Infamous Reapers Novels & Stories

He lowered himself into his chair, bowing his head to the other elders, who mirrored his gesture in unison, an eerie harmony that sent chills through me. A figure rose—Demetri, whose tattooed fingers drummed anxiously against the dark table, a restless heartbeat amid the stillness. “My testimony regarding Reaper's actions is one of utter devastation. Armandos’ compound lies in ruins, men are dead, and it was Reaper and Rico who orchestrated this havoc.” His voice trembled with urgency as he took his seat, but to my astonishment, Elder Briar raised a hand, commanding him to stand once more.

Where are you? Then she saw a blur of movement up ahead. Hiding behind a thick tree, she watched what was going on. And there, in a small clearing, was Daniel standing and talking with Kael-the rogue leader of the Dark Moon pack. Sophia's stomach was roiling with anxiety at every word that fell. You sure this will work?" Daniel asked, low. "I don't want to hurt Sophia." Kael laughed, the cruel sound running chills down Sophia's spine. "We'll crush the Rivers pack with your help. They'll never see it coming."

However, no matter how desperately she pleaded, not a single cent came through. Ten minutes of fake crying later, frustration broke through her mask, and she snapped. “You bunch of broke losers! So many people in here and you can’t even scrape together one decent donation?” The mood flipped instantly. A new flood of messages filled the screen. [Any cops watching this stream? The suspect is right now under the Frostbridge overpass.] The tip spread like wildfire in the chat. Mira panicked and hurried to shut the stream down, but it was too late. The officers were the ones who finally ended her live feed.

"Rayden Kalesvara, I know you can hear me! Come out, you coward! Face me like a man!" Gavin Bramasta's once-immaculate clothes were now tattered and stained, his well-groomed hair was a chaotic mess, and his eyes burned red like the embers of hell. He was no longer the proud, genius heir of the Bramasta family. He was a ghost returned from the grave, a wild beast that had lost everything and now had only one thing left: hatred.

Every detail staged to make him look like a tragic lover trying to protect a broken girl. He was burying me in lies. With silk gloves and soft words. But then I found it—another article, this time from a gossip column that usually spent its time trailing royals and dignitaries: "Reece Foundation’s Annual Rooftop Gala Confirmed for Tomorrow Night. Guest List Leaks Include Royalty, State Officials—and the Infamous Vlad the Impaler–Vladislav Moroz". I stared at the name. Vladislav. How on earth was I to prove to him that I was worth his choice? That I needed him desperately. He was the only person capable of bringing Malcom to his knees. I didn't just want to kill Malcom Reece, I needed to brin

“I don’t want to think about that yet!” Lucan nodded solemnly. “We’ll return to this conversation… in time.” But just then, the door burst open. Jim. He strode in, suit still immaculate, eyes flicking briefly over me before landing on Lucan. “Lucan. How do you feel?” “Stronger,” Lucan replied. Jim nodded grimly. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have a situation. The Midnight Reaper struck again. This time… It’s a teenage child.” I gasped.

He glared at me. "I'm sorry what? You look human to me. You act human, you eat like a human. What the hell kind of drugs are you taking?" He looked dead serious. Was it was a mental illness? I had heard of people like this before. "It's not a mental illness." He practically growled. Had he just read my thoughts? "Fine. Say I believe you. If you're not human what are you?" "I'm a reaper." A What? Like the grim reaper? He nodded. "I'm not the only one though, there are hundreds of us. My father and brothers are all reapers. My mother was a demon though." Wait what?

Apparently, they now traveled in small packs when dealing with shifter deaths because Fenrir had killed one years ago who had tried to drag Lydia’s soul to Hell. My gaze dropped to their scythes. Reapers were low-level angels, one level below the foot soldiers they used as cannon fodder during battles. The only dangerous things about them were their weapons. “I told you we’d encounter the illegal psychopomps,” the male reaper said to his female companion. “If they’re not haunting wolf-shifter deaths, they’re infiltrating the Fifth Faction and stealing souls.” I rolled my eyes, even though his assessment of us was accurate. “Let’s be respectful of the recently bereaved and settle our differen

"They’re coordinated. The Russians have provided satellite overwatch. They know exactly where we are." We burst into the hallway. The air was thick with the smell of cordite and blood. I saw the first of the Reapers—men who had been twisted by a raw, unstable version of the Rose. Their skin was grey, their eyes weeping a dark, viscous fluid. They didn't feel pain. They didn't feel fear. They only knew the hunger for the Catalyst.

His face was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. “You… you must be mistaken,” he whispered, his voice low, almost cold. I raised a brow at him. “Do I look like I’m mistaken? My father is never wrong either.” My eyes met his, fierce and unwavering. Damon exhaled slowly, the anger and worry in his chest visible in the way his shoulders stiffened. “Avery, the blood reapers…They are ruthless,” he said finally, voice low, almost a growl. “Cold-blooded. They don’t care who gets hurt… or how much chaos they cause. Some of the rogues my uncle sent to the pack to get me distracted… they were from the Blood Reapers. They used… some kind of elixir to strengthen themselves. Makes them a