Day Reaper

Day Reaper

by Melody Johnson


View All Available Formats & Editions


A Dangerous Choice

On the brink of death, Cassidy DiRocco demands that New York City's master of the supernatural, Dominic Lysander, transform her-reporter, Night Blood, sister, human-into the very creature she's feared and fought against for months: a vampire. The pain is brutal, she could lose the career she's worked so hard to achieve, and her world will never be the same. But surviving is worth any risk, especially when it means gaining the strength to fight against Jillian Allister, the sister who betrayed Dominic, attacked Cassidy, and is leading a vampire uprising that will destroy all of New York City . . .


Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781601834287
Publisher: Random House
Publication date: 04/24/2018
Pages: 292

Read an Excerpt


Seven days later

A bird was squawking, and after several minutes of attempting to ignore its repetitive, shrill bleating, I came to grips with the fact that it didn't seem inclined to stop on its own. I snapped open my eyes, prepared to reach out the window and stop it myself, with my bare hands if necessary — I'd never heard such an obnoxious bird in my life, not in the city, not on the West Coast, not even on my one excursion to visit Walker upstate — and froze. There was no window. And if the vents Bex used to filter fresh air into her underground coven were any indication, there was no bird. Although the vents here resembled the ones in Bex's coven, I didn't recognize the room as the inviting, well-decorated step back in time that Bex had created either: no extra furniture for lounging, no scented candles, no gerbera daisies, and no kerosene lamps pulsing in a hypnotic, romantic beat.

This room contained only sparse necessities: vents for underground-air filtration, a bare bulb for light, a door for privacy, and, of course, a bed. I was in a strange room in a stranger's bed, its dimensions and décor familiar only by its unfamiliarity, and suddenly, the last moments of my memory smashed into my brain like a semi.


Someone was speaking in the room outside this bedroom's door, and even through the scarred door and the cement wall, I could hear every word being said and recognize the voice speaking: Ronnie Carmichael.

"Lysander said he would. There's no reason to think he won't, so I don't think —"

And following Ronnie's voice was the squawking of that damn bird.

"Exactly. You don't think," Jeremy snapped.

"Lysander said that he would try," Keagan said patiently, his voice nearly drowned out by the bleat of that insufferable bird. "His priority is Cassidy and our safety. He won't take unnecessary risks, like remaining aboveground, away from Cassidy longer than absolutely necessary."

"Yes, he said he would try," Ronnie insisted, but her voice was faint now. "Lysander doesn't say anything lightly."

The bird squawked even louder, in time with Jeremy's audible groan, triggering a memory of Ronnie's little-girl voice and something she had confided in me: I never even knew he thought of my voice as grating. I never knew someone's annoyance had a sound, let alone that it sounded like a squawking bird.

I was right about the bird not being underground, but unlike anything I'd ever heard, the sound wasn't a bird at all. The squawking was the sound of Keagan's annoyance at the grate of Ronnie's whining voice. Unlike Jeremy, Keagan was too well-mannered to audibly express his frustration with Ronnie, but among other vampires, he could no longer hide his true feelings. His unspoken annoyance had a sound — as loud, obnoxious, and obvious as Jeremy's audible hostility — and Ronnie could no doubt hear it, too, over the calm, reasonable tone of his words.

I could hear it.

I could hear the sound of Keagan's annoyance.


I had ducked against the attack of my own hand.

A swift peal of laughter burst from my mouth.



I took a deep breath to dispel the panic, purely from habit, but the action wasn't calming. My heart that wasn't pounding didn't slow, and I couldn't catch a breath that I hadn't lost. The vise around my chest tightened. I squeezed my hands into fists, trembling from the force of my will to remain still and silent. Something sharp pierced my hands, and I gasped, the raging panic stuttering until I looked down at my bleeding fists. My talons were imbedded in my own palms.

A door slammed somewhere outside this room, farther away than the voices directly behind the door, but I didn't hear it slam with my ears. I felt it slam from its flat slap against my skin. Never mind that the door wasn't near enough for me to see, nor in this room; never mind, the impossibility that I could feel its sound waves; my entire body felt its sting as if I'd been smacked from all sides.

"Why are you just staring?" His words were impatient and aggravated, but no matter the tone, hearing his voice made the aching around my chest both loosen and worsen.

The clip of his tread across the cement floor stung like the warning barbs of a wasp. I knew the physical pain on my skin was only the tactile manifestation of sounds — first, the door slam, and now, his walking — but that didn't change the fact that the sounds really did hurt my skin. I tried to rub away the lingering sting and realized my hands were still fisted, my talons still imbedded in my palms, so I just sat on the bed, motionless and bleeding, like someone trapped without an EpiPen, waiting for the inevitable swelling, choking, death: trapped within a body that had betrayed me.

"Did you have time to —" Ronnie began, but her voice was too small and too fragile not to crumble under the weight of his will.

"You heard her waken," he accused. "Don't you smell the blood?"


The door swung open, and suddenly, inevitably, Dominic entered the room. He didn't need permission to cross my threshold, not anymore, and he didn't bother with the perfunctory acts of knocking or requesting my consent to enter. He simply strode inside and slammed the door behind him with a final, fatal bee sting.


The way I looked now.


Despite his grievance with Ronnie, Keagan, and Jeremy for their inaction, he, too, just stared, immobile after entering the room, but his gaze absorbed everything. I felt the slash of his eyes slice across my face, down my body, and eventually settle with dark finality on my fisted palms.

He didn't move or make a sound, but I heard the unmistakable rush of wind. There were no windows underground and in the stagnant stillness of the room — the tension between our bodies like an electric current stretching to complete its circuit — no relief from the heat of his presence. The sound wasn't wind, it only sounded like wind, but whatever it was the sound of, it was emanating from the only other person in the room.


He reached out and carefully wrapped his palms around mine to cup my fists. His voice was steady when he spoke, but I knew better. The rush of wind emanating from him heightened, the smell of ginger became chokingly pungent, and his heart, which didn't need to beat to keep him alive, contracted just once. I could both hear the swoosh of his blood being pumped through each chamber and taste the silky spice of that sound.

My hands were injured, yet his trembled.

"Relax," Dominic murmured. "I'm here. I should have been here when you first awakened, but I'm here now."

I blinked at him. With him here, everything was somehow simultaneously better and horribly worse.


Then again, I'd stumbled upon Dominic in an alley, and look how that had played out.

Whether Dominic saw my anger or thought me a dangerous monster now wasn't revealed by his carefully masked countenance. He stroked the back of my hand with the soft pad of his human-feeling thumb. "You need to calm down."


Dominic sighed. "I can't see your claws from inside your palms, but did you happen to notice their color before stabbing yourself with them?"

I frowned. I had claws, for Christ's sake. Claws. No, I didn't take note of their color.

"I'll take that as a no," he said, still gentle, still careful, and so fucking infuriating.

A comforting flood of hot anger blast-dried my shock and sorrow. I spread my fingers, tearing said claws from my palms and ripping wide my self-inflicted wounds, but I didn't take the time to note their color. I swiped at Dominic.

My movements were lightning. Dominic's movements were just as fast; he leaped back, dodging my claws. I lunged off the bed after him. A familiar sound rattled from deep inside my chest, a sound I'd heard emanate from Ronnie, Jillian, Kaden, and Dominic, a sound that coming from them had raised the fine hairs on the back of my neck. Now that sound came from my throat. I was growling.

Dominic somersaulted out of reach. I watched his movements, fascinated by the strength of his muscles as he leaped into the air, his coordination as his legs tucked and his arms caught his knees, and his athleticism as he stuck the landing and raised his hands to block my advance. He was the epitome of power and grace under pressure, and with the enhanced ability of my heightened senses, I could actually see it. He wasn't just a blur of movement, but a perfectly choreographed symphony of muscle, control, and honed skill. I watched, and unlike the jaw- dropping awe of impossibility that Dominic's physical feats would normally inspire in me, I was just inspired.

I attempted to mimic Dominic's movements with a matching forward somersault of my own, but instead of landing on my feet like I'd intended, like Dominic had stuck so effortlessly, I landed in an awkward, bone-jarring heap, flat on my back.


Buttons severed from their threads, but before the pops of their little plastic heads hit the floor, Dominic was airborne again, back-flipping away from me before my claws could do any real damage. I lunged after his leaps and twists and rolls, milliseconds behind his acrobatics, but even without the advantage of his fancy gymnastics, my body's newfound abilities were astonishing. Each muscle contraction burned beneath my skin, but not like human muscles burning with fatigue. Mine sparked to life, twitching with power and reveling in unleashed speed and strength.



I made a move of my own instead of following Dominic, cutting him mid-leap and smashing him facedown into the box spring. He was vulnerable for a split millisecond, me at his back, my razor claws splayed across his shoulder blades, his neck bared as he craned to look over his shoulder at me, and I had him. If I chose to, with a swipe of my hand, I could sever his head from his body. My claws were sharp, his skin was soft, and unlike in any other physical battle I'd waged in my life, I had the advantage.

My body's speed and strength were new to me, but the feelings of rage and intoxicating addiction were not. Memories of being addicted to Percocet and the bone-deep reasons I'd fought to overcome that habit kept me grounded when I would have taken advantage of Dominic's weakness. I nearly let strength and power overwhelm reason, but I knew when to stop. I knew when the need and heat felt too good to be good. The rage reminded me that despite the claws sprouting from each fingertip, despite the fact that I might look like the devil and have the strength of God, I was the same flawed person I'd always been.



Dominic somersaulted over me. He landed at my back, but I didn't turn to face him. He knew I'd resisted the opportunity to kill him. Our battle was over, but mine had just begun.


I burst out weeping. The sobs wracked my body and tears bathed my cheeks.


Excerpted from "Day Reaper"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Melody Johnson.
Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..

Customer Reviews