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From New York Times bestselling author Donna Grant comes another gripping story in her Reaper series featuring a brotherhood of elite assassins who wage war on the Fae at Death’s behest—and the women who dare to love them.
There is no escaping a Reaper. They are elite assassins, part of a brotherhood that only answers to Death. And when Death says a Fae’s time is up, they are who she sends…
The Fae Others think they have me in their grip, but little do they know that I’m working as a double agent. My alliance now lies with the Reapers and Death, and it is my mission and duty to destroy the malignant organization before their rot spreads. Unfortunately, a surprise splits my focus—a more than welcome one. I never thought to reunite with my lost true love. And now that I have, I must find a way to shelter her from the evil Six and convince my new friends that she’s not a threat. Admittedly, there is some doubt. How can there not be? But I trust her. And I haven’t seen her, held her, kissed her for centuries. I loved her then, will love her always, and will do whatever it takes to keep her by my side for as long as we have. Her cunning and courage hold me captive, and our passion knows no bounds. If only the timing were better—and the world safer.Amazon | B&N | Apple Books | Google Play | Audible | Audiobooks.com | Author Site | Goodreads
He was fucked. There was no getting around that. Any way he looked, every idea he had, fell apart like mist that vanished with the sun.
Ruarc paused in his wandering of the streets and watched the bright streaks of red and orange in the sky. It was a beautiful sunrise. Any other day, he might have taken it as a good omen. But he knew truths now that he hadn’t before. Truths that changed everything.
The rage inside him threatened to explode. He wanted to hurt something. No. He wanted to tear the limbs from the six individuals who had put him in this tenuous position—the Six. There was only one outcome for him. He didn’t fear death. He dreaded everything he would leave behind.
Ruarc leaned a shoulder against a building and dropped his head into his hands. Emotion, viscous and cloying, choked him. He might feel better if he could let out a bellow, slam his fist into a wall, or…something. But he couldn’t. Those who controlled whether his family lived or died watched him. One wrong move, and those he loved could be taken from him. He’d once given up everything for them. How could he let anything happen to his family now?
He lifted his head. Dublin never truly slept. No city did. The dawning of a new day sent the seedier individuals to their holes to await the night, while other opportunistic people began filling the streets. Ruarc didn’t know which he found more abhorrent.
Fae milled among the mortals—Dark and Light, alike. Some Dark didn’t bother hiding their red eyes or their silver-streaked black hair. In this day and age, where humans sported various hair colors and eye shades thanks to contacts, no one paid them any heed. Though mortals were unconsciously drawn to the Fae. Ruarc rarely walked amid humans without lowering his power so they didn’t gather around him. Some Fae got off on having that kind of control over mortals. He never had. He found it a nuisance. It made the humans look weak. No other being reacted to the Fae the way they did. And to most Fae, who were egomaniacs, it gave them a god complex.
Ruarc didn’t hate humans. But he didn’t like them, either. They were simply a part of Earth. Just as the Dragon Kings were. If Ruarc had his preference, he’d be back on the Fae Realm, not having to deal with mortals or the Kings.
But he wasn’t on the Fae Realm. He was on Earth.
“In fekking Hell,” he murmured.
As the morning progressed, the tourists began filling the streets. They were oblivious to the threats walking alongside them. His gaze locked on a woman, staring at him. She had her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail that looked as if she had slept in it. For some unknown reason, mortals thought that was a good look for them. They were wrong.
She was a twenty-something in jeans, a white t-shirt, and white sneakers. It was how she stared at him that got his attention. It didn’t take Ruarc long to realize that this wasn’t just any human. The woman was a Druid.
But why was she staring at him?
Druids were all over the world, but the strongest of them resided on the Isle of Skye. It wasn’t an oddity to find a Druid walking the streets of Dublin. What bothered him was the way she observed him. He quirked a brow, daring her to come closer. She dropped her gaze, and a heartbeat later, turned and walked away.
Ruarc almost followed her. Almost. In the end, he didn’t care that she had been staring. So what if she knew he was Fae? Most Druids’ magic had been diluted through the generations, which meant many hardly had any left. Every once in a while, one was born with significant power and had no idea what it was or how to use it. However, Ruarc had more pressing concerns than the Druids.
He turned his thoughts from the human and back to the matter at hand. The fuckery he was currently mired in. He sighed loudly. His first thought was to run far and fast. If only that were an option. His life wasn’t the one on the line, though. It was his family’s.
Ruarc ran a hand down his face and pushed away from the building to continue walking. He had no destination in mind. It wouldn’t matter if he did. The Others would find him. They always did.
“Fek,” he said as his anxiety rose.
He didn’t only have the Others watching him. Now, there were the Reapers.
“Fekking Reapers,” he said with a shake of his head.
He’d believed that Rordan was his friend. It had been so long since Ruarc had found someone he thought he could trust. In the end, he’d discovered that Rordan had the biggest secret of all. He was a Reaper. It explained so much about his actions on Achill Island. Rordan had been undercover. He hadn’t cared a whit about anyone or anything but his mission.
Even if Ruarc wanted to turn to Rordan for help now, he couldn’t chance it—not that the Reapers would help him.
Ruarc didn’t look around to see if anyone followed. He knew he was being trailed. His every action scrutinized. He’d never hated anyone more than he did the Six who governed the Fae Others. They wanted power. And they didn’t care who died for them to obtain it.