“Death!” I panicked, rushing to his side. “Are you alright? What is it?”
He groaned, low and pained, and sagged into me before I could brace myself. His weight caught me off guard. For someone not technically alive, he was alarmingly heavy and dense, as if the gravity around him had shifted. I struggled to keep him upright as he leaned into me, head dipping toward my shoulder.
“I… just… need a—”
But whatever he was going to say was lost. His body went limp, his head thudded softly onto the pillow, and a moan slipped from his lips. His face contorted in pain, eyebrows pinched together. Then… stillness.
Eyes closed. Breathing shallow.
“Grim…” The name slipped out before I could stop it.
And just like that, the air shifted.
His skin burned beneath my palms and his face looked at war with something I couldn’t see. His whole body radiated heat. A fever? Did Death get fevers? Could he even get sick?
I scrambled to undo his coat, tugging it off with frantic hands. It hit the ground in a heap. Then came his thick and unyielding sweater. I muttered curses under my breath as I wrestled with it, struggling to get it over his head. His limbs weren’t cooperating, and I had to half-pull him into my lap just to get the damn thingoff. I averted my eyes, trying to keep this from becoming more intimate than it already was, but then I saw it.
A flash of red.
I froze.
His chest, his back, and his arms… they were covered in angry, swollen marks. Deep crimson lines that resembled scarred burns, but rawer, as if something had clawed its way out of him and left a trail of fury in its wake. The sight of them stole the breath from my lungs.
“What the…” I sputtered, reaching out.
My fingers brushed one near his hip, light as air. His body tensed beneath my touch, and a guttural groan escaped him as he jerked away, muscles spasming.
“What are these?” I asked, though I knew I wouldn't get an answer. He wasn’t here and wherever he was, it was far beyond this room.
His eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids, flicking back and forth, trapped in a nightmare. It was disorienting to watch, like his soul was trying to escape through his lashes. I felt dizzy just looking at him.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even knowifI could do anything.
Gently, I tucked the quilt around him, smoothing it up to his chin, and grabbed the throw blanket from the couch, layering it over him. He was burning up. Was he always this warm? No, this was different. This was fire, fever, chaos beneath his skin.
Dragging a chair over, I sank down beside the bed. My limbs ached, my stomach growled in protest, and the thought of the deep tub in the bathroom made me nearly whimper, but I couldn’t leave him.
A soft sound broke the silence. Barely more than a breath.
“Astoria…”
My name on his lips cracked something inside me.
“I’m here,” I assured, grabbing his hand beneath the blankets and cradling it in mine. I stroked the back of it with my thumb, over and over. The movement was small and probably meaningless in the grand scheme of things. I couldn’t decide if it was more for him, or for me?
Could Death get sick? Could he… die?
No answers came. Just questions and panic and that constant, wild flutter of dread as I stroked his hand. Because Ineededhim. For the curse, I told myself.
Deep down, buried in a place I wasn’t ready to excavate, I knew the truth. There was more to our story than a curse.
sixteen
When I opened my eyes, it was with immediate disdain for the sunlight pouring in through the enormous window. The brightness stung, and for a second, everything was disjointed. The room felt unfamiliar, my body stiff, and mind foggy. I didn’t know where I was or how I got here.
Then it hit me.
Memories crashed down over in a wave—Grim collapsing, his skin marked with something unnatural, the unbearable stillness of his body. I sucked in a breath and bolted upright. I was still in the clothes I arrived in, every seam digging into me as a reminder.
