Free Cinder X (Death Collectors, #2) by Jessica Sorensen

beneath my gloves burn.
     
    I back away, bumping into the bed and then fall down on the mattress on my ass. I continue to scoot back on the bed to get back the distance he’s stealing as he moves across my room.
     
    “Well, if you want to help me, then give me the necklace. So it can protect me.”
     
    “I can’t,” he says matter-of-factly as the front of his legs graze against the side of the bed. “My family needs it for their own protection. We’re not the most loved Grim Reapers in the clan, especially when we stole the necklace to begin with.”
     
    “I can’t imagine why,” I say sarcastically as my back brushes the wall.
     
    He gets aggravated as he leans over the bed and hovers over me. “You know, I don’t know why you are so eager to believe that the necklace will protect you,” he says. “You know nothing about Elliot, other than he’s Asher’s uncle. It makes you really naïve to simply believe him because of that.”
     
    I ignore the fact that his closeness accelerates my heart rate, telling myself that it’s just like at the lake and the cemetery, that he’s controlling it—me. However I’m not sure if it’s entirely true. “It doesn’t make me naïve. If I had a reason not to trust him, then I wouldn’t, but he hasn’t given me a reason yet.”
     
    “But you don’t trust me,” he says, like I don’t have a reason not to.
     
    I struggle not to laugh, knowing it won’t make the situation any better. “You have to earn trust, Cameron.”
     
    “Asher didn’t earn your trust,” he states, leaning closer to me, his shadow covering my body. “He lied to you just as much as I did.”
     
    “Yeah, but Asher’s good.”
     
    “How do you know?” A hand comes down on each side of my head, so he’s pretty much lying on top of me, yet he remains standing. “Maybe you shouldn’t go around believing things until they’re proven.”
     
    He’s right. Not about Asher, but about getting facts before deciding on what to believe “Tell me what the leader looks like,” I demand, pressing my back against the mattress, desperate to get space between us. “And why he’s here. That’s how you can establish my trust, if you want it.”
     
    “I don’t know those answers.” He looks as lost as me. “However, what I do know is that it’s really bad that he’s here.” He licks his lips, eyeing mine. I can read all over his face that he wants me.
     
    “I know it’s bad.” I place my hands on his chest to hold him back, repulsed by my body’s disappointment of my shoving him back. “But how bad exactly? I mean, people are already possessed and there’s a murder or disappearance at least once a week. How much worse could things get?”
     
    “Much, much worse.” He reaches for my face and I flinch as he strokes my cheek with his finger. “More and more deaths will happen.” His fingers drift down my cheek, my jaw, my neckline, stopping just above where my breasts curve out of my top. “Reapers love their death. It’s like a drug for us.”  He breathes my scent. “We crave it. Breathe it. And our leader is connected to all our power; our feelings. So imagine how much death he craves—needs.”
     
    I shudder against his touch, momentarily falling into it, hating that sometimes it feels so easy to give in to him and so hard to push him away, but I still manage to get some room, pushing him away as far as he’ll allow me.
     
    “You can’t touch me, Cameron. I-I don’t want you to.”
     
    He traces a line from my cleavage to my neck, his fingers resting over my pulse. “Why not? You let Asher touch you like this.” His other hand finds my waist, gripping firmly, fingers delving into the fabric, causing me to shiver in response. “And you don’t fight it… you want it.”
     
    “Asher’s an Angel,” I say, loathing that my voice cracks. “And he didn’t just tell me that he’s addicted to stealing souls.”
     
    “So what if he’s an Angel?” His