Kiss Me Dead
By- Dale Ibitz
Genre- New Adult Urban Fantasy/Romantic Suspense
One curse . . .
Christian, a nineteen-year-old reaper-human hybrid enslaved to the Other World to harvest souls, earns his freedom by making a bargain with the Goddess of Death. As part of the bargain, he's been cursed with the kiss of death.
One kiss . . .
The only way Christian can break his curse is for an angel to kiss him. Willingly. He finds Brooke, a nineteen-year-old descendant of a Naphil whose destiny is to hunt rogue reapers, suffocating in a semi-agoraphobic cocoon since witnessing a reaper steal her brother's soul.
Two destinies . . .
Christian has found the angel who can break his curse, and the seduction begins. To break her phobia's hold, Brooke embraces her angelic role and makes it her mission to kill rogue reapers to avenge her brother's murder. Christian can break his curse by kissing Brooke dead . . . but will she figure out his game and kill him first?
Excerpt:
"Do you think I don't know?" Giltine's tone was glacial.
"Know what?" Not only did his voice crack, it rose in pitch.
She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. Her ring froze the hairs on his face. "Do not test me, my dear Christian."
A commotion drew her attention-and her ring-from him. Two reapers dragged another through the wall.
"We've discovered a rogue," one reaper said.
Giltine advanced upon them like an enraged lioness. "How dare you?"
Her voice was almost as sharp as her hand slapping the rogue reaper's face. The rogue jerked back, but the other two reapers held her in place.
"Do not for one moment believe I do not know reapers flaunt my laws and steal souls. Do not for one moment believe an absence of watchers means you will not be discovered. Do not for one moment believe you will not be punished!"
The rogue's fear was rank on Christian's tongue. He couldn't keep his gaze from flashing to William. Grinning, his great uncle shrugged and leaned against the shack with his arms folded across his chest. At the sound of Giltine's raised voice, the other secucron had fled inside their shacks.
"Take her to the third level," she barked.
The reapers relinquished the rogue to two black-hooded disciples, who'd materialized as though they were heat-induced mirages. Christian dipped his head in order to see their faces, but all he saw were endless shadows accompanied by the stench of death, like rotting eggs. The disciples hauled the resistant rogue across the dead field.
"No!" the rogue screamed. "That'll kill me. No!"
Giltine's frustration vibrated along her spine before she took a deep breath and regained her rigidity. She spun toward him. "And you, my dear Christian, are as untrustworthy as your maggot father."
He blinked. "My … my father?"
Her nose flared. "Take my hand. Now."
The ring gleamed. He swallowed, rubbed his palms on his trousers, felt and smelled the sweat springing from beneath his arms and along his back. No, he longed to beg. Please don't make me do this.
He would not beg.
Pulling in as much air as he could, he held it and looked her in the eye. Fear gripped his heart as viciously as she gripped his fingers.
Ice flashed over his hand, scratched and bit its way up his arm, across his shoulder, crawled into his mouth and nose, scraped against his lungs. He clenched his teeth, air hissing between his lips, but every breath brought arctic air into his chest and his veins, encasing his body in agony.
The ground wavered in front of him. He crashed to his knees. He tried to drag his hand from Giltine's icy grip, but it was as though their hands had been frozen together.
His body convulsed, clenched in a rigor mortis of pain. A shriek punctured his eardrums. The shrieking went on and on and on. He longed for Giltine to put the tortured soul out of its misery so he could die in peace.
She released him. He arched his back, his lips peeled away from his teeth, eyes bulging as though his lids had frozen open, fingers bent like fish hooks. The painful spasm unclenched its grip and, gasping, he curled into a ball and opened his eyes, cracked slits in his icy face. Surprise and shock pierced his frozen senses.
The screaming came from him.
"Know what?" Not only did his voice crack, it rose in pitch.
She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. Her ring froze the hairs on his face. "Do not test me, my dear Christian."
A commotion drew her attention-and her ring-from him. Two reapers dragged another through the wall.
"We've discovered a rogue," one reaper said.
Giltine advanced upon them like an enraged lioness. "How dare you?"
Her voice was almost as sharp as her hand slapping the rogue reaper's face. The rogue jerked back, but the other two reapers held her in place.
"Do not for one moment believe I do not know reapers flaunt my laws and steal souls. Do not for one moment believe an absence of watchers means you will not be discovered. Do not for one moment believe you will not be punished!"
The rogue's fear was rank on Christian's tongue. He couldn't keep his gaze from flashing to William. Grinning, his great uncle shrugged and leaned against the shack with his arms folded across his chest. At the sound of Giltine's raised voice, the other secucron had fled inside their shacks.
"Take her to the third level," she barked.
The reapers relinquished the rogue to two black-hooded disciples, who'd materialized as though they were heat-induced mirages. Christian dipped his head in order to see their faces, but all he saw were endless shadows accompanied by the stench of death, like rotting eggs. The disciples hauled the resistant rogue across the dead field.
"No!" the rogue screamed. "That'll kill me. No!"
Giltine's frustration vibrated along her spine before she took a deep breath and regained her rigidity. She spun toward him. "And you, my dear Christian, are as untrustworthy as your maggot father."
He blinked. "My … my father?"
Her nose flared. "Take my hand. Now."
The ring gleamed. He swallowed, rubbed his palms on his trousers, felt and smelled the sweat springing from beneath his arms and along his back. No, he longed to beg. Please don't make me do this.
He would not beg.
Pulling in as much air as he could, he held it and looked her in the eye. Fear gripped his heart as viciously as she gripped his fingers.
Ice flashed over his hand, scratched and bit its way up his arm, across his shoulder, crawled into his mouth and nose, scraped against his lungs. He clenched his teeth, air hissing between his lips, but every breath brought arctic air into his chest and his veins, encasing his body in agony.
The ground wavered in front of him. He crashed to his knees. He tried to drag his hand from Giltine's icy grip, but it was as though their hands had been frozen together.
His body convulsed, clenched in a rigor mortis of pain. A shriek punctured his eardrums. The shrieking went on and on and on. He longed for Giltine to put the tortured soul out of its misery so he could die in peace.
She released him. He arched his back, his lips peeled away from his teeth, eyes bulging as though his lids had frozen open, fingers bent like fish hooks. The painful spasm unclenched its grip and, gasping, he curled into a ball and opened his eyes, cracked slits in his icy face. Surprise and shock pierced his frozen senses.
The screaming came from him.
About the Author-
Dale Ibitz was born in Connecticut, grew up in the state of Washington, and then re-located back to Connecticut as an adult, where she studied English at Central Connecticut State University. Always a lover of books, she spent much of her childhood reading, visiting the library (her best friend's mother was a librarian), and writing. In sixth grade, she placed 3rd in a writing contest, and she's never stopped.
Dale's a fan of hiking and the outdoors, seriously good writing, and she never, ever starts the day without chocolate and coffee (preferably together). Music inspires her, and she likes to listen to alternative metal.
If you were to visit Dale's house, you'd meet her husband, 2 kids, their dog Lea (most people simply refer to her as The Beast...and for good reason), their cat Luna (affectionately known as Loony Luna), and a couple of loud-beaked parakeets.
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