An icy laugh trickled from Pricilla. “In case you didn’t notice, your whore stands a better chance of taking that bullet than me.”
“Don’t count on it.” Deadly vengeance glinting in his eyes, Sam cocked his gun.
The knife remained pinned in place. “I believe this is where our negotiations come in. I offered you a choice—Marabella’s life, or yours.”
“Unless you’ve got an invisible gun pointed at my head, I fail to see your logic with that one, bitch.”
“Let me enlighten you then. You’re the property of the council. Being bound to this witch means nothing to them. You know that. But I’m giving you a way out.” Pricilla’s knife slipped dangerously close to Marabella’s jugular. “Her blood holds the key that will pave the road to your happiness, Samael. One press of a plunger. That’s all it’ll take to sever your indenture to Marcus and the rest of the council. Kill me, and you will never be free.”
From the corner of her eye, Marabella noticed Cass struggling against her bindings. “Don’t listen to her. She’s planning their assassination as a means to start a war between the reapers and demons. We’ll all be dead if she gets her way.”
“I’m offering you your freedom, Samael. The one thing you’ve desired for an eternity. The loss of a few reapers is insignificant in comparison.” Pricilla eased the knife away enough that Marabella no longer felt its cold bite. “I will even sweeten the deal for you and let this one live. Think of it—your freedom and your whore.”
A muscle tic twitched near Sam’s left eye.
“So which will it be? The lives of those who will control you forever? Or mine?”
“Hell, that’s not even a choice.” The sudden bang and plume of smoke funneling from the revolver’s muzzle preceded a loud thump behind the chair Marabella was strapped in. Uncontrollable tremors racking her, she stared at Sam. The lethalness in his expression softened as he tossed his gun down and rushed toward her. He used the knife Pricilla had dropped to cut the ropes loose. His hands trembling, he cupped Marabella’s face. She swore tears glistened in his eyes as he leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. His shaky exhale feathered over her lips. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”
“Uh, guys, not to ruin this beautiful moment, but I’m still tied up here.”
Sam moved away from her long enough to free Cass and subsequently endure his cousin’s tackle hug. A pained yelp broke from Sam, returning Marabella’s attention to his wound.
She urged Cass aside and stared in horror at the bloodstained hole in Sam’s shirt. “You’ve been shot.”
“I’ll be fine.” The sudden wobble in Sam’s knees belied his declaration.
Snatching his wrist, Marabella tugged him onto the nearest chair and tore his shirt at the shoulder seam before carefully examining the small, oozing wound. The good news was the bullet didn’t look like it’d hit any vital organs. A quick check verified a point of exit just above Sam’s shoulder blade. Stomach pitching, she pressed her fingers against both wounds to staunch the flow of blood and yelled at Cass to call for an ambulance.
Her face losing all color, Cass shot from the room.
Sam grunted. “You can’t call 9-1-1, baby. We’ve got a house full of dead demons. That’s bound to raise questions.”
“I don’t care. There’s no way I’m letting you bleed to death.”
A ghost of a smile played at Sam’s lips. “That’s my Bella—always making a habit of trying to save my life.” His eyes closed, and he slumped forward, knocking into her with a heavy thud.
“Sam!” Fear sticking in her throat, she attempted to shake him back into consciousness, but he remained lifeless.
Oh goddess. He couldn’t die on her. The very real possibility of that happening sprung a helpless sob from her. Hugging Sam tight to her, she screamed at Cass to hurry.
In the end, Sam got his wish about not involving the human authorities. Instead, a group of reapers that Cass referred to as the Death Doctors showed up and carried Sam to one of the bedrooms on the second floor of Pricilla’s mansion. Desperately trying not to dwell on the Death part of their title, Marabella rushed up the stairs after them.
When they reached the room they intended to use, one of the lab-coat-garbed reapers turned to face Marabella. “You’ll have to wait outside.”
“No. I want to be with him.”
Without saying another word, the young reaper pressed two fingers to Marabella’s shoulder. An odd dizziness descended on her, and she fell to her knees, unable to move. Helpless, she watched the reaper shut the door. A distinct click announced he’d locked her out. The strange paralysis seizing her limbs broke, and she slumped forward, sobs racking her body.
Cass appeared a moment later. Joining Marabella on the floor, she wrapped her arms around her. “He’ll be all right.”
“H-he has to be. I can’t lose him.” Her eyes waterlogged, she stared at the door.
And waited.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sam surveyed the vast wasteland stretched before him. A few gnarled trees broke the endless vista, but that was about it.
“Well shit. Ain’t this about as ironic as death gets.” The amused drawl came from behind Sam. He pivoted and locked gazes with the individual across from him. The man wore a long brown leather duster and spurred boots. He looked vaguely familiar. The stranger whisked off his cowboy hat and smacked it against his leg. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Should I?”
The man removed his cigar and tossed it to the parched earth. “Billings, Montana. 1963. Ring any bells?”
It was the year he’d been reassigned to Nettie. Within the first week of his indenture to her, she’d dispatched him to harvest well over a hundred souls. Billings had been one of the cities on the list. “I stole your soul, didn’t I?”
“Yep.” The man sent a wad of spit toward the ground. “I begged you to spare my wife and child. You did.”
A cramp twisted through Sam’s innards as the suppressed memory of that particular hunt ambushed him. The punishment Nettie meted out for his disobedience had been nothing compared to the guilt that’d gripped him when he’d witnessed the wife and child’s unspeakable grief while they’d stood over this man’s grave. That had been the one and only time Sam had paid his respects to the fallen victims of his profession. After that, he’d begun building his defensive wall and hardening his heart.
Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. “Are you here to settle the score between us?” Not that he would blame the guy. He’d do the same thing if he were in this man’s shoes.
“Nope. I’m here to help you.”
Sam frowned. “With what?”
“Freeing yourself from Death.”
Awareness finally kicking in, Sam reevaluated his surroundings. “I’m dead, aren’t I? And this is Hell.”
The man shook his head. “It’s somewhere in between. Kind of a waiting room to the greater beyond.”
Sam pondered the man’s earlier confession. “Why would you want to help me escape Death? Especially after what I did to you?”
“Because you spared my family.” The man scratched his jaw. “One good turn deserves another.”
Sam grunted. “There’s not one damn good thing about me.” No, that wasn’t entirely true. He had Marabella’s love. She was the ray of goodness that resided in his heart.
He recalled the tears in her eyes before she’d dispatched him to the Death Wards. Remembered her heartfelt plea. “Hurry back to me, Sam.”
He stared at the stranger standing in front of him. This man hadn’t made it back to his family. Sam had seen the grief and misery that’d caused. The pain in his belly intensified as he imagined putting Marabella through that. He didn’t like the notion of her in tears over him. Just like he didn’t want to think of never seeing her again.