Jennifer Armentrout: Onyx

I closed my eyes, trying to swallow my own crap lie. She mumbled something in her sleep and began to thrash under the sheets. I groaned and pushed myself up from my safe spot on the carpet, unable to sit there listening to her suffer anymore. I stopped a foot from the bed and knelt down.

“Shh…” I touched the edge of the mattress, forcing myself not to go any closer. “It’s going to be okay.” She was only a few inches away, but it felt like miles. Miles that left me wanting in so many ways that I ached. Hopefully my presence would be enough. There were times I swore she could feel me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a gravelly voice chided.

I looked up from the edge of Emma’s bed just as Easton melted up from the polished hardwood floor beneath the window. Like an oil slick coming to life, he unfolded his long, shadowy legs until he was just an inkblot in front of the splash of lamplight on her wall. His violet eyes pinned me like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Which I kind of was.

“Nothing,” I lied.

“Yeah, looked like nothing.” He strolled across the room accompanied by a wave of sulfur and smoke, the black serpent tattoo on his neck glinting.

“Jesus, Easton.” I scrunched up my nose and climbed to my feet. “Don’t they have a shower somewhere between here and the afterlife?”

“Screw you. You didn’t just have to tow somebody’s grandpa to Hell.” He brushed something chalky and gray off his long coat, and a shudder worked its way down my spine. God only knows what—or who—it had belonged to. “Besides, I wasn’t the one about to feel up a sleeping human.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Save it.” He waved his hand dismissively. “We have work to do. I don’t have time for your useless obsession with the human today.”

“Will you please stop calling her that?”

“What?” Easton glanced up from Emma’s vanity, where he’d been inspecting the various lotions, tubes, and bottles like he was on some alien planet. Then again, Easton had been dead for something like four hundred years and spent most of his life in Hell, so her stuff probably was sort of alien to him.

“’The human.’ You make her sound like a freak. It’s not like we’re a different species, for God’s sake. We were humans too, or don’t you remember that far back?”

“ Were, ” he said, scowling at me over his shoulder. “Past tense.”

Easton’s clumsy fingers knocked over the bobblehead zombie on the vanity top and we both froze. Emma shot up from beneath the covers, gasping.

“Mom?” She shoved the tangled blond hair out of her face, her eyes trained on her rumpled reflection in the vanity mirror. “Was that you?”

“Not Mom. Just one of Hell’s reapers, at your service.” Easton leaned against the bookcase and grinned. “You’re right, Finn. This is fun.”

“Are you freaking insane?” I hissed.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh calm down, drama queen. It’s not like she can hear us.”

“You scared her.”

“Are you kidding? She’s scared of her own reflection. And that has nothing to do with me.”

No. But the fact that Emma’s life had been a horror movie waiting to happen these last two years had everything to do with me. I’d led a soul that hated my guts and was hell-bent on revenge right to her doorstep.

I turned my attention back to Emma. After she collected herself, she twisted her hair up into a messy ponytail and dug in her nightstand drawer for her journal.

“Dear diary…” Easton nodded at the journal. “What do you think she’s going to write?”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Not my business.”

He walked over to her bed and plopped down beside her. The mattress didn’t creak or groan under his weight. The blankets didn’t shift. He peeked over her shoulder at the book. A long tendril of honey-colored hair came loose from Emma’s ponytail and fell across her eye. She tucked it behind her ear, but Easton blew on it so that it fell right back down. She swept it out of her face, looking frustrated, and Easton chuckled.

“Will you stop?” I said, feeling uncomfortable with how close he was to her. “This is so screwed up it’s not even funny.”

He raised a dark brow. “Oh? And what you’re doing isn’t?”

We could have gone back and forth like that for hours, but the call came. It always did. It started in my bones—a cold so cutting that it sliced through me like a machete. Easton’s jaw clenched, his muscles taut and ready. He slowly closed his hand around the handle of his scythe, which burned black and softly smoked at his side. I flexed my fingers as the icy ribbons of death worked their way through each one of my limbs.

“Can you take this one for me?” I asked. “You’re already going to be there, and I just got back—”

“No,” Easton said. “Hell no. I have my own job to do. I can’t keep covering for your sorry ass. Besides, do you have any idea how close you are to being caught? Don’t push your luck, Finn. Just keep your nose down, collect your souls, and thank the Almighty that you don’t have my job.”

“I’m taking a risk every time I leave her. You know that.”

“For the love of God. She’ll be fine, Finn. It’s just one reap.”

“How do you know she’ll be fine?”

He shrugged. “I don’t. But that’s the difference between you and me. I don’t care.”

With that, he vanished, consumed in a flash by the keening wails of the damned. The screams beckoned. Clawed at me from the inside out.

Rule One as a reaper: Death doesn’t wait for anyone.

And it sure as hell wasn’t waiting for me now.

Like what you’ve read so far? Pick up

inbetween

online and in stores everywhere August 2012!

Other books by Jennifer L. Armentrout:

The Lux Series:

Obsidian: A Lux Novel, Book One

Onyx: A Lux Novel, Book Two

Opal: A Lux Novel, Book Three

The Covenant Series:

Daimon

Half-Blood

Pure

Deity

Apollyon

Single Titles:

Cursed