Never Fear the Reaper 3: Acceptance: A Never Fear the Reaper Series, #3

Never Fear the Reaper 3:

Acceptance

Ashley Pagano

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

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Never Fear the Reaper 3: Acceptance

Copyright © 2017 Ashley Pagano

All rights reserved.

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ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-945910-62-3

Inkspell Publishing

5764 Woodbine Ave.

Pinckney, MI 48169

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Edited By Audrey Bobak

Cover art By Najla Qamber

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This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Dedication

To my beautiful, perfect daughter Dakota

May you understand that love can conquer all.

May you understand that you can become a

strong, resourceful,

and very driven female lead in your own life’s story.

May you pursue all your dreams,

no matter how extravagant.

Even if they’re to become a supernatural huntress

in your very own imaginary world.

CHAPTER ONE: IT’S OVER BETWEEN YOU AND ME

My body rattles as I pull myself out of the crater I’ve made in the bathroom door. My clothes catch on the broken splinters of wood that surround my personal, ass-sized dent. I hunch over, grab my stomach, and uncomfortably twist in my stance. Ryder stares me down, seemingly shocked I haven’t yielded yet. My gaze jumps from hers to her Scythe that I watch twitching in anticipation of another attack.

Come on, Ryder. How much more ass kicking can I endure before I convince you not to go down this path? I glance behind me and wonder if my impact may have jammed the door shut and unintentionally added some protection for the inebriated Carlsten. Can I really be that lucky?

Ryder does not respond. Instead, her emotions spread across her face in a heated red rash, starting at the tip of her nose and blanketing her cheeks with a rosy redness somewhere between a wicked sunburn and moment of mild embarrassment. Her perfect oval face wrinkles and creases with rage until it resembles a withered crabapple. I swallow loudly and roll my shoulders back until I’m painfully standing upright above her petite figure. I know she’s going to strike me, for the third time in the last few minutes, and I dreadfully brace myself for it. I try to visualize from which direction her attack will come.

As expected, she lunges at me. I try to block her flying fist, but it connects with my face before I can begin to raise my arm. She’s so much faster than me and I’m suffering because of it. My head ricochets off the bathroom door behind me, just in time for her to deliver another jab right into my nose. It pounds my bone into the space between my eyes and causes them to water profusely. I almost fold to the floor. Instead, I force myself to remain upright by grabbing a hold of the door jam. It takes all of my willpower. I can’t compromise my position or else she’ll bust straight through. If it gets to that point, neither Carlsten’s gun, nor his deepest prayers, can save him. The metallic taste of blood fills my quivering mouth. It stains my teeth and gums and mixes with enough saliva to make me gag. I need a moment to regroup, so I point my dagger at her, slashing it back and forth to keep her at a distance. I hold my mangled face with my other hand.

What the fuck, Ryder? I’m your boyfriend, the love of your life, and your partner! Why? Why do this? My words come out gargled as a result of trying to speak with a mouth full of blood. I spit and drool as I emphasize my anger. Why? Five minutes ago you were defending him, convincing me of what a good person he is, and a simple text message changes all of that? Come on now.

Finally, she sighs, seeming defeated, and with exhaustion in her voice. "You don’t understand what Focalor will do if I don’t obey him. What he’ll do to you. You could never understand."

"Well, try explaining instead of hurting the person you love! Try." Now it’s me who lunges at her. Instinctually, she reacts by hammering her Scythe down in my direction. I pull my dagger up to meet it in mid-air. It’s my only option for shielding myself. I lock my arm, squeeze my eyes shut, and scrunch my face as her powerful Scythe descends upon my puny dagger. I’m terrified to open my eyes and witness the condition that it’s left it in, or if it’s destroyed it altogether. Finally, when I timidly look up, her Scythe is butted up against my dagger. It’s holding its own against her mighty weapon. It remains intact as I watch a single spark from the impact flutter to the floor. When I switch my gaze to Ryder, she looks just as shocked as I am. She even tries to push her blade harder against its wooden tip but it does not fracture. I’m guessing she’s never tried to use these weapons against one another before. It must be because they’re both made from pieces of the Grim Reaper’s staff. That’s why they have no effect on each other. Potentially, one isn’t stronger than the other.

I can see frustration flood over her and she frenziedly slashes her Scythe across my chest, but again, I block it with my weapon. It reminds me of a sword fight from Medieval Times, causing more sparks to erupt from the consecutive impacts. But sadly, our fight isn’t an act. I lean my weight into my dagger to push away yet another slash of her Scythe. I angle it in different directions to appropriately block each slash in the strongest and most comfortable way possible. But I can tell she’s growing tired of all this. She must know I’m stalling her.

Unexpectedly, she sends a mighty front kick directly into my sternum. I fail in attempting to deflect it and it catapults me backward. Again. This time my back smashes entirely through the door, pounding through the weakened crater and ripping it completely off its hinges. Half of its wooden planks crash against the bathroom tiles beneath me and I bounce on top of them. The creaking and breaking of wood sound like that of some dying animal, drawing in and out its final breath. I curl up in pain as wooden shards rain down around me and the warped, damaged door teeters like a seesaw beneath me. 

Carlsten merely jumps but remains hunched over in his drunken stupor. He’s completely unaware of the war that’s taking place only a few feet away from him. I could use his help right now, even if he is trying to steal my girlfriend. In this moment, he can honestly have her.

I hurt so badly that I can barely navigate my surroundings, which are now falling in and out of focus. Ryder, you can’t kill an innocent man, especially not one who is our friend! Who’s saved our lives on multiple occasions. There has to be another way around this. I cough and bark out my words.

The pain sheets through me with such a terrible intensity that I can barely roll off the collapsed door. My elbows grind against the jagged pieces of wood as I hold my chest with one hand and my dagger with the other. My clothes are ripped and I’m covered in bruises, scrapes, scratches, and possibly some breaks. My head pounds with every beat of my heart, but still I continue to stall her. Still I continue to help her see. Ryder, let’s think about this. Sleep on it. There has to be a way around this. Let’s come up with it together. What if we speak to Focalor, barter with him, or offer him something else?

She huffs and casually steps over me, moving toward the toilet, where Carlsten is still passed out. I grip her ankle, like a small child who’s throwing a temper tantrum, to slow her down. Ryder, you’re not killing Carlsten! I demand, instead of trying to plead with her. Maybe a more cutthroat approach is necessary. I bear down, squeeze her ankle, and lift my weight off my elbows so that she’ll have to drag my entire body in order to get to him.

Chase, get off! She tries to violently shake me off. If I don’t do Focalor’s bidding he can take back his feathers from you. You’ll be injured all over again. Worse, you could actually die! she blurts out.

Fine. I’ll take my chances. Just bring me right back to the hospital after he does it. That’s where I should have stayed to begin with. If I had, none of this shit would have happened!

No, you don’t understand! Your injury won’t just pick up where it left off or how it was when he fixed it. It’ll pick up from where it would be now, as if it progressed from that point forward. Don’t you see? It’ll have become infected and begun to rot by now, like the demons. Don’t you get it, he’ll take you from me.

For a moment, I remain silent, staring down at the tiny imperfections in each tile only a few inches from my nose. My hot breath steams up their shiny, smooth surfaces. I’m trying to process everything while coming up with the quickest solution that I’m capable of. But all I can recall is the pain that I felt back at the warehouse and at the church. Truthfully, I prefer never to go through that again.

Chase, it’s either you or him. I choose you. Every time. Now get off! She tries to flick me off for the last time. In a few short words, she’s managed to alleviate any suspicions I had about her deepest, darkest, developing feelings for Carlsten. But she’s also managed to establish just how disposable everyone that she cares about is.

No, Ryder! Stop this! I hook my dagger around her other ankle, causing her to stumble and nearly trip over. Even after learning all this, I still know killing Carlsten shouldn’t be an option.

Chase, enough. She lowers into a deep squat and sends her elbow plummeting into my temple. It connects with my skull and rebounds my head off the top of her foot.

With blurred vision, I feebly lift my head in order to deliver my final argument. But instead, I’m met with another potent elbow to the same spot. Immediately, everything goes black and silent.

I’ve failed.

When I wake up, I’m in the exact same spot with my nose mushed up against the tiles. Their coolness actually feels nice against my throbbing face. I ache in places I didn’t even know I could ache in. The creases of my eyes and nose ache. My watchband aches. The elastics in my pants and boxer briefs ache. My palm, from gripping my dagger too tightly, aches. My biceps, where my shirt pulled and twisted, ache. My forehead, where my hairline ends, aches. Even my nipples ache. I moan as I push myself up against the nearest wall, rocking the crushed door beneath my legs. I can feel the sunlight scorching the back of my head from lying directly in line with the window. Clearly, I’ve been out all night and all morning. That’s just fantastic.

I glance over at the toilet and my whole body shudders when I don’t find Carlsten sitting there. Where is he? I whip around to examine the rest of the bathroom and what I can see of the hallway. But he’s nowhere to be found. Did she really kill him? She couldn’t have, could she? I crawl over to the toilet in a desperate search for even the slightest splatter of blood, but I find nothing. Surely, if there’s blood, then she definitely