God, even thinking it felt like falling off a cliff, except I didn’t see another way.
I stared at my reflection, pale and wild-eyed, and mumbled to the mirror, “Alright, Death. You win.”
There was no protocol for this. He had a habit of appearing when I least wanted him—never when I actually called. Still, desperation made fools of us all.
“Come on, Death,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair and pressing it to my forehead. “Just this once, show up on time.”
“Britta?” Phillips again, louder. Closer. Maybe he was outside the door now.
My heartbeat stuttered. “Death, I need you!” I hissed, louder now, fists gripping the edge of the sink, knuckles white.
Silence.
No shift in the air. No flicker of power. Not even a chill. Just cheap plastic walls and fluorescent lighting.
I snapped.
“Death, I swear on my life I will haunt—”
A voice, low and amused, curled around the words as one might see smoke.
“Haunt, huh?” he drawled.
His reflection appeared beside mine, in the cramped bathroom, head tilted in lazy amusement. “I thought I was the one who did the haunting.”
That crooked smile. That voice like velvet and daggers.
And those eyes, searching mine in the mirror.
I spun around, and there he was. His body pressed into mine in the tight space, his presence swallowing me whole as he looked down at me.
“You came,” I said in a hush—trying, but failing, to hide the relief in my voice.
“You called,” he replied, as if it was that simple. He reached up and wiped my cheek with the back of his hand, his touch lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. It hung in the air, a spark in the silence, as Phillips' muffled voice called to me through the door.
The air was thick now, stifling, and my chest constricted for a reason entirely different than panic. Grim’s gaze sharpened as he took me in, I tried to not squirm, but with my enemy before me and my mistakes closing in, I couldn’t lower the sword.
“Britta,” Phillips’ voice crackled through the door, “I’m going to have them open the door—”
Before I could react, Grim snapped his fingers. The harsh sound sliced through the air, and the annoying prattle ofPhillips’ voice went silent. Whether he’d sealed his mouth shut or sent him back to his seat, I couldn’t tell, but the space fell quiet. Calm.
“You need me?” Grim asked, his tone laced with quiet command.
“No,” I argued. When it came to fight or flight, I had always picked flight. Unless Grim was in the middle of it all, then the fight came rushing to the front like I’d forgotten how to hold my tongue.
“Oh? I must have mistaken your pleas for that of the wind. I’ll be going…” he snapped his fingers again, and Phillip’s voice returned beyond the door.
“No!” I reached out, grabbing hold of his arm. “I’m sorry, yes. Yes, I need you.” My self-preservation was much too strong to pay any mind to the naked glint of mischief in his eye.
His hand came atop mine on his arm, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand in a soothing motion. “I’ve waited a century to hear those words from your lips.” Smiling, he leaned in closer. “They’re sweet. Like honey dripping from the comb.”
With a short glare, I yanked my hand from his grip. He’d make this hell itself, which was fitting because Death was nothing if not consistent, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I’d made it this far without being thrown into prison or worse.
I never fancied the thought of becoming the next test subject of the government. Death could not hold me; fear had already taken its cut and the hollow shell of my life would not be spent dissected for those wishing to recreate my fiery inferno. I’d found the fountain of youth, and it was not as one might think.
“Just get me out of here,” I clipped, pressing back against the sink, acutely aware of the limited amount of space between our bodies.
Death leaned closer, running a finger down my cheek. “Eager to escape me?”
