Grim Reaper's Bride

Grim Reaper's Bride

By:  Allister Nelson  Ongoing
Language: English
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Death has a mate - a teenage girl, the Grim Reaper's Bride. All Callie has known is that someone watches her in the woods - Samael, the Grim Reaper. Drawn into his intoxicating web of desires, secrets, and shadows, and hating him with a burning passion - can these two unlikely heroes stop the Apocalypse? Or will Samael start it for love?

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62 chapters
Something Wicked This Way Comes
This is what I remember:He stands by the howling void. Chalk white cliffs plummet downwards to the raging sea. The blue-blackness froths beneath him. Wind screams. It is absolute zero.Shadows fall like dolls into the abyss. There are no cries of pain. Merely silence.The Legion stands before him. Michael brandishes his flaming sword. His face is raw with suffering.“Don’t do this, brother,” he pleas.His cry falls on deaf ears. It is a corpse that stands before him. Razor thin. Pale as winter snow. He towers over the archangel, still as the grip of death.He opens his hollow eyes. All Heaven holds its breath. The void yawns, grating its jowls. Its master smiles wretchedly. His flesh cracks like ice as he speaks:“Either way, I win.” His voice is like bitter wind.The pull of the Pit wraps around the Host like a vise. The weakest crumple like smashed mica. Their shards plummet into the ab
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A Stranger at the Door
My body strained as I ran mad-dash down a twilit path, imagining hounds on my heels. The darkness of the forest transported me to a primal time.  Trees whispered ragged like ghosts in the wind.  Muscles honed from years of training propelled me onwards as crisp autumn air filled my lungs, spiced with woodsmoke and loam.  Instincts awoke and the desperate need to escape propelled me onwards, into the bosom of the woods, away from the impending threat- though it was only a waking dream.“How do you run so damn fast, Callie!” coach had asked once in disbelief after I'd finished a 5K in 16:30.“Rabid dogs,” I'd replied,He'd raised his brow a mile high and plastered me with a pitiful stare.  It was no use explaining my unconventional techniques to the unimaginative, just like it was impossible to convey the sweetness of danger to the tamed.  That beautiful feeling:  heart pounding, adre
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Samael, Angel of Death
Something brushed my face.  I groaned, eyes fluttering open.  My back ached and I felt bruises blossoming along my arms and ribs. It was dark- so dark, I couldn't see a thing.  I groped through the blackness.  Something covered my body, velvet-soft, shielding me from the wind.  The air smelled like musty books and heavy wine, and the ground beneath me rose and fell to the steady whirring of some hidden thing.Finally cognizant, the nightmarish memories came flooding back to me- the horse and its phantom rider, those gleaming red eyes...The hearse.“Oh, God,” I choked.  I reached out, finding the wooden frame of the vehicle and the heavy curtains drawn over its sides. I was inside the deathly carriage.“Actually, God has nothing to do with this.  More like: 'Oh devil! I've been abducted by a fiend!'  At least that's what I assume you think me, unless you
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Winter Winds That Shake the Soul
 “But- but you don't exist!  You shouldn't- it's impossible.  Oh my god, help me,” I panicked, scurrying into the farthest corner of the carriage, putting as much space between him and me as possible.  I closed my eyes and pulled my knees to my chest.  “You don't exist, death isn't alive.  It's a thoughtless force of nature- it isn't sentient!”He scoffed.  “Oh, pity, so I'm not real?  And here I was all this time, laboring under the delusion that I existed, when it was all just a lie.  Hand me a handkerchief, I'm sniffling.”“Stop mocking me.  You're supposed to be silent.  Death doesn't have a sense of humor.”“Says who?  My job would be depressing if I wasn't.  Now open your eyes, little mortal- you have nothing to fear.  I'm not here to collect your soul.  Not yet, anyways.”  His  voice was soothing
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A Barrow Man Does What He Can
“Who am I?  I have a thousand names; your kind has feared and worshiped me from the moment of your conception.  I am the wolf and the raven, the silence of the night so thick you could slice it with a knife.  I have witnessed the history of creation and will bring about its end.  I am within and without everything, shepherding them ever closer to their terminal ends.”  He paused, petting the crow idly.  “But my friends call me Sam,” he added as an afterthought. “Melodramatic much?” I murmured, struggling to tame my amazement.  I stumbled to my feet, brushing twigs and leaves from my dew-damp jeans.“Well, at least I don't swoon.”“I didn't swoon!  It's just that this,” I said, motioning to his face, “was not what I expected.”“So what did you expect?  A mouldering cadaver?” he laughed, blue-black hair cascading do
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Tea Time with Satan
“If you value your life, then yes,” he said, helping me into the carriage and whistling to the horse.  It snorted and he mounted its back, guiding it to the border of trees.  The roan grunted, braying as it nosed the brambles.  Peeking through the window, I watched in awe as the branches peeled back and the trunks bent to let the hearse pass through. A path appeared out of nowhere, its worn dirt lined by toadstools that glowed a faint blue.  I could swear one was a fish belly-white gnome with an upturned cap, but once I blinked, he was gone.  Corpseboy gazed about with reserved interest, watching as shadows crept by.  Monstrous forms were hinted at by the shifting dark.  His eyes were like lasers penetrating the night, casting red pools upon whatever they saw.Something growled and I jumped, startled.  Not wanting to see what it was, I drew the curtains closed, huddling at the center of the carriage.  The l
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Death Takes the Lead(ing Lady)
“Idiot,” he hissed, and the net of flame disappeared.  The candles had melted to pools of wax on the graves.  I sat there, quivering in horror and staring at the singed spot on the pavement that could have been me.  Sighing heavily, he opened his palm and my cup came flying to him.  He set it down with a harsh thud and sneered.  “There, are you warm now?” he mocked.“Yes,” I mumbled, frightened by his burning eyes.  “The candles...”“What about them?”“They- I wanted to see if they were reacting to your mood, or if I was imagining it...” I said, speaking to my lap.  No way was I going to confront his poisonous gaze.“Look at me,” he said harshly.  Biting my lips, I obliged and immediately flinched.  He bared his fangs in a vicious sneer and, with mocking eyes, leaned closer over the table until he was
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An Eighteen Irish Rose
“Adieu, Pallor.  Don't eat all the grass in the field, now,” he said to his steed, stroking its mane as Death's feet hit the ground running.  The horse set about consuming the field like a lawn mower.  Corpseboy gained velocity.  The lead grew taut.  He fanned his wings  and suddenly, we were airborne. Wind rushed past me as he pumped his pinions.  I sat back, mortified, and watched the world pass like a dream.  The field rolled into forest, forest into stream, to fern-riddled glens and meadow ringed by trees.  It was beautiful beyond compare, with the multi-hued stars and Milky Way like a river.  Corpseboy himself looked like an angel of the night.  His hair snaked behind him in a dusky halo and his skin, pale as starlight, glowed like polished stone.“You'll freeze, little fool, and then I really will have a body to put in the hearse,” he said.I refused to answer, longing for
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Sweet Dreams, Maggot
Samael smiled indulgently.  “Calm yourself, little mortal.  And Michael- was Joan of Arc not nineteen when she led the French Army to victory?  You've chosen women before whose talents and wisdom belie their age.  Give me the same freedom- I see something in this mortal. She's spunky, and that's what I like.”“Those women were born leaders.  They were fated to be great,” Michael said, eying me.  “Of what use could she be to you?”“Fated!” Samael scoffed.  “There is no destiny for mortals- they choose their own fates.  It's easy for us to forget that when we're immortal.  And this girl, why, she comes from the great land of America.”  He motioned grandly.  “There are few I am willing to work with.  Scanty candidates that match my style.  She has the freedom to be whatever she desires.”“If you insist, Samael,” Michae
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Bile Builds, a Mystery Unfolds
Solomon raised his brows as I trudged into the dining room, bleary-eyed.  He was scarfing down an omelet.  Bits of cheese clung to his stubble.  And he looked at me critically.“Well, Callie,” he snickered, “you take the 'beauty' out of beauty sleep.”“Maybe if you didn't snore like a foghorn, I'd get a bit more rest,” I retorted, wandering into the  kitchen to fix myself a bowl of oatmeal.  “Did dad already leave?  And did he take the comics?”“Yes and yes.”“Darn it.”“And mom?”“Sleeping, obviously.  She'd sleep through the Apocalypse.  Wish I was an artist, then I could set my own hours...” he yawned, then gazed at me oddly.  “What's that on your shoulder, eh, Callie?”Groggy, I glanced down at what I was wearing.  The usual sweatpants and baggy t-shirt.
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