Naughty Necromancer (Reaper Collective Book 2) by Riley Archer

Author:Riley Archer [Archer, Riley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Golden Fox Press
Published: 2020-10-30T05:00:00+00:00

I woke from a dreamless sleep, fully warm and tucked in. Tucked into …

My head was near an armpit, which was attached to a torso wearing a tattered black t-shirt. A t-shirt that had lifted during the night to expose a surprisingly sculpted abdomen.

I saw one flash of his jaw and squealed. I scrambled away with as much force as I could muster.

“No freaking way!”

I grabbed the nearest weapon and whacked Damian’s bedhead with it. The weapon wasn’t as effective as I’d have liked, being that it was a pillow.

He draped his other pillow over his face and turned. “I should’ve kicked you out and let you walk into walls on your way back to your dorm. That would’ve sobered you up.”

I had the fluffy weapon primed for another hit, but foggy memories colored back in.

Right. The Illusionists, the Moss Folk, the tripping out. I couldn’t believe I’d accidentally gotten high and ended up here. Sleeping next to him.

“You could’ve taken the floor like a gentleman.”

“Maybe saving you all the time has given you the wrong idea. I’m not a gentleman.” Damian sat up and cracked his neck. “Wanna tell me what you were on last night?”

I wish I knew. My best guess was that I’d been drugged. I pressed around my hip and found the sore spot. “Not before you tell me what this is about.”

When I exposed the invisibly-inked skin, Damian’s eyes popped and darkened. From him, it was basically an audible gasp.

“This isn’t even a cheek. Since when are you prudish?”

Damian ignored me and stared.

“Are you ser—oh.” I glanced down and expected to see raised, red skin in the shape of scythes. Instead, I saw abstract shapes that now branched across the area with the dips and curls of a henna tattoo, although the lines were thinner and more intricate than I’d seen in most body art; they reminded me of the veins in a leaf. They pulsed slightly, as if alive.

The mark wasn’t hideous—it was cooler than the original, without a doubt—but my brainwaves sent out a distress signal.

Something isn’t right.

I rubbed a finger over the mark, testing to see if it would smear, but it didn’t. I slapped it a little, seeing if I could shake it away like an etch-a-sketch. Nope.

The unexpected additions tingled like harp strings made of nerves.

“Ellis.” Damian fixed a gaze on me that was carved from stone. “Tell me everything that happened last night.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I attempted to disguise the tremor of panic that had whittled into my consciousness, but it clogged my throat. My heart gave a bout of erratic thumps.

“Obviously.” Annoyance creased Damian’s forehead.

“If you keep looking at me like that, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

“If you don’t tell me what’s going on, you’re gonna get dead.”

“That’s boring. Come up with a new threat.” Giving him a hard time made me feel better, but his stone-cold features didn’t change.

On the off chance he might know what his old pals had done to me, I told him about the Illusionists’ invite, the Yule ritual in the woods, and the fae-realm trickery.

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