Page 16 of A Vow of Shadows

In a flash, I was blinded again. I squinted against the sudden brightness as every candle, sconce, and chandelier sparked to life. A loud bang had me spinning to find the Ferrier standing behind me, the door at his back now firmly closed. Though the room glowed with newfound light, shadows continued to snake around his black-clad form.

For a moment, we only stared at one another. At least, I thought he was staring at me. He remained motionless while facing my direction, and I could only assume his thoughts mirrored my own. This was our new reality. For the next year of our lives, I would be here, invading his space and demanding his protection. And for what? A mere pittance of a reward.

I hoped he wasn’t having second thoughts because there was no way I was returning home to wait for Death.

“Neat trick,” I said, gesturing to the lights around us. “I wasn’t aware you could control light, or is it flame?”

“Darkness is mine to control. I can call it.” The Ferrier lifted a hand and darkness fell. “And I can take it away.”

My eyes stung at the sudden return of the light. I turned in place, finally able to take in the sheer majesty of the Ferrier’s home.

“This is where you live?”

“Allow me to make one thing clear, Miss Fil’Owen. I do notlive. I do not age. I merely exist. This manor is where I choose to reside during my time between harvesting the souls of the dead. It is not a life.”

I blinked at the dramatic assessment of his situation. I was no expert on social skills, but his were non-existent. “So, this is where youexist?” There was no hiding the note of teasing in my voice, and I had to question my sanity at the choice to mock the Reaper.

His focus remained fixed on me. I squirmed under his scrutiny and turned my attention to the grandeur around us. Though shrouded in a gloom that matched its master’s countenance, the manor boasted an understated opulence that put my family home to shame.

Two enormous windows flanked me, draped in pleated, damask curtains that pooled on the floor. My fingers itched to push them aside, some innate part of me already longing for the sweet caress of daylight. The many flickering candelabra and sconces did little to improve the somber mood of the place.

The Ferrier had not moved when my eyes found him again, and I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.

Did he see a young woman with unruly brown hair and an upturned nose? Did he see someone filled with hope for the future? Did he see a soul worth saving? Or did he—like everyone else—see the shadows that marked my skin and nothing else?

Whereas most people I knew were repulsed by my mark, I could see how they might call to him. Had he seen something of himself in those shadows? Would my shadows be his to control like all others?

I blinked, hoping that realization was as far-fetched as it sounded. Surely, if my shadows fell under his command, he would have already tested that power. Right?

The silence thickened with unanswered questions.

“Well, then…” I trailed off, unsure what the proper social etiquette was for engaging in conversation with the demon you’re paying to save your life.

My words hit their mark, breaking the reaper from his trance. He shook his head as though dispelling an errant thought. The human gesture settled my nerves, making me braver than I had any right to be.

“Aren’t you going to take that off?” I asked, indicating his cloak.

He tilted his head to the side in a distinctly inhuman motion. “Are you so eager to see what lies beneath?”

“It can’t be any worse than this?” Tucking my hair behind my ear felt like being possessed by someone else. I never made a show of revealing my mark, yet I’d done exactly that twice now for the Ferrier. Each time, I grew more amazed at his lack of reaction, even ifthistime I’d been hoping for some acknowledgment of my attempted levity.

Perhaps I’d offended him. I’d meant it as a joke, but I didn’t care what he looked like. I only wished to know the man beneath the faceless demon veneer.

I opened my mouth to apologize for my insensitivity, but it snapped shut as the reaper stepped forward, tugging at the edges of his hood. It was only as he neared that I realized he was keeping the light from penetrating his cover as he stepped closer to the candlelight—closer to me.

“Understand, Miss Fil’Owen—”

“Call me Kat,” I interjected, immediately regretting my outburst. “Please,” I amended, but the damage was already done.

Disdain rippled off him like the shadows that pooled between our feet. I bit my tongue, and the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.

“Miss Fil’Owen.”

I flinched at the Ferrier’s emphasis of my proper name.

“We are not friends. This is not a holiday. It is a business arrangement.” His voice was a growl I felt deep in my belly. “As such, there are certain expectations I have for this situation.”

He paused, and my head bobbed in agreement. I was at his mercy. Whatever rules he had for this arrangement, I had to accept or face the reality of returning to my cursed life.