Free Reaper's Justice by Sarah McCarty

left their creators and struck out on their own was that they would preserve good. He didn’t have much to hold on to in this world. But he had that vow. And now he had her. Two things to fight for, rather than one. His life was picking up. If he could just keep the distortions at bay.
    It would be easer if being near Adelaide didn’t create the turmoil. And if he could have stayed away from her, he would have started long ago. He didn’t like the distortions. He didn’t like to be thrown into the past. He didn’t like the weakness she created within him, the need. But despite all the negatives, he couldn’t keep away any more than he could keep from sliding his finger along her arm. Couldn’t keep from leaning down that scant inch necessary to breathe her scent. To breathe her.
    She was like the drug they’d forced into his veins to keep him in line. Horribly addictive in the peace it offered. And like that drug, Adelaide had the power to change everything he knew. His claws extended in response to the threat of that. He looked at their ivory length, resting against her dress, and pulled them back.
    She was right. She had to go home.
    Isaiah rounded the corner, shifting Adelaide in his arms so he could make his way across a fragment of ledge that served as a path to his home. Made of sticks and dirt and leaves, the lean-to was more lair than home. He ducked under the ledge. Sprinkles of dust and leaves greeted his entrance. He laid Adelaide down on the pelts that served as his bed, wincing as he did. They were none too clean, and none too soft. He didn’t waste a lot of time on creature comforts. But Adelaide did. He was willing to bet her bedroom at home was full of crisp cotton sheets, meticulously sewn quilts, and maybe some touches of lace. He liked the thought of her sleeping amid lace. All the houses he’d seen in his dealings had had at least a touch of lace. The wealthy ones had a lot.
    He brushed Adelaide’s hair back from her cheek, being careful not to wake her. A leaf clung to the tendrils of hair at her temple. He removed it. She turned on her side, a slight snore punctuating the move. He envied the innocence that allowed her to sleep fearlessly in his company.
    Addy.
    He remembered the name Cole had called her, during a visit when he’d been watching her. Less formal than Adelaide. More inviting. It suited the way he thought of her.
    His claws lingered against her skin. He trailed them over the flesh of her cheek, over the soft curve of her jaw, down the creamy expanse of her neck. Goose bumps chased over her skin, but she didn’t wake.
    He would’ve woken. The beast within him would not have tolerated a touch when he was so vulnerable. Addy shifted again. Her cheek found the curve of his palm. He moved his claw away from her eyes as she let her breath out on a weary sigh. The trust in the gesture stunned him. He jerked his hand away as she started to wake. Closing his eyes, he willed the beast back into submission. Her eyelashes flickered and tension entered her previously supple muscles. He was what he was, and while he didn’t entirely understand what that meant, to her, he wanted to appear human.
    Addy came awake with another sigh. Her lashes fluttered. Her breath caught. Isaiah watched as awareness stole the comfort of sleep. Slipping his hand off her shoulder, he tucked his claws into his palms. Her lids lifted, revealing the blue of her eyes. And the fear within.
    It was dark in the lean-to. He knew she couldn’t see him, but that didn’t change the lash of guilt when he saw the fear drain the color from her cheeks. He didn’t like the guilt. Even more than that, he didn’t like not liking it. He wanted to remain in that place where he felt nothing, cared about nothing. Shit, he didn’t want to care about her.
    Addy smiled uncertainly up at him. He couldn’t smile back. She made him vulnerable, made him aware of things that he didn’t want to know. Mostly emotions. The beast preyed