?” I wince as I massage my knuckles. I doubt my fingers will manage to hold a pen in class in the morning. I should’ve taken those defence classes Lea slaved away to complete two years ago. They seemed like torture back then.

“Eternity is a very long time. People tend to get bored doing nothing. Feeling better?”

“Extremely invigorated.” I wanted to punch something during the course of the night. This was a great escape. My breathing regulates. “Wasn’t there another way to get me all worked up instead of kissing me?”

“I was thinking on my feet.” He grins, brushing a thumb along his lips.

“Well, next time try to think while sitting,” I snap at him.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be angry with me. Let’s get you home.”

Seconds later, we’re standing inside my bedroom. He strides towards the door, lifts his hand in a small arc, and mutters under his breath to un-spell my door.

I really need to learn that.

“You look exhausted. Need help with anything?” he asks, stretching his long body.

“Can you change forms and attend class for me in the morning?”

He chuckles. “Sorry, can’t help you there, lovely Ana. I was never good in keeping with school rules.”

I slip out of my heels and drop on my bed, pressing a hand over my mouth in a pretend yawn. I need him to leave so I can dissect the evening, one shocking moment at a time.

“Whatever’s going on, please don’t blame Ernest. He can’t be responsible,” Zig says in a low voice. “I owe him my life.” He drops his body on the computer seat. His face is covered half in light from the street lamp out my window, half in shadow.

“I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. I just feel like I need to. And I’ve never shared this with anyone. My father bet my soul for a miserable hundred coins in a gambling den. He lost. Good thing it was Ernest on the other side of the table.”

Tonight’s events evaporate from my mind. I don’t know what to say, and my throat feels suddenly swollen.

Zig takes a deep breath. Now that my eyes are accustomed to the dark, I see his eyebrows pulled down. His hands gripping the chair’s armrests look taut and pale.

“I’m half Berserker. My mother died when I was five after our village was attacked by a group of exiled Vikings. After losing his love, my father went on a Berserker rampage and destroyed our village, swinging his weapon on anything that stood in his way. Luckily every one of the villagers who knew a Berserker’s fury went into hiding until it was over. Then he began to gamble.

“Closer to my tenth birthday, my father’s gambling worsened, and so did the stakes.” He shudders. I’m scared to think what the stakes involved. “When he’d no coin to pay, my body acted as payment. And believe me there were traders interested in my body. I could see it in their eyes, assessing me whenever they visited our shack to evaluate their ‘goods’. Later father became so desperate he tried anything he could get his greedy hands on to increase his luck, even dark magic. My soul joined the stakes. Good news about souls up for grabs spread fast. Later on, Ernest told me he had been observing my father long before that. My father was once very good at gambling but was losing touch with everything.” He pauses again. His shoulders slump forwards, and his chin hits his chest.

Bile shoots up my throat. What kind of parent would do that to a child? Eventually, his eyes lift to meet mine. So much pain in them, so much suffering. Behind his cocky attitude lies a soul that has suffered, seen, and experienced things a child shouldn’t be allowed to. “How did Ernest know?”

“Ernest had heard about my father. He bet, and he won.”

Now I understand the look on Grim’s face every time his eyes set on Zig. The image of how Zig’s eyes clung on Lucy on our way to her ballet class flashes in my mind. The look on his face at Sunday brunch. I try to put myself in his shoes, no family, no siblings. My own father tries to sell me off. I fail miserably.

“How long have you been living with Ernest?”

“Hundred and twenty years.” This time when he says those words his voice is soft, his lips curl slightly. “He’s like a father to me. Sounds strange, doesn’t it?”

I scoot forwards on the bed and squeeze his hand. “No, it sounds exactly like Grim.”

“You could hug me, you know. I promise not to kiss you.” His teeth flash white in the dark. Looking at that face, one wouldn’t suspect the carefully veiled vulnerability.

I slide from the bed at the same time he unfolds his body from the seat. Stepping forwards, I wrap my arms around his waist. He sighs as his arms circle my shoulders. After a few moments, I say, “If you ever kiss me again, it won’t be your foot I aim for.”

He laughs quietly. “You’re scary and adorable when you’re angry.” He pulls back. His eyes widen, as he brushes a thumb under my eyes. “Gods, I upset you. You had a shitty evening. Now I managed to make it worse.”

Crap. I thought I’d clipped the tears at the bud.

I sniffle and shake my head. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“You have beautiful eyes, lovely Ana.”

“Okay, time for you to leave.” I drop my arms to my sides. There’s a soft click of the door opening. I jerk my head to look as it swings inward. Lucy’s curly head pokes in. I glance back to find Zig gone and almost cry in relief.

“Hey, Lu.” I hurry to the door, hoist Lucy up, and hug her close. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She snuggles deeper in my arms, shaking her head.

“Would you like to cuddle with me on my bed?” Her head bobs up and down. Her hair smells of rosemary oil, which Mom insists on.

The last time Lucy slept in my bed was before the accident. I’m thankful she’s here. I need to feel my arms around someone after Zig’s story. I settle her on the bed and pull the covers to her chin, before peeking at the clock. Two thirty a.m.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Her tiny voice fills the quiet room. I’d completely forgotten about my skirt. I clear my throat. “I was too tired to change last night.”

She nods, satisfied. Her eyes flutter closed. It’s embarrassing how good I’m becoming in this lying game. The noose of guilt around my neck tightens.

After changing into my moon and stars flannel pyjamas, I burrow under the covers. The last image in my head is one of a nine-year-old with sad blue eyes as his father squanders money and sells his soul.

L
AST NIGHT
I
DREAMT
I was being chased by a pack of howling, featureless bodies. Every time I managed to slip from their knobbly, twisted fingers, they somehow managed to catch up with me. They clawed at my clothes, my face, my hands. Somehow they knew where to tear. Especially my wrists and hands. Then my tattoos were gone, revealing bleeding scars. This seemed to plunge the creatures into a frenzy. Just when I thought I had survived their attack, the ground beneath my feet gave away, and I was free falling into darkness. I jolted awake with sweat pouring down my face and my heart pounding in my ears.