03 Saints by Lynnie Purcell

conversation from here?” he asked.
    “I sort of like a little bit of distance between us,” I said.
    “Fair enough,” he said.
    Sensing my distrust of what I couldn’t see, he took a single step closer, so that the moon shone directly on his face and illuminated his features. His features were strong, well-built. He had long black hair he kept pulled back into a tight knot and thick eyebrows, which gave him a perpetually dark expression. His eyes were a color of silver that pierced the dark with their intensity. He was wearing a black t-shirt and black pants. He had a necklace on that looked like dog tags and was heavily armed. He had a knife on his right hip, a gun on his left. I could tell the obvious weapons weren’t the only weapons he had. I realized I was out-gunned and possibly out-skilled, but he hadn’t chosen to use his weapons or his skills on me. It was confusing, but I was cautiously optimistic. Something about him was familiar. The way he held himself and the way he carried cool confidence in the depths of eyes reminded me someone, though I had trouble placing the name. I realized, too, that none of the Watchers I had met in the pit had looked like him. He was something different – possibly another threat, but different.
    “My name is Reaper,” he said.
    The knife in my hand lowered slightly at his words. I let out an involuntary laugh at the ridiculousness of his name. Reaper? Really?
    He eyed me with a curious expression on his face. He couldn’t figure out what was so funny about his introduction. I could tell he wasn’t used to people laughing at him for so little.
    “What?” he asked.
    “Your name is Reaper? Here, we have the ferryman of souls himself, come to take the dead to their final resting place! Better not mess with Reaper, because it’s a one way trip to the river of the damned! It’s very terrifying,” I said dryly.
    “You don’t think it’s scary?” he asked, hurt by my words.
    “No, no, I’m sure people are very scared by it,” I said.
    He smiled at my tone of voice. “There are some who have learned to fear it…May I continue?” he asked.
    “Sure,” I agreed, trying to keep the amused smirk off my face.
    “My group, which I am a founding member of, was involved in an encounter last night. We were getting one of our own out of a sticky situation. One of our lookouts saw you take a dive into the water, and my ship fished you out of the water. We thought you were one of Lorian’s, but the person we had come to rescue identified you as a prisoner. We patched you up, and here we are.”
    “Are you Darian’s people?” I asked.
    It was the only thing that made sense to me. The brothers, Darian and Lorian, had been fighting each other for longer than most Watchers had been alive. No one knew what started the war, but all Watchers ended up feeling its effects eventually. My escape attempt had gotten mixed up in one of the brothers’ battles.
    “Nope,” Reaper said, surprising me.
    “Then, why…”
    I searched for the proper way to ask what I was doing here. It didn’t make sense that other Watchers would have dared attack Lorian. No one did. It was risky and dangerous. It was foolish, because Lorian was better equipped, better funded, and infinitely more dangerous than any group I had come to know about beyond Darian, and, of course, Marcus. I felt my heart drop. Had Marcus’ people found me? I knew they weren’t above healing me to try and trick me somehow. My suspicion showed on my face. Reaper smiled slightly and explained in that same soothing voice.
    “We are the Saints. We like to think of ourselves as freedom fighters, though that term has been used too often by people not really interested in freedom. What we do is protect those who don’t wish to be a part of the war, and we fight those who wish to take our freedom from us.”
    His words were magnetic, hard to disbelieve. I wasn’t sure if he really believed what he was saying or was the world’s