He might be in pain, unconscious.That rebellious streak, the part of me that had refused to be caged for over a century, flared hot. I should at least check, make sure he wasn’t convulsing alone in his room. But then...
A wave of uncertainty washed over me.
I let go of the handle, reluctantly, and set my ear to the door.
Silence.
Maybe it was better this way. Maybe I didn’t need to know what was happening behind that door. Except that even as I backed away, the unease clung to me, stubborn and sharp.
After eating the soup Day left for me and taking a long, hot bath, I wrapped my body in a fluffy towel and climbed under the quilt, eyes heavy with the events of the day. Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow Death would wake, and we’d plan to go back and see Gentry.
He knew something important. Even if Gentry knew nothing of the curse, he was significant. I could feel it in my gut, a feeling my grandmother always said would never steer me wrong. The feeling my mother spent her life chasing, in every breeze, each crossing path, and every number.
Gentry held a key to freeing me, and I needed to get back to him as quickly as I could. I should have stayed to finish the conversation we’d started, to press him for answers. But my heart was still keenly aware of the man in the other room, the one who had spoke my name when he cried out in pain.
I couldn’t bear to leave him... but why?
The wind howled like a living thing, hurling rain sideways against the window. I woke to a crack outside, loud, deafening,as if the cottage itself was going to fall apart or split in two. The windows rattled again, just as a blinding light of silver swept through the room. For a breathless second, Grim’s things were cast in an ethereal and violent glow as strange, sharp-edged shadows wrapped their mottled fingers around the walls.
I was already clawing my way out of a nightmare when strong, moonlit hands fell to my shoulders, a dark shadow overhead.
“Shhh…” He knelt before me, hands moving gently to my back to help me sit up. Grim’s fingers brushed my forehead as he pushed stray locks of hair from my sweat-dampened skin. “You’re okay, Astoria. You’re safe.”
Waking in strange places drenched in my own fear was nothing new. I'd moved more than anyone else, sometimes staying only a few hours. It never got any easier, never less disorienting, never less heart-pounding. But as I looked into Grim's dark eyes, something in me finally settled.
The storm rattled again, shaking the windows, the walls, the very bones of the cottage. He stayed crouched in front of me, his eyes tracking mine, his hand still resting lightly against my back as if he was afraid I might bolt.
"You’re not sleeping out here," Grim said finally, his voice low but certain.
Lightning flickered again, throwing the planes of his face into stark relief. Beautiful and terrible, all at once.
It was at the tip of my tongue to argue, to tell him I was fine and shake off his comforting touch, until the space lit up once more, and a shudder ran through me.
“You’re sleeping in my bed.”
I gave the smallest shake of my head, a weak protest, but Death never listened. His strong arms came around me, lifting me out of the heavy quilt. I could have sighed with content, and perhaps a bit of relief, but I was keenly aware of where our skintouched and where sparks trailed my skin, erupting my nervous system in a signal fire of longing.
“You know this would be easier if you’d just wrap yourself around me.”
"But you're not wearing a shirt," I argued, finally waking enough to realize just how terrible of an idea this was. We'd shared a bed at the inn, but only because he'd been unconscious and I'd fallen asleep beside him.
My mind felt thick with confusion as I tried to ground myself. What was happening? Why was my heart pounding like I’d just run miles, and why did my thoughts keep drifting back to him? His strong, muscled body, his skin—that usually looked ashen—now glowing softly in the storm’s light. It shouldn’t be doing this to me, but it was. And it washim. Grim.
His hands, the same hands that had been wrapped around my thighs just moments ago, were now poised at my waist as he lifted me effortlessly, his touch warm and firm. The feel of his strength under his soft touch made me dizzy, the slightest pressure of his fingers making it hard to focus on anything else. My sleep shorts and t-shirt felt like they barely covered me, the realization making my pulse spike, even as I tried to push the thought away.
I should protest. I should tell him to stop, that this wasn’t right, that I wasn’t ready for this, for him.
But then his gaze met mine, so sure, so steady, and the words I wanted to say dissolved on my tongue. Why was he so…compelling? His proximity, the heat of his body against mine, the almost imperceptible smile playing at his lips.It’s too much.And I hated it. I hated that the warmth spreading through me felt more likedesirethan anger or defiance. Why couldn’t I just stay mad at him?
Before I could make sense of my feelings, he was carrying me into the bedroom. His strong hands, gentle and unyielding, werethe only thing keeping me from falling apart, but it wasn’t what I expected.
“You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice a quiet reassurance as he pushed open his door.
It was dark, the storm having chased away every semblance of light.
The only sliver of light was a dull burn from the corner of the room where a candle burned, one he’d probably magicked to appear in his haste to reach me. It revealed a small cramped room with a bed dressed in white. Pictures covered his walls—random newspaper clippings, old photographs and drawings. Each one hung proudly against a dreamy wallpaper.
He set me down, my bare feet tickled by the heavy sheepskin rug at the foot of his bed.
