Page 43 of Grim

Kane rolls his eyes before adjusting his sleeves again because, apparently, being an insufferable piece of shit requires constant tailoring. “Control yourself.”

“You’re standing on my father’s grave!” I hiss, throwing my arms up. “That’s extremely disrespectful.”

Kane smirks. “I don’t think he can feel anything anymore.”

I glare, mustering the strength to kick him square in his smug, statuesque face, but before I get the chance, he takes a deep breath, straightens his lapels, and says, “Relax, Rue. These aren’t graves. They’re portals. We bury bodies to keep the memory alive. That’s fleeting, of course. But the intention is in the right place. And these places become passageways to travel in, around, and through. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to bend time and space. Be right back.”

“What about me?” I demand.

“I thought you said you were getting a car. I can text you the address.”

I fold my arms. “I’m going with you.”

Kane laughs. Not just any laugh. No, a borderline-hysterical, utterly baffled, full-bodied laugh that makes him look maniacal. Sinister.

Sexy… I admit to myself very reluctantly.

“You can’t,” he says, still chuckling. “Mortals can’t portal.”

I lift my chin. “Seems like there are a lot of things I can do that I shouldn’t be able to.”

His smirk falters.

“It’s not happening. Even if the Reaper Regulations got this wrong, which is highly unlikely, you wouldn’t want to. The trip would be too disorienting.”

“Awww, is Kane showing concern?” I raise a brow as he grimaces.

“Yeah, concern about having to rearrange your insides or scrape your innards off the floor.”

“I’ll take the chance. What have I got to lose?” I shoot him a wink.

“No, Mayday,” he states firmly. “Not happening. I’m not even sure where to begin explaining the complexities of this to you. There’s no—”

“Hold me,” I order, causing Kane’s entire body to go stiff.

“No,” he fires back.

“Yes.”

“Never.”

“Always.” I smirk, watching him visibly shudder.

“Leave.” He points toward the house like I’m some misbehaving child. “Go back inside. I command it.”

I roll my eyes so hard that I see stars before stalking toward him. Kane backs away, retreating until he’s pressed against my father’s headstone.

“Shut up and hold me,” I say, voice low, challenging.

Kane’s green eyes narrow, and for a second, I think he might actually depart without me. I don’t give him a chance. Before he knows what’s happening, I throw my arms around his neck and jump, wrapping my legs around his waist like a human belt. Kane stiffens violently, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, like he’s just been doused in ice water. My pelvis presses into his, our bodies chest to chest, and our eyes lock.

The air shifts, and I can feel Kane’s body tense tightly. That instant of discomfort passes powerfully into a moment of pure connection. It’s almost as though every point of contact between us sparks an electric charge. I can feel him in a way I’ve never felt anyone before. Pinpricks of pressure tingle along my forearms, down my chest, and unmistakably between my thighs. His skin heats, literally warms instantly, like that first grip of a freshly poured cup of coffee. And just before he speaks, we breathe each other in, mouths slightly parted, faces inches apart.

“Get. Off.” His voice is strained, his whole body rigid with panic.

“Maybe. Later.” I grin, squeezing tighter, the innuendo surprising me as much as it does the soul sucker in my grasp.

Kane makes a deep, guttural noise of distress, somewhere between a groan and a growl, and tilts his head toward the sky momentarily before returning his gaze to mine. Something primal lights behind his green gaze, and I feel his entire being shift. His legs and shoulders soften slightly. His arms, which had previously been ramrod straight, bend, and his long fingers press against my skinny back. He confidently presses our bodies ever tighter together, his strength surprising yet reassuring.