Excerpt from Simon’s Journal – September 18, 4-1893

  I killed nearly twenty intruders tonight. I shredded their throats, ripped out their hearts, and bathed in their blood just as I did in the old days. These intruders were too young to know the stories about me—oblivious to the foolishness of terrorizing my world. In my search for Dahlia, I unleashed myself on my foes in the same way that left me locked in the Old King’s dungeon for over a thousand years and throughout his son’s entire reign.

  But back in the old days, I killed for fun—for the blood. The King didn’t understand—couldn’t control me. Tonight was different. Tonight, I killed to protect Dahlia and the city she loves. This was well within the terms of my release from that accursed dungeon.

  When Gadriel came looking for me after he killed the Old King’s unworthy son, I swore to keep myself in control unless I was protecting myself or others. Tonight qualified, and it felt so good to give in to my wildest urges after so long. Even now, I’m tempted to find more blood to spill. Perhaps the only reason I stopped killing was because of Dahlia—because I couldn’t find her. I couldn’t track her by blood, which meant she was probably unharmed, but I needed to see her to be sure.

  And fuck, the relief I felt when she finally appeared before me was better than anything else I felt tonight. I scented blood on her too—blood and fear. Dahlia was a killer tonight, just like me. The thought pleased me, but it also left me enraged. She should have been safe at home—not out defending her city. If I did my job right—if all her guardians did their jobs right—Dahlia wouldn’t need to lift a finger to defend those she cared about. But we aren’t there yet. It will take time to become what she needs us to be.

  Dahlia

  Rough pounding on my front door woke me the morning after the attack—shaking my whole house and setting my nerves alight. After the destruction from the night before, I was already on edge. I’d spent hours digging through rubble in search of survivors.

  We’d found more dead than alive in some places.

  A glance at the clock told me it was nearly ten—I’d slept for far longer than expected and yet still not enough.

  The pounding at my door continued, threatening to crack it in two. Heart racing, I slipped out of bed. Despite being dressed only in a short nightdress, I rushed to answer the door with curses prepared for whoever had the nerve to pound on my door so hard after the long night.

  But the curses faded away when I swung the door open to reveal Hawthorne and Bennett on my front porch. Both men were disheveled and bloody as if they’d been out killing all night. Given how the night had played out, they probably were. They shared equally terrifying expressions—as if they wanted to rip me limb from limb.

  Before I could open my mouth to speak, Hawthorne barged past me into my entryway, shouldering me aside. “We need to talk, human."

  “I’m not really in a talking mood,” I warned, rubbing my arm where he had bumped into me as the men went to my kitchen—both ignoring my comment.

  With their imposing forms—worse now in dark clothing splattered with grime—these Imms stood in stark contrast to the floral theme of my kitchen. I doubted they would fit on my kitchen chairs if they chose to sit. They already needed to duck through my doorways.

  I watched with some amusement as they each filled a pink-hued glass with water and drank it all down as if it had been days since their last drink. I almost joked about the scene, but I hesitated when Hawthorne winced as he placed the glass on the counter.

  His movement was shaky, and he nearly dropped the glass.

  “You’re hurt,” I observed—my eyes roaming over his body with the Sight to seek out his injury. I immediately pinpointed it to his left flank.

  “Flesh wound,” he shrugged as if this was something that happened every day.

  “It was a couple of inches away from a fatal blow,” Bennett glared at his companion, who seemed utterly unfazed by this fact.

  My heart picked up speed at the thought of Hawthorne being so close to death. The thought didn’t sit well with me—not at all. And that was quite the revelation. Apparently, some large part of me didn’t like seeing Hawthorne injured, but that same part of me really didn’t like the thought of him dying.

  Strange, considering how much danger the man posed to my own life.

  Both men’s eyes turned to me, and Hawthorne cocked his head as if it would help him to hear my racing heart. He even seemed pleased by the sound, “Worried about me, human?”

  Maybe they could hear my heart. My father hadn't revealed that little detail in our training.

  “I—”

  “She’s probably more worried about the Reaper,” Bennett cut in before shooting me a dark look I’d never seen on his face before, “But don’t worry, he got away—after nearly killing Hawthorne, that is.”

  So they’d fought—that much was clear. Sometime after the Reaper left me, he fought with Hawthorne and Bennett and somehow escaped. Relief settled over me, but my heart still raced as I thought of the three of them locked in battle.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, feeling vulnerable now with two bloody warriors in my kitchen while I stood barefoot in a dress that only just covered my ass.

  “You went out last night,” Hawthorne growled and stepped forward, “Met with the Reaper—touched him, even. Your scent was all over him.”

  My scent. Was that what the Reaper wanted with my shirt? Why would he put me at risk like that? What could he possibly have to gain by wearing my scent?

  I stepped back, “He helped me. I went to check on Carmen, and there were Imms—”

  “Do you have a death wish?” He interrupted as he closed the distance between us, “You should have stayed home like a sane person! I never even considered that you would be anywhere other than home! I didn’t even think to w—”

  He swallowed down whatever he was about to say, but his demeanor revealed the secret he was trying to hide. He hadn’t thought to worry about me—not until it was too late.

  Though Hawthorne had stopped speaking, he continued to storm towards me with a dark expression on his face. He was dangerous—right now more than ever.

  Too late, I turned to get away, but he caught me by the arm and shoved me up against the wall beside my kitchen table. I tried not to look at him, but he leaned forward as if to force me to look into his dark eyes. And when I did, I felt every ounce of his frustration as he trapped me there between his arms.

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  Hawthorne was torn between loathing me and worrying about me. He wanted to hurt me—to punish me—but I was a fragile human. He wouldn’t risk harming me—not yet, at least.

  They needed me to help find the Reaper.

  “Tell us what you know about the Reaper,” he demanded loudly as he pressed a palm to my chest to keep me in place, “Why did he come to save you? What is your relationship with him? Why the fuck was he talking about you like you belonged to him?”

  He what?

  “I don’t belong to anyone, and I certainly don’t belong to him!” I replied angrily, looking at Bennett now as I spoke to avoid the pressure of Hawthorne’s gaze, “I really don’t know anything. I don’t even know his name. I don’t know what he looks like. I don’t know how he knows so much about me—unless he’s been watching me for a long time. I don’t know what world he comes from, or why he wants to protect the people—”

  “He stalks you, then,” Hawthorne cut in, jaw clenched now, “Has he hurt you?”

  “No!” I felt my eyes widen and shook my head as my gaze returned to Hawthorne, “I—I don’t think he would do that—not unless I threatened him.”

  “He bragged about fucking you—did you know that?” Hawthorne leaned in—placing more pressure on my chest.

  “I didn’t!” I felt my eyes widen.

  Had the Reaper really said that?

  Hawthorne glanced over at Bennett, whose eyes remained fixed on me as he advised, “She’s hiding something.”

  “I agree,” Hawthorne nodded before returning his attention to me, “Did you fuck him, human?”

  “No,” I gritted my teeth.

  “THEN WHAT ARE YOU HIDING!” He roared—the sudden rise in volume making me jump.

  “W—what is this about?” I managed, my voice shaking now, “What is it you think I know?”

  “That Reaper is dangerous. He fights unlike anyone we’ve ever seen before. It’s like he can see in the dark—predict our every move. And he travels freely between the Seams,” Hawthorne raised a hand to my face and ran his fingers over my cheek gently as he considered his words, “He disappeared into the Alve last night.”

  “The Alve?” I asked to confirm, shuddering under his soft touch. I’d heard of this world before, but I knew little to nothing about it. As far as I knew, it was entirely uninhabited.

  “No sane person travels to the Alve at night—or at all,” Bennett cut in, “But the Reaper is…different. He plays by different rules.”

  “And he can see in the dark!” Hawthorne’s hand drifted to my throat, where he clasped it gently, but firm enough to set my heart racing, “I believe you know why—so tell us, Dee. What is so special about this Reaper? What do you know?”

  I shook my head and thought hard, “The Sight, maybe? But it’s extinct—no one has had the Sight in something like a thousand years.”

  And that would confirm that the Reaper was a Red Halfling.

  “Since we started killing off the Red Halflings,” Bennett confirmed before looking to Hawthorne, “But if what she said about the missing children is true, maybe there are more Red Halflings out there now—I told you it was the Sight!”

  “It’s so rare,” Hawthorne seemed skeptical, “But it certainly explains his…talents.”

  “Wait, is that why you kill Red Halflings?” I asked, my throat becoming dry. “Because they might have the Sight?”

  I felt suddenly sick. I really was the very thing these Imms wanted to destroy—a Red Halfling with the Sight.

  I thought about the Reaper and realized the Sight really was a threat to the Imms—he’d killed dozens of them, if not more. Sure, I didn’t know for a fact that he had the Sight, but there was no other explanation for his precision—his talents, as Hawthorne had said.

  Bennett’s expression became grim, “Cruel, isn’t it? Someone decided the Sight posed a risk to our race, so all the Red Halflings were…culled.”

  “Exterminated, you mean,” I gritted my teeth in frustration, “That’s how Imms solve their problems, right? Genocide?”

  Hawthorne tightened his grip on my throat and growled, “Enough. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “So, the Imms didn’t destroy entire human worlds before building the Kingdom we have today?” I forced out despite the pressure on my throat.

  I wouldn’t back down so easily.

  I’d seen what the High General wrote in his journal. If his journal was real, that was proof enough of their bloody history. They’d risen to power and gained land by cutting down humans who were powerless to stand up to them.

  “Where did you hear that?” Hawthorne’s eyes darkened and grip tightened—cutting off my air now.

  Panic set into my bones—his rough touch sending a chill down my spine. I clawed at his fingers where they gripped my throat, but it was useless. I felt tears start to stream down my face as I realized he might actually kill me.

  But before I could succumb to unconsciousness, Hawthorne released his grip on me and stepped back with a snarl of frustration.

  My legs gave out, and I fell to the ground—coughing as I struggled to gasp for breath. My ears rang as consciousness slowly returned to me. And as my hearing cleared, I heard Hawthorne and Bennett arguing.

  “—kill her like that!” Bennett yelled, “How could you—”

  “I wouldn’t—not yet—you know that!” Hawthorne snapped at his companion, “I was proving a point.”

  “What point?” Bennett argued loudly, “That you’re bigger and stronger than her? That you’re dangerous, and she should be intimidated? Do you think she doesn’t already know that? You’re terrifying to these people—we all are!”

  Hearing a snarl, I looked up in time to see Bennett punch Hawthorne in the face hard enough to send him reeling. In response, Hawthorne lunged at his brother, tackling him to the floor with a crash that threatened to break my floorboards.

  At first, I almost felt grateful to Bennett for standing up to Hawthorne for me, but I didn’t want them fighting over me—especially in my house.

  Still forcing air into my lungs, I crawled forward, “Stop.”

  Neither man responded as they tried to fight off the other. I stood up and approached—raising my voice with all the air in my lungs, “STOP FIGHTING IN MY HOUSE!”

  Neither man seemed to notice me.

  I placed a hand on Bennett’s arm to get his attention, and as he prepared to hit Hawthorne again, he threw an elbow back at me—striking me in the side of the head hard enough to break a human’s skull. I fell back against the wall, gripping my aching head in both hands as I struggled to stay conscious.

  My skull was in one piece, but I still ached from the blow. My ears rang again, and as I tried to open my eyes, I nearly vomited as the world spun around me.

  A set of arms wrapped around me as I started to fall over, and I heard Simon’s familiar voice growl, “Both of you GET OUT!”

  “She needs help—” Hawthorne began, voice revealing his panic.

  “You’ve done enough,” Simon seethed as he pressed my aching head to his chest, “Next time you touch her, I’ll kill you both—I swear it.”

  I shifted slightly to look up at Simon.

  He was terrifying—much as he had been the night before. His teeth were bared—exposing the points of his sharp canines. It may have just been my imagination, but the irises of his eyes seemed to turn red—something I’d never seen before.

  I heard his growl deep in his chest—a warning to the others to back off. And to their credit, Hawthorne and Bennett did just that. I didn’t see them leave, but I listened to the urgent whispers between the men as they stomped towards my front door. Eventually, I heard the door slam shut—leaving me alone with Simon.

  After a moment to calm himself, Simon asked angrily, “Who hit you?”

  “Bennett,” I muttered as I closed my eyes, “It was an accident, though. He was really trying to help. Hawthorne, he—”

  I felt Simon press his face to the top of my head as he shook with rage, “I want to rip them both to pieces. And Hawthorne—he’s troubled, especially where you are concerned.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked absently as I tried to move away from Simon—to put some distance between us. He let me go with a start as if he hadn't realized he'd even touched me.

  The touch felt too intimate coming from someone so terrifying—a near stranger to me.

  “You've been a constant feature of his thoughts since he returned here,” Simon admitted in a gravelly voice once he collected himself, “But he doesn’t know how to care about a woman. His compulsion to touch you—to be with you—terrifies him. He can’t be with you, so he believes he’s been cursed to watch you live and love others and eventually die like every other human.”

  “He hates me,” I protested, watching as Simon's eyes shifted from red back to their stormy gray.

  “No, he hates how he obsesses over you,” Simon corrected, "Hawthorne values control and duty above all else, and you make him question his priorities."

  “He hates me because I’m human—not good enough for him,” I spat bitterly, disagreeing with Simon, “And if he knew the truth, he’d despise me even more.”

  Simon pursed his lips, but he didn’t deny my comments—he didn’t have to. I knew the truth. My connection to Hawthorne was not strong enough to overcome the separation between humans and Imms. Perhaps, by keeping me at arm’s length, Hawthorne was protecting me—and himself.

  “Do you care about what Hawthorne feels for you?” Simon asked, his eyes looking deep into mine as if searching for the answer.

  I wanted to say I cared more than I should, and I couldn't explain why. But I wasn't about to confide in Simon. He could act like my protector, but it would take a long time for me to trust him.

  Perhaps I never would.

  So, head still pounding, I went to the door to wave the Imm out of my home, and to his credit, he immediately started for the door.

  As he left, I finally answered, "No. I don't care about him at all."

  The words felt wrong on my tongue.