Infamous Reapers Novels & Stories

the king demanded, his voice trembling. The guard stumbled forward, falling to his knees before the throne. He looked up, his eyes wide with terror. "It was not what we bargained for, sir. She...she..." "She what?" Seraphina yelled, impatiently. Her hand twitched towards the hilt of her sword, itching to draw it. The guard swallowed hard, his throat dry. "She's not human. She's a wolf, sir. A werewolf, your highness, and she...she killed everyone of us. I only managed to escape..."

he mumbled sadly and I hugged him tightly, telling him I missed him. "The reaper section is a mess. Reapers are retaliating and aren't doing their collections. Victoria is making those disputing her disappear, like my poor Ronan. I fear the human realm is going to experience an apocalypse soon if you two don't get rid of that ignorant female pretending to be in charge," he said gravely.

These people are crazy. The Reapers hissed. There were five of them and they slithered quickly towards the dead bodies and bite them off immediately. A Reaper bit the old man's head and Mira could see the eyeballs rolling to the ground. She closed her eyes and felt her stomach turned inside out. She forced herself not to throw up. The Reapers were eating the dead bodies like a dog who haven't eaten a week. Bits of flesh and blood were sprayed everywhere. The whole arena was filled with the smell of blood and death, mixed into a one gruesome smell.

Her eyes gleamed. “They’re Verek's direct lapdogs. Killers. They’ve slaughtered more people than most ordinary dare to count… Alphas included.” She leaned back slightly in her seat, completely at ease. “They’re rogues.” A sharp wave of gasps rippled through the crowd. Eyes darted toward George and the twins, disbelief written plainly across their faces. But Verya wasn’t done. “Not just rogues,” she added lightly. The air seemed to tighten. “They are the Four Reapers.”

He stroked my hand with his thumb. “The bringers of death?” I suggested. “The Delazar’s thrive on war. Their leader loves chaos and power. Delazar believes the weak should be killed.” He paused, with a grim look on his face, and I thought back to what Sam said about his brother, then he continued, “Reaper is the name he gave our clan because we are the bringers of death.” “Have you… brought death to anyone?” I wanted his answer to be no but a part of me wondered and I had to know.

In fact, extended stays on the surface world is fatal to us. At the Helm, I’m joined by the three other reapers I saw at the abandoned airport on my first day. They’re all, just like me, controlled by Septimus with his variously styled gothic rings: talon, jester, and scorpion. Respectively they are Kera, the evil Valkyrie, Ankou, the creepy clown, and Yama Ranger, the four-armed and blue-skinned cowboy. Collectively they call themselves the Bureau of Transmigration. Not that they tell me things or they’re ever in a talkative mood. In fact, with the exception of Septimus and Ankou, the reapers are taciturn to the point of seeming mute. Ankou isn’t much of an improvement either with his posh

I apologise. "Is that a fresh injury, or would you call it an old battle scar?" Clarissa raises an eyebrow, visibly concerned. It's like I have met many vampires, but the ones I have encountered are enough to make me think they're all horrible. First the Hunters, then Vladimir and his regular patrons were all overly aggressive and full of hate. Now, I met Octavius and Clarissa, and they're both gentle with me. Sure, Kieran is cold and distant, but I think it is in his nature to push everyone away.

I scrambled away, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. The water-Reaper took a step onto the bank, its form solidifying as it left the river, becoming a figure of sculpted darkness, its surface shimmering with trapped moonlight and crawling filaments of black-gold code. It didn’t look at me. It looked at Marcus. >Asset: Marcus. Designation: Infected. Protocol: Reaper. Directive: Assume control. Marcus stood his ground, his head cocked. “Directive conflict. Primary target: Thorn.” >Thorn is mine, the water-Reaper intoned, its voice the sound of a rushing river and grinding stone. >You are recalled.

I had no idea how much time had passed while I was being dragged through the Veil, but I knew I didn’t have much left before the darkness became completely uncontrollable and my absence weakened Elara. “What do you want?” I demanded. He studied me for a moment, head tilted, as if weighing a soul I no longer had. “I was the first Reaper,” he said at last. “The first fool to accept Death’s terms. The first to realize, too late, what the debt truly meant.” I bit back the urge to demand that he get to the point, and I let him talk. “Your plague,” he continued, nodding toward the burning pyres. “The one that tore through your pack, your family… Do you still believe it was random chance?”

Then I grabbed the Ducati keys from the hall table so hard they cut into my palm. I headed toward the elevator with murder in my bloodstream and fire in my lungs. Richard had tried to kill her. Aaron had hidden her from me. But both of them had forgotten one critical thing. One fatal thing. I wasn’t a corporate prince. I wasn’t a politician. I wasn’t civilized. I was a Reaper. And Reapers did not let go of what belonged to them.