Layla loved when the world went dark and the city became hers to command. Shadows clung to every corner, creating perfect pockets of darkness to lurk in. Normally, Layla would stay close to the ground, weaving in and out of the shadows, but tonight she stood above the gloom.
She kneeled on the edge of the roof. The toe of her boot scraped the low wall that stood between her and a massive drop as she watched the pedestrians scattered around the streets below, their shouts and whistles ringing up through the air. Even this high up, Layla felt like one of the masses.
The roof shook beneath her feet with the rumblings of a party just below. Lights poured out of the skylight and they lit up the low-hanging clouds.
“Good lord,” Mei said behind her. “One of these days, they’re going to collapse the whole building.”
“It’s not a party if there’s no blood,” Layla muttered. She backed away from the edge of the roof and turned to look at her clanmate. Mei, like Layla, was dressed to blend into the night, black clothes clinging to her slim frame. The wind blew a few strands of Mei’s dark hair into her face; as she swiped them away, Layla could see her hand shaking slightly.
Layla frowned. “You should really go back to the lair—”
“No, we need to get this over with. And I find it insulting that you think I cannot control my hunger,” Mei said sharply. The shadows beneath her eyes stretched so deeply, they looked almost purple. What used to be delicate veins barely visible beneath her skin now bulged against her neck and hands, black and bitter with the need to feed. Mei bit her lower lip, and her fangs pierced it, drawing blood.
Layla narrowed her eyes. “You know Valeriya hates when we wait this long to feed—”
“And she hates not settling debts even more,” Mei hissed. She began to say more, but the air filled with a new scent. It was fresh and human, tinged with a bit of raw apprehension. Both girls straightened their stances and listened for steps coming up the fire escape ladder. One by one, six men climbed on to the roof and approached them.
Layla studied the lapels of their black coats for their gang affiliation until she saw the diamond tattoos on their necks just above their collars. They were one of the smaller gangs and tended to use excessive violence to prove a point. In a city rampant with organized crime and most gangs bootlegging liquor, territories crossed often. Today, the Diamond Dealers had a blood dispute with the Harlem reapers. But Layla wasn’t going to let them take anything back from her clan.
The one who was clearly the leader tipped his hat brim lower and spread his hands by his sides. “Where’s our money?”
Layla lifted a brow. “Good evening to you too,” she said.
The gang leader let out a sharp laugh. “No, it’s not a good evening, because if it was, I would have my money. When you hunt my men, you pay up. Blood for blood. That’s how it works.”
Mei glared. “We did not hunt on your territory. If reapers killed your men, they were rogue and not of any clan. Certainly not ours,” she spat.
The gangster moved his coat back and pulled out a silver revolver. The rest of his men stepped forward, brandishing their own weapons. Mei remained quiet by her side, though agitated and trembling.
“I could pay your clan leader a visit. But that didn’t go well last time, did it? She delivered your reaper friend’s head to me as payment for their crimes.”
Layla winced. Sometimes Valeryia turned to violence to settle debts when a reaper had killed someone they shouldn’t have.
“This is your last chance. Pay up, or I shoot,” the man snarled,
The odds of him having Saint steel in his gun were slim. Most gangster’s guns were illegally acquired and not specially made with a metal that could actually kill reapers. The Saints sold their bullets for excessively premium prices if they sold to gangsters at all. But regardless of the type of bullet these men had, getting shot would hurt.
Neither Layla nor Mei had money. The best they could do was sell out whichever clanmate had crossed the gangster’s boundaries, but even that was risky. She glanced out at the glittering skyline. Music from the party downstairs still thrummed beneath their feet, making Layla consider the way life carried on despite the atrocities that took place every day.
As Mei lifted a hand to speak, the gang leader pulled the trigger. White light exploded around them, sending Mei stumbling back. The scent of blood filled the air, metallic and bitter.
Layla turned to see Mei pressing her hand to her chest. To a gaping wound right over her heart.
A sinister smile cracked Mei’s lips and she lifted a cold stare back to the gang leader as she lowered her hand, letting the blood spill. Layla caught the moment Mei’s hunger took over her senses, her eyes going black. She tried to reach for Mei, to stop her, but her clanmate shot forward and pounced on the gang leader.
His blood sprayed as he fell back, and his gun went off, the bullet downing one of his men. The chaos broke out in full as the other men rushed at Mei. But her fangs sank into the throat of the next man to reach her. As a reaper, she was already much faster than a human. But while starving, she was an apex predator, spilling blood her only impulse. In only a few moments, she had taken down three more of the Diamond Dealers.
Layla watched calmly, her arms folded. A starved reaper bred carnage, and she knew intervening while Mei drank her weight in blood would only result in a bloodier battle. She surveyed the bloodbath with vague interest, taking note of each man that fell. But her breath caught when she realized the sixth man wasn’t among the dying. Layla raced to the edge of the roof to find him, bleeding and panting, making his way down the fire escape. He glanced up at her and his foot slipped, sending him crashing down the ladder. His hand scrambled to catch one of the last rungs before he could plummet to the dark alley below.
Layla leapt from the roof and landed hard on the first platform, rattling the metal ladder. Her eyes glinted in the moonlight, and she saw the fear flash across the gangster’s face. The smell of his blood filled the air, the wound at his side dripping over his shoes and into the darkness below. Layla’s fangs pierced her gums as they emerged.
“Help me, and I will let your clan go,” the man gritted out.
Amusement lifted the corners of Layla’s lips. “I think I’ll be the one letting you go tonight.” She stomped the heel of her boot onto the man’s fingers. Layla watched him fall, his screams ending in a satisfying choking noise. She hurried down the fire escape, forgoing the final ladder to jump down the rest of the way.
Her bones rattled as she hit the ground, but an electric adrenaline lit her veins at the overpowering scent of human blood. Heat rolled beneath her skin, her body tingling at the thought of the pure human life source running down her throat.
The gangster lay before her in a bloody heap. His breath left him in wet rattles, which only quickened as Layla stepped up to him. She kneeled and pressed her knee into his spine. A pained gurgle left him. Layla almost relished it. But the sound of footsteps approaching had her leaning down and covering his mouth with her hand.
The faint voices grew louder as two young women walked down the alley. Layla could sense their innocence: young blood and desperation all rolled into one. Blood spurted from the gangster’s mouth, slipping between her fingers and coating her hand.
“You know nothing,” one girl was saying. “I can’t believe you’re going to France to see Swan Lake, and you don’t even know who wrote it.”
Layla crouched in a pool of moonlight. As soon as the girls reached this part of the alley, they’d spot her if they looked over.
The other girl scoffed, “You don’t know either.”
“I do.”
“Who is it, then?”
Just then, the two girls stepped into the moonlight, and Layla let out a rough laugh. The girls stopped. As Layla stood, their gazes slid over her.
“Tchaikovsky,” Layla said.
She lifted a bloody hand to her lips and shushed them, her smile revealing her fangs.
Shrieking, the two girls ran out of the alley.
Layla watched with a bitter smirk. Only a few years ago, that had been her, whispering to her best friend about the roles she dreamed to dance in ballet. Now she stood over a dead gangster, her hands bloody from a fight she hadn’t started.
Layla stood and looked up to the roof and shouted, “Mei!” No response. Sighing, Layla hauled herself back up the fire escape and onto the roof. She was met with a bloodbath that had somehow grown since she left it. Blood covered nearly every inch of the rooftop and had even splattered on the illuminated glass of the skylight. Mei was at the center of it all, her body limp and trembling.
She looked up as Layla approached. Blood smeared across her face and trickled from her mouth. Her fangs still protruded, their points digging into her lower lip. The usual dark brown of her eyes was glazed over with a golden sheen, her irises almost entirely black even in the moonlight. Her shirt was tattered and saturated with blood where she had been shot, but the wound was already mostly healed. Still, Mei swayed on her hands and knees, bloodlust ravaging her.
“I told you so,” Layla hissed. “Now I have to drag you home so you can sleep this off.”
Mei’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she collapsed.
Layla groaned. She bent to lift her clanmate into her arms. While the night had taken an unexpected turn, Layla had to admit Mei had done them a favor, despite how risky they left the scene. Their clan would be debt-free and no one’s target. For now.
Dawn light spilled across the floor like blood, its hues tinted red from the early sun. The other side of the bed was cold, but the smell of still-drying blood lingered on the sheets. Layla sat up at the harsh sounds of retching coming from her bathroom. “Mei,” she called, getting to her feet. A nearby mirror showed bags hanging around her eyes, her dark skin failing to hide the blue marks beneath them. Despite having fed recently, she looked half-starved with her bloodshot eyes and nearly black irises. Their usual golden color had darkened to nearly black. There was no way she would be able to pass as a human, which would make today’s tasks difficult.
After scraping her honey-brown curls into a decent braid down her back, Layla pushed past her brain fog to deal with her sick clanmate. She nudged the bathroom door open and stopped in the doorway. Mei slumped over the toilet, her spine curved while she gagged.
Layla’s nose wrinkled at the scent of old rotten blood. She clenched her teeth, fangs almost piercing her gums when Mei turned to face her. Her lips were dark red, eyes bloodshot. Clumps of spoiled blood clung to her chin. Layla sighed. “What did we learn from last night, Mei?” she muttered.
Mei dragged a hand across her mouth and stood, spitting. “Kill a whole gang to get a proper feast.”
A sharp laugh left Layla, but she didn’t smile. “Valeriya won’t be happy.”
“Valeriya is never happy,” Mei muttered. “We should’ve brought her a gangster’s heart. Maybe that would keep her quiet.”
“You ruined them all.” Layla glared. Their clan leader was prickly on a good day. But she was bound to show that icy ire they knew all too well when she found out about Mei’s bloodlust-driven rampage from last night. They were lucky she had not been home when they arrived last night.
Layla tossed a towel at Mei, then stalked away. “You owe me new sheets.” Her bed was a disaster. Blood soaked the side Mei had slept on, and there were tears in the bedding that Layla had only just noticed. Upon closer inspection, she realized there were rips down to the mattress. “You also owe me a new mattress,” Layla grumbled.
Mei emerged from the bathroom, rolling her eyes. “If I hunt for you for a week, will you forget it?”
Layla rolled her eyes. “That is a bold offer from someone who just killed an entire gang and would benefit from laying low for at least a month.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Harlem is better off without the Diamond Dealers running around. Less people to make us their enemies. And now we have their territory,” Mei said, pushing her shoulder-length black hair behind her ears. “My instincts saved us an extra payment to the Cotton Club this month.”
Layla lifted a brow. “As long as you understand that murder will not fix everything, I can let this go.”
Mei scoffed. “You’re one to talk.”
Like most nightclubs, The Cotton Club looked rather lifeless in the daytime. The floors gleamed with fresh polish, the air heavy with its scent when Layla and Mei walked in before a long-limbed young blond man stopped them in the foyer.
“You know better than to walk in here, Quinn.”
Layla knew this gangster: Jamie Kelly, leader of one of Harlem’s biggest gangs, the Crooks. Because most people hated them, reapers and gangsters had more allies in each other than with anyone else. Lawless and thirsty for violence, they shared similar territories. But boundaries persisted. Segregation prevented shifting loyalties between reapers and humans and racial mixing.
Jamie blocked the doorway to the club, arms crossed while he stared Layla down. “Your clan still owes dues from last month.”
Mei glared at him. “We’ve brought our final payment. We won’t be needing your territory to hunt on anymore.”
Jamie glanced sideways at Mei. “Do you know something about the Dealers getting killed?”
Layla nudged her elbow into Mei’s gut to keep her from saying more. The girl had been a reaper for nearly a decade longer, but when it came to instincts and maturity, Mei might as well have been a baby reaper. At times, Layla felt more like her guardian than her friend.
“Look, we heard about the Dealers,” Layla said, passing him a wad of bills. “So until some other gang moves in, that territory is free for us.”
“Fine,” Jamie muttered. “Is that all?”
Layla cocked a brow at Jamie. “Tell Giana to come home. Valeriya wants a word with her.”
“Anything else, Your Majesty?” The slightest hint of amusement clung to Jamie’s words and for a moment, he actually looked his age. Layla couldn’t imagine how he’d become such a cold gangster at only twenty. He was only two years older than her, but he had already racked up a reputation and body count that had most people scared to approach him. Layla didn’t fear him—as a reaper, she didn’t fear much, since she was able to rip out the throat of anyone as easily as one might peel an orange. But the law was different for gangsters than it was for reapers. Gangsters worked either outside it, or through it, bribing authorities and threading their business ties to corrupt and powerful judges. They flirted with the law and liked the bite of its warning. To appear in the newspaper was an accomplishment for a gangster, as it only made them more notorious and widely revered. But for reapers, any attention was closer to a death sentence. With hunters constantly out for them, laying low was a part of their existence.
Growing up, Layla had been taught to fear reapers and curse them with the same fury a Christian might condemn the devil with. Never did she anticipate becoming one.
“Tell Giana yourself.” Jamie knocked on the backstage door, calling for her friend. When Giana emerged, she looked skinnier than ever, with a dazed look on her face. Her big brown eyes were ringed with black eyeliner and silver eye shadow that matched her fringe dress. With one look at the dark bags under her eyes and the blue veins that bulged on her temples, Layla could tell Giana was overdue for a feeding.
“You need to come home at some point, Giana.” Layla noticed the chalky tone of Giana’s usually radiant brown skin. “And go hunt.”
Giana’s lip curled. “Since when did you start commanding me?”
“I’m the only one who sticks around enough to listen to Valeriya and relay her messages. Maybe if you returned to the lair more often, you would have a better standing with the clan,” Layla said coldly.
“Well, I’m not interested in letting this condition hold me back from my dreams. I refuse to let my life be dictated by such bullshit. At least some of us should still lead a normal life, right? Otherwise our existence is in vain,” Giana muttered.
The words stirred a deep fury in Layla. Every good part of her life had been stolen from her by her reaperhood—an affliction dealt to her by the hands of someone she had once trusted. For years she had trained her anger to cool, but it was impossible to put aside an event that had changed her life forever. She still wanted to make the Saints pay for what they had done to her.
But she hated when other reapers tried to act like their lives were normal. There was nothing normal about their tendencies, or the way they were made. Layla was sick of the delusion.
“Mei had an incident. So you need to be extra careful around here, because we cannot afford any more slipups,” Layla said through gritted teeth.
Giana’s eyes darkened. “Everyone knows about Mei. Jamie’s men have been whispering about it all morning. She’s the only one in danger.”
Layla took a deep breath, forcing the rise of anger back down. “We all stick together. Whatever happens to one reaper affects us all. You know this. No one here has your back. Did it ever occur to you how twisted it is to be hired by a club that wants to profit from your talents, but won’t allow your own people to be your audience?”
“I must support myself somehow. If I need to dance for the whites, then I will.” Giana petted the thick white fur pelt that hung across her shoulders, over her dazzling dress.
Irritation clawed up Layla’s spine. But she bit back a sharp response and sighed. “Just come home sometime today.”
After Giana had disappeared backstage, Layla turned back to Jamie, who was watching her and Mei with twinkling blue eyes. “Anything else you need to tell us, Jamie?”
A muscle popped in his cheek as he threw her a sidelong look. Jamie reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick piece of paper. On it was the unmistakable Saint seal: the lotus flower and North Star. “The Saint empire’s ten-year celebration. I thought you might want to know. You know, because of your little vendetta.” Jamie grinned at Layla.
She wanted to smack the smile off his face. “Why do you have this?” Layla demanded.
Jamie shrugged. “My men have more connections than you know of, Quinn. I would worry about what this anniversary means for your little clan.”
If normal humans hated reapers, then the Saints had a blood oath with the devil to keep reapers contained. For years they’d been allied with the New York City police to control the reaper population. Though these days it seemed less about control and more about eradication. And Layla had known the Saints, back when her parents were still alive. She had been close enough to Elise once that she was practically considered a member of the Saint family. That was before everything went to hell.
Sometimes she still woke up screaming in fury, from dreams where blood coated her hands after hunting Elise down. The night they’d separated was still fresh in Layla’s mind even if it had happened years ago. Her heart had never healed. And she hoped Elise’s never did either.