Page 66 of Grim

And in an instant, Kane takes the lead in this dance in the most unexpected way. He trails his hands up my sides, mirroring mine from moments before. He brings them to my cheeks. His hands dig into the space behind my jaw, his nails clawing my flesh. And I love it.

And then he presses his forehead against mine and pulls our lips apart. We both breathe heavily, my heart pounding. He peppers kisses against my mouth, alternately swiping his tongue along my chin and lips, as though I was the first meal he’d had in ages.

He slows, wrapping his hand around the back of my head, his fingers splayed between the strands of my hair.

He hums against my lips in a final chaste kiss and then pulls his face away from mine so he can look me in the eyes.

His right hand slides forward again to cup my leftcheek. He does not need to say anything. But he speaks anyway. “Thank you.”

I smile in response as a single tear escapes from my eye, wetting his thumb with my unsaid response.

My thoughts trail from Kane’s fractured centuries to this moment of pure bliss. I sigh. I try to take it all in. It feels wonderfully impossible. Like the world is always a little bigger than we are, and that’s exactly the way it’s supposed to be.

Then my mind drifts to my now, and I voice a question that I’m not sure Kane wants to answer. I have to ask it anyway. “When it’s my time”—I swallow hard, my voice barely a whisper—“am I … am I going to be scared like them?”

His expression softens. And for a moment, the guarded walls he always keeps up—those impenetrable shields—crack.

“No,” he says, voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “You won’t be.”

My chest tightens.

“Will I …” My voice breaks. “Will I be trapped? In my body? Screaming for help, but no one can hear me?”

His jaw clenches, and something dark flashes behind his eyes.

“I won’t let that happen.” His voice belies his resolve at this promise. “I swear it, Rue.” His voice is steady again as he grips my hand firmly, bringing it up to his lips. “When it’s time,” he whispers against my knuckles while closing his eyes, “I’ll be there. I’ll make sure you are not alone.”

My vision blurs as all the tears finally fall.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Without thinking, without hesitating, I fall into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and holding on like he’s the only thing keeping me from crashing against the rocky shore. My lighthouse in the dizzying fog. For a moment, he’s still. Rigid, like I’ve come to expect from him. Like he doesn’t know what to do.

But he doesn’t pull away. “Mayday,” he whispers into my hair as his arms come around me, holding me tight. He says it not like it’s my name, but rather like he’s the one that might be desperately lost at sea.

I cling tighter to him, marveling at his warmth and solidity. And for the first time since this nightmare began, I let myself breathe.

Because, in this moment …

I’m not alone.

Not anymore.

At least not for now.

PagesUnfolding

The Hermle grandfather clock in the hall of Rue’s family home announces the evening hour in eight steady notes. Each gong marks the passage of a second. They seem so insignificant when taken in this way—seconds, one at a time. The setting of the sun feels like a more tangible reminder that time is fleeting. In this realm anyway. Perhaps seeing the change take place helps our comprehension. Another sense to help us wrap our minds around the inexplicable.

At any rate, it’s now the evening of the day following our kiss, and Rue is laughing. Not just smiling. Not the sarcastic snorts she seems to enjoy tossing my way when I’m beingintolerable. No, this is a real laugh—light, full-bodied, spilling out of her like sunlight through stained glass.

She’s sprawled across the rug in the living room, a halo of tangled hair fanned around her head, teasing Seek with a feathered cat toy that Esther keeps trying to murder. Seek shrieks with delight, flipping through the air like gravity is more of a suggestion than a rule.

It should be funny. They are amused. I can decipher from social cues that I, too, should be amused. But all I can do is watch her and see the shadows growing deeper under her eyes. The way her chest rises and falls just a little too heavily after a good laugh.

She’s fading.

Not all at once. Not in a way she’ll admit. Perhaps not even in a way she is wholly aware of. Toss a frog into a pot of boiling water, and it’ll jump right back out. However, place it in a warm bath and bring the water to a boil, and you’ll have frog legs for dinner.