The Reaper's Card

"WINTER IS COMING! And it promises to be severe this year. Get your cashmere frostwears for cheap, little as five coppers for ye—only at Madame De Villiers. Offer stands only to the first snowfall. Winter is coming! Winter is coming! Get your winter clothes. Thicken your wardrobes!"

It was a little boy who walked around, ringing his bells and calling his announcement to the many people that threaded through the stalls of the Farmer's market. It was open season in the quaint village of Gūndlheim. The boy worked to get people to go into the Madame's fitting shop and purchase the necessary clothes change for the season.

Being a town situated closer up north, Gūndlheim had been first in line to the cold blizzards that had begun to blow up from the coast. Lakes were too frigid now to swim in and in the passing months, would freeze over. Luckily, the townies didn't have to bother about the Bone Huntress plucking them off in the forest.

They had their patronage to the Earl of Emberfall to thank for that. Thus, their village's little Farmer's market had reopened.

Corazón was riding through, her carriage filled with drawers of winter raiments. As Chamberlain of the Manor, she was tasked with these duties. The good Madame De Villiers was currently now waving her away as she took the route to the woody path that led onwards to Emberfall.

Safely tucked between loads of comfy knitwork that was guaranteed to keep them warm throughout the winter season, Cora sighed and relaxed into the carriage as it rumbled on. She spoke softly to the tiny helping fairy that had accompanied her on the shopping spree—a glowing pink-haired Tinkerbell.

"It's been three days since His Grace was crowned King of the Atlantean Colonies, you know. Lord BlüdThïrste has come a long way since ascending Hel to the mortal realm without his prowess or prestige of being Apollyon to aid. Yet, he has succeeded.

His Grace is a powerful man. I just hope he'll like the clothes we've bought for him. After all, Madame De Villiers is the best seamstress in the North. I heard she made garments for the royal family of Frostholm before their deposition.

His Grace is intelligent in acquiring the Empire for himself, one sumptuous piece at a time. First, he owns the armies of Rocasus, an elite host of a military state. Now, he's just being named Lord Husband of the Water Queen, Yemaya. Our Master might be Earl, but just in title only. He is King and Commander of a host in truth.

His Grace is brilliant. Just brilliant!"

Cora kept smiling until the carriage pulled up to the eerie gates of Emberfall. The grounds were extra creepy with cold mist sweeping along the dark grass from all sides. It whispered up the pruned gardens and verdant orchards and underground dungeons—still holding the pale-eyed Huntress, Annabelle.

Rafel figured he could keep her as long as he wanted. She was an Immortal. When he felt like it, he would summon her into his chambers to grill her with questions about the truths to her legend. For the moment, he thought to entertain himself. He ranked in the [Third Celestial Circle]. He fucking earned some entertainment.

The moment Cora pushed in through the high doors of the Manor, she was instantly confronted with Rafel's version of 'entertainment'.

Rafel was in the Lounge area adjacent the grand foyer. Ravenna and Aya were at his sides on a long platinum sofa. And they seemed to be playing cards.

But not just any Game of Cards.

The occult kind.

Cora paused in the foyer, her pink lips stretching wider.

"Cora, come join us! We are just about to go a new round of murder!" Ravenna inclined her hand, beckoning to the Chamberlain.

"Just a moment, Raven!" Cora's blue eyes twinkled as she called back. She then turned to the fairy from the carriage, still faithfullly following behind. She dished out instructions for the shopping.

"Mia?"

"Yes, Governess!" The fairy buzzed her wings to perch near Cora's ears.

"—work with Menelaus, our visiting Ghostrider from Her Eminence to get the bags and boxes into the house. Since Lady Lilith has kept him here with us for the time being, he might as well be useful. After all, he's got muscles like a Mauler.

Section the clothes into our various rooms. Mistress Naamah's is the one with all the silver lingerie. His Grace's is the darker, goth one. Ravenna has the green coach. Please keep Menelaus out of Aya's bedchamber. We don't want him picking up any of her panties now!"

"Yes, Governess. Will do!" Mia chirped and buzzed away. Her tiny wings left a trail of pollen fairy dust in her wake.

Satisfied with concluding the winter shopping for the entire Manor, Cora swept around on her boots and moved for the Lounge. Spiral glass windows casted haloed golden light from the candles on her tight-fitting pants as she sashayed in. She added a little wiggle to her hips—just for Rafel's eyes.

She was happy when he indulged his eyes.

"How was your outing? Shopping go alright?" Aya asked.

"Mmhmm. We're good for winter." Cora nodded.

The succubus was sprawled halfway across Rafel's lap on the wide silver sofa, and his large hands kneaded her big ass. Ravenna was on the other side of him, spooning his other arm. Cora took Ravenna's side but didn't sit on the sofa. She sat on the maldivian carpet and scooted to rest her back on the couch.

Her blue eyes kissed at the sliver of golden skin peeking out the undone top button of Rafel's gray shirt. The sleeves were rolled also and Ravenna's legs were curled up around his forearm.

The Hell Lord, alias Atlantean King was surrounded in females. And it made him the more delicious to the three women.

"So, what game exactly are we playing?" Cora dropped her head to Ravenna's foot and asked.

Aya began to reply. "Well, we started with Chess—"

"But Chess is fucking dull when you're always horny." Rafel spanked the pretty slave over him.

Aya squirmed, jerking and giggling.

Ravenna smiled and continued for her, "so we're playing Deadman's Hand now."

Cora blinked.

"Deadman's Hand?"

Ravenna unfurled from Rafel's forearm. He rubbed her ankles as she leaned in to explain to Cora.

"I didn't know it either at first. Only His Grace and Aya did. Apparently, Deadman's Hand is a big deal in Hel. Everyone plays it down there. It's basically your slightly sick version of Hide and Seek—except it all starts with cards."

Ravenna reached for the stack of black cards on the small table before them. She began to shuffle expertly—no doubt a ghost reaction from her days working the pubs along the coast.

"See here. . . these cards are the opening deal. We have arty characters: the Joker, the Knight, the Cardinal, the Abbot, the Sorceress, the Harlot, the Farmer, the Queen, the Executioner, the Demon, the Narrator. . .you get it. But the bad guy's The Reaper.

As the cards are dealt, everyone has to hide their character in a clandestine manner, only to be revealed at death. The Reaper does the killing. We hide—even though we don't know who the Reaper fucking is. It could be the person next to you in the store or basement. That's the fucking high of it!

The fear.

The anticipation.

The mystery.

And the big reveal.

Boo! The killer comes to get you!"

Cora shivered slightly on the thick rug and Aya chuckled over Rafel's lap. Ravenna was doing a stellar impression of being ridiculously grave. Cora involuntarily grabbed the edge of Rafel's slacks. She had never considered herself particularly fearful, but in a mansion like Emberfall, horror was real.

"The Reaper's card is the king of the stack. He controls the fright. A good game can stretch on for hours. And the Reaper's win level is determined by his streak of his successful murders before two of the other characters merge to take him out.

The respective game levels of the characters are significant in catching the Reaper, and staying alive. For instance, the Queen and the Knight have better chance of evading or prevailing than the Farmer and the Abbot.

His Grace has been the Reaper now three times in a row. Neither I nor Aya have managed to best him. He catches and murders us every single time—and we don't even last ten minutes before he finds us.

Personally, I think Hellions are the last people who should be playing Deadman's Hand. They are genetically structured to win."

Cora nodded. "I get your point, Raven. His Grace will always find you though. The key is to mask your scent."

"What? He knows how we smell?" Ravenna's green eyes enlarged.

She had finished shuffling and was now dispersing the black and gold embossed cards on the table.

"Mhmm. Didn't you know that?" Cora returned.

"No, I did not," Ravenna yelled. "Cheater!" She cut her jade irises at Rafel. He only shrugged, grinning darkly. And her eyes slid to Aya. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"And why would I do that?" Aya shrieked, scooting out of Ravenna's reach with a chortle.

Ravenna rolled her eyes.

"Typical Succubus! No wonder you're the Harlot every single time. Bet you wanna fuck The Reaper too, huh?"

Aya shamelessly replied, "Took the words right outta my mouth."

"Bitch!" Ravenna cussed. But she was smiling too.

She had finished sharing the cards and left out the remnant stack in the center of the obsidian glass table. Rafel smacked Aya's protruding ass and she lifted up slightly so he could reach out and pick a card.

The other three women reached out and picked cards also.

"Are we lucky this time, Your Grace?" Cora covertly asked.

Just before Rafel turned his card over to peer at it—even though he didn't need to, he spoke to his fellow female gamers. "Please quit the Your Grace diction whenever we're together alone. And that's an order, Little Raven!"

Then he turned over his card.

His slowly appearing sinister smile told the ladies all they needed to know.

"Ladies," said Rafel in a low dark rumbling, too raspy and too bassy to be human. "—you all have sixty seconds to TRY to hide from me. Mask your scent all you want. The Reaper will find you. To give you all a fighting chance, I'll be candid now. . . I HOLD THE REAPER'S CARD.

Clock's ticking!"

Before he finished speaking, all three women rushed to their feet, including Aya who was formerly glued to his thighs.

"You think we stand a chance?" She shot across to Cora and Ravenna as the ran out the starkly expensive Lounge.

"We do now. . ." Cora said inspiringly as she turned over her card. On it was the painting of a woman in a long purple robe, wearing a witch hat, and wielding a shining wand.

She was The Sorceress.

They soon heard Rafel's chanting baritone reverberate up from the foyer.

"Ready or not, wenches. . .here I coomeee! I'm gonna reap you!!!"

Suddenly, even though the Manor had over a hundred gothic rooms, a decade more hidden chambers, dozens of windows, and twice as many doors—to Aya Naamah, Corazón Mortimer, and Ravenna De Vries, it seemed nothing of a rampart and inescapable against the incoming threat of a ruthlessly handsome and savage serial murderer.

The game was on.

The man who held the Reaper's card was both hot and deadly. He could seduce them just as much as he could murder them.

As she squeezed into her hidey hole, Cora felt her nipples peak and dot her light violet blouse.

"Oh fuck. I love this game!"