Reaping The Red Heir

I woke to find myself sprawled across an enormous bed, my limbs heavy, my head throbbing with a vengeance.

A whining groan escaped my lips, and I became painfully aware of the sour taste coating my tongue, the burning behind my eyes, and the faint but recognizable aroma of whiskey drifting from my hair.

From the weight of my limbs and the sting of my eyes, I knew I must've gotten absolutely sloshed. My mouth watered, and I grimaced, feeling sick at the very thought.

"Good morning, little Reaper." A deep voice rumbled from somewhere nearby.

Pierce. Of course. His chambers. His bed.

"Why does your voice have to be so... loud?" I groaned and buried my face deeper into the pillow that smelled of him.

"Merely speaking at a normal volume," he said, his voice softer now.

"Hungover?" The amusement in his tone made me want to throw something at him.

"No. I'm perfectly fine." I peeked out from under the pillow. "The room is just spinning because I enjoy the view from multiple angles."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm. "That's what happens when you drink an immortal's liquor."

I squinted against the light to find him lounging in a chair, a book open in his lap. His dark hair was slightly mussed, as if he'd been running his hands through it, and he wore a black shirt, the top few buttons left undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his chest.

I sat up slowly, my head protesting every movement. The sheet slipped down, and I realized I was wearing one of his shirts. It was absurdly large on me, the sleeves hanging past my elbow and the hem falling to my mid-thigh.

"I suppose you enjoyed undressing me?"

Pierce didn't look up from his book, casually flipping a page as he replied, "I figured you wouldn't mind. Though I must say, you didn't make it easy. You were quite adamant about sleeping in your boots. Something about being ready to kick me if necessary."

"I see. How thoughtful of you to help," I smirked, tugging at the silk. "Do you make a habit of dressing unconscious women in your clothes?"

Pierce glanced up from his book, the corner of his mouth twitching as he took in my attire. He blinked slowly, his eyes deliberately roaming over me. "Only the ones who pass out in my castle after drinking my finest whiskey."

I held his gaze, feeling a spark as our eyes met. He shut his book with a decisive thump and placed it down, giving me his full attention — exactly what I thrived on.

I raised my eyebrows in reply, propping my head on my palm and gazing drowsily at him through half-closed eyes.

Pierce's nose creased as he considered his response. "Would you prefer I'd left you in your blood-soaked clothes, little Reaper? The ones you said, and I quote, ' were sticky like a butcher's apron'?"

I slowly shook my head, highly entertained as flashbacks of the previous night appeared in my mind. "No, that certainly wouldn't do. I'd hate to ruin your sheets."

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as if he'd read my thoughts without me saying a word. His thumb traced across his bottom lip, the deliberate motion drawing my attention exactly where he wanted it.

"Did you take advantage of me while I was helpless?" I teased, batting my eyelashes at him.

He arched an eyebrow. "No. Though you did make quite the compelling argument for it around midnight. If memory serves," he continued with a playful glint in his eye. "You were quite vocal about the allure of my 'ridiculously handsome face,' as you so eloquently put it."