Killing Me Softly (Reaper Romance)

Chapter Twelve: Don't Fear the Reaper

Briseis finally made it to her house, but could barely close her eyes. All that consumed her thoughts was the conversation she had with the dark stranger in the ambulance. Her muscles in her hands trembled, shaking with what she had to come to terms with. Briseis didn't want to die. It wasn't just fear that lead her to that decision, it was also the fact that she still had more living to do. She choked out a sob, but quickly bit it back, wondering if she was being watched. Pride beckoned her to stay strong. Don't ever let 'em see you sweat, she thought to herself.

Dragging herself inside, she clicked on the light to her empty home. Everything was just as she left it. Quiet and empty. Stretching her body to loosen the ache and stress that riddled her body, Briseis craved a shower and a nightcap. Tonight was definitely bittersweet, with her happiness overshadowed by her impending danger. She deserved a drink.

She kicked off her shoes while unbuttoning her uniform shirt and dropped her bag at the door. Days like this, she missed Osiris. Whenever her day really sucked, at least her cat made it seem she was still not completely alone. But he was nowhere to be found. "O?" she called out. "Osiris?" Finally making it to her bedroom, she sighed. "Whatever," she scoffed to herself. Today was a total cluster and there wasn't anything she could do about it. She was a freaking witch who could resurrect people and yet she had no control over the fact that a reaper was coming for her. She hopped in the bathroom to turn on the shower, then plopped down on the bed. This was the first time in who knows how long she regretted not pursuing a coven. Her mother simply wouldn't allow it, even after discovering Briseis had the gift. Her mother didn't even offer up much about her time in one, which she abandoned shortly after she was born. Her mother didn't go into detail on the reasons why except that she needed to cut ties and live a quiet life with Briseis...and forbid her to align with a coven.

The times after her mother died was a desperate and lonely one. With no family to take care of her after the storm, Briseis sought to find a coven of witches to join for a brief time. Often, she'd fantasize about standing at the food bank and meeting another witch--a young girl, like her--that teaches her spells and ways to get an edge over the system. In her mind, she figured that witches had the power to change the outcomes of their lives. They made things happen and a group of them was formidable. But in the end, she never found a coven.

She ran into a witch or two throughout her youth, but none belonged to any coven. Sadly, they were skittish and didn't know any more than she did about being a natural witch. No spells, no potions, no spirit-invoking, no nothing. Not even dancing naked under a full moon. They were nitwits. The last one she met was six years ago and that woman was so afraid to be exposed, she smashed her phone on the pavement and literally ran away from her. Briseis remembered crying her eyes out, finding the whole thing terribly pathetic. No one wanted to connect with her. No one. So she gave up.

Now, years later, a reaper comes knocking and there's nothing she could do but wait. It's never a good look for a woman who likes to control every aspect of her life.

Briseis picked up the photo of her mother off the nightstand. Running her fingers around her mother's bright smile she began to smile herself. Her mother's smile truly was contagious. She had the biggest smile and heartiest laughter than anyone Briseis knew. "I wish you were here to bail me out the cosmic amount of shit I've gotten myself into. But, I guess I gotta sleep in the bed I made." She kissed the photo and set it on the stand. Stripping the rest of her clothing, she stepped into the shower, thinking about what she would say to the reaper. She had to come to terms that his ultimatum was rather simple: stop resurgence or die. Her heart ached at the idea of either choice. Sure, it would be noble to say, 'Fuck off reaper. You can take my gift if you could pry it from my cold, dead hands!' but in the end, all she could see was his intense, angry eyes and know he wasn't screwing around. He meant everything he said. It wasn't a threat, it was a promise.