Page 38 of Grave Expectations

She so desperately wanted that time. But she had to respect his wishes, she couldn’t force him to stay. There would be no later, there was only now.

A tear trickled down her cheek and she swept at it quickly, not wanting him to see her distress. She waited for him to close his eyes, to accept his fate, to smile, to pass peacefully.

But the look on his face was anything but peaceful. He tried to stand, tried to move against the invisible current that pulled him backward. His mouth opened, his words fading in and out as he jolted back another foot. “I’m…not…ready…” he said.

“Neither am I,” Roz said. She stood and marched toward him, pulling out a pocketknife she’d stashed in her pants. In the end, Roz was an optimist, hopeful that Alaric would want to stay. That he would ask her to strengthen the tether, or even anchor him. She brought the knife so there would be no question where she stood.

She sliced a thin line down her palm, just deep enough for the blood to well. No measly drops this time, she needed enough for something solid. Alaric reached for her, his hand outstretched. She clasped his palm in hers, sighing at how solid it was.

He flew back another foot, his grip slipping from hers. He dug his fingers into the dirt, leaving tracks as he slid across the ground. She dove for him, grabbing both his hands, hauling him toward her. He dug in too, crawling in the dirt, dragging himself back to her.

“I’m not letting go,” she said, even as her strength faltered. The blood, the force of the pull, it was too much. Spots erupted around the edges of her vision. She shook her head to clear them, focusing on Alaric.

“The tether isn’t strong enough,” Alaric grunted, bracing against another wrench from the other side.

“I’ll give you more blood…” she started.

“You’re already hurting,” he said. He managed to pull himself upward, kicking off whatever dragged him backward. He knelt now, his hands cupping her face. “I can’t keep taking from you. The truth is, I’ll never be ready to leave you. I’ll haunt you until you’re old, and when you finally cross, I’ll be there. I’d take the curse again if it meant being here to watch you, even if you can’t see me.”

He wrapped his arms around her as the force tried to pull him again, but his grip faltered. He was losing his solid form again, becoming more and more translucent. The blood wasn’t holding. The tether was too weak.

“There’s another way,” she breathed. He pulled back to look at her, his gaze searching hers.

“I couldn’t ask that of you,” he said softly.

“Then don’t,” she replied and closed her eyes, summoning all her strength. “Stay.”

She’d memorized the spell, recited it over and over under her breath. If the moment came, if he asked it of her, she didn’t want to mess it up.

She spoke the ancient words, digging deep inside herself for the magic. She felt for Alaric, trying to grab the makeup of his soul. It was so easy to find, like he was waiting for her.

He was firm yet soft, the playful smile before a bout of mischief. He was loving and warm, a protector of not just herself, but the town. She focused on his soft kisses, the eager way he pleasured her, the line between his brows when he concentrated.

Shouldn’t it be hard? She’d never done this before, she had no one to teach her, and yet finding him was so simple. In the darkness behind her eyes, he was the one flicker of light, the shelter in a storm.

She closed her fingers around him, around his essence, and tugged.

He didn’t resist.

She pulled him into her, anchoring them together. It wasn’t her heart, it was somewhere deeper, somewhere more profound. His soul slipped into hers, intertwining like their fingers when they held hands. She couldn’t tell where she ended and he began, and she didn’t want to.

She was dimly aware of the outside world, of the cemetery. Her senses returned little by little. The wind died down, the dirt from the grave no longer buffeted her face. Something warm and solid held her close, smelling of dried blood and sweat.

Her eyelids flickered open, only to meet the penetrating dark brown of Alaric’s. He was bruised and bloodied, but he was there. He was whole.

Then she passed out.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Roz’s eyelids were too heavy to open. When she tried to, they didn’t obey, crusted shut by goddess knew what. She tried to flex her fingers, to wiggle her toes, to slowly return to her body. There was an ache in her bones, in her chest, and she wondered for a moment if she’d been hit by a car. No—a bus. Something large, for there was no other explanation for the way she felt.

When she finally opened her eyes, it was to her ceiling, not a hospital room. What if she’d been hit by a bus, fell into a coma, and was transported to her home to be healed by the witches? And now she was waking up from a very long, very --

Wait. The cemetery. Alaric. The anchor.

Roz tried to sit upright in bed, but only succeeded in a half-crunch. She rolled onto her side, her breath catching at what she saw.

Alaric.