Chapter 1

I didn't cry when the doctor told me the cancer was terminal.

The window at the end of the hallway was open, and cold air ran down the back of my neck. I read the line on the report that said the cancer had spread through my bones, and all I felt was a strange kind of calm.

The doctor looked at me with pity. "Ms. Lowe, you shouldn't be doing this alone. Bring your family in. You have a month left. Maybe less."

"I don't have any family." I folded the report and put it in my bag.

He paused. His eyes went to the wedding ring on my hand, then flicked away.

Outside the hospital doors, the pain came back. It was the grinding kind, like something was crushing my bones an inch at a time.

I couldn't stay on my feet. I braced a hand against the wall and slid down into a crouch.

Then my phone buzzed. My husband's name lit up the screen. Weston.

I answered. There was no how did it go. Just a question, with waves breaking somewhere behind his voice.

"Vera, what are you sulking about this time? Emmy needs the money for her show. I told you to send the half million. Why hasn't it come through?"

He said it like the money was already his.

Behind him, a woman's voice drifted in, soft and sweet. Emmeline. His first love, the one he'd been hung up on for ten years. She'd flown back from overseas two weeks ago.

"Weston, let it go. Maybe Vera's upset that I'm using her gallery."

"What's there to be upset about? The place is sitting empty anyway." He scoffed. "Vera, don't play games with me. Just send it."

The old me would have called him back and screamed at him. It was our seventh anniversary, and he was at the beach with her.

But I was too tired for that now.

"Fine," I said. One word.

I hung up and opened my banking app. I sent him everything I had left, along with the last of the money my mother had put aside for me.

I watched the balance drop to zero and let out a long breath.

Call it the price of ten years. After this, Weston and I were square.

Then the pain in my bones peaked. My vision went black, and I pitched forward.

But I never hit the ground.

A pair of hands caught me. They were cold, pale, without any warmth in them at all.

"Human. Your soul is coming apart."

The voice above my head was low and completely flat.

I forced my eyes open. A man in a black suit stood over me. He was beautiful in a sharp, unfriendly way, and his eyes were a deep dark silver with nothing human behind them.

The strange part was that the moment he touched me, the pain splitting my bones open just drained away.

"Who are you?" I managed.

"Corven. Your kind calls us reapers." He looked down at me. "You have thirty days left. I'll take your soul in trade. In return, I'll keep the pain off you until then."

"All right." I didn't hesitate.

That seemed to surprise him. He tilted his head. "You're not afraid?"

"Compared to staying alive, dying sounds like a reward." I used his arm to pull myself upright.

He didn't say anything else. He just took my hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Cold poured up my arm and pushed the pain down, inch by inch, until there was nothing left of it.

We walked home together.

I opened the door. Before I could reach the light switch, the lamp in the living room clicked on.

Weston was sitting on the couch. His face was dark, and he was staring at my hand, the one Corven was holding.

"Look at you, Vera." He shot to his feet, his mouth twisting. "You've really outdone yourself. Hiring some cheap actor just to make me come home?"