Reaper's Justice by Sarah McCarty

anything but war heroes lost to who they used to be?
    She glanced to his right hand, where that “something” still gleamed. She licked her lips and reconsidered. They could also be exactly what rumor said they were. Lethal monsters of the night who only allowed the townspeople to live for reasons yet to be explained. She’d been comfortable, caught between the two beliefs, making her own compromise by putting the food out and darting back into the house and immediately locking her doors.
    In all honesty, she’d never expected to come face-to-face with a Reaper. Yet she was riding with one and here in front of her stood another, the man who’d lurked around her home. His name was Isaiah. Her rescuer. He needed a bath and a shave and he wasn’t the most talkative, but he’d still come for her. Risked his life for her. She owed him for that.
    She forced a tentative smile to her stiff lips. His response was another growl. She leaned back against the man behind her. She didn’t owe him that much.
    “I think I’ll stick with you.” Like a burr. Isaiah was one scary man.
    “Oh no, you don’t.” Billings pushed her forward and to the side.
    She grabbed for the saddle horn before she could slide off. He pushed harder. She held tighter, aware that at any moment he could get serious and toss her to the ground. Just the thought of rolling in the dirt turned her stomach. The thought of being that close to the compelling, terrifying Isaiah upset it more.
    “I’m not getting killed over a bit of fluff,” Billings bit out, keeping the pressure on.
    Never in her life had she been called fluff, and if she wasn’t hanging on for dear life to the saddle horn, she would have slapped him.
    There was another snarl and then hands were at her waist, taking the choice from her. She screamed, let go of the horn, and jabbed back with her elbow. Pain ricocheted up her arm. It felt like she’d hit a rock. This time she screamed because it hurt. Jerking her other hand free of her pocket, she lashed out again. Her worry stone bounced off her toe. Twisting, she grabbed for it, catching a glimpse of her captor from the corner of her eye. She blinked when she realized it was Isaiah who had her. How had he gotten to her so fast?
    She stopped struggling, her gaze locked to where her stone had most likely fallen. “Let me go, damn you.”
    She couldn’t see her stone in the gloom. She needed the stone—it was the only thing left of her former life.
    Another growl, this time in her ear. It should have scared her but it sounded too familiar. Too right. Goose bumps skittered down her arm.
    “Take it easy, Jones,” Billings said. “All I did was keep her safe until you calmed down.”
    From Isaiah’s snarl, he had no interest in being peaceable about anything. Yet strangely, Adelaide wasn’t afraid. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t detect any threat in the hands holding her so tightly that it was hard to breathe. Just a certain possessive determination. Cole had held her the same way when he’d found her living in that Indian camp after two years of searching. People only held people that way when they mattered to them.
    “Maybe we should have kept riding,” she gasped, trying to see Billings’s eyes beneath his hat as Isaiah backed slowly away.
    “I told you to trust me.”
    She had to try. Of the two, Billings seemed the more stable. “I trust you now.”
    “Too late.” Billings backed the horse up.
    Traitor.
    “He’s all yours.”
    “What am I supposed to do with him?” She wasn’t even sure he was sane.
    “My suggestion would be to do whatever you’re told.”
    “Of course,” she huffed. She had yet to meet a male who didn’t think following a man’s lead wasn’t the best course of action.
    “I’m serious.”
    “You do what you want.”
    She blinked. The voice was low and gravelly, as if from lack of use.
    Isaiah’s hands were like vises on her ribs, squeezing the breath from her. At least he was not