Page 87 of Grim

“So tight, so fucking warm—shit, Rue,” he praises as he pounds into me.

We’re soaked and shaking, lightning splitting the sky above us as he buries himself deeper, until we’re nothing but heat and breath and the animalistic sound of skin on skin.

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, hand finding my face like he needs to anchor himself. “Rue … look at me. Look at me.”

My eyes snap open and meet his, just as the tension coiled in my belly explodes.

“Kane!” I cry, finding the only word in the universe that matters in this moment. Body locking, legs trembling, I shatter around him.

“Fuck—Rue—” he growls, kissing me as he follows me into oblivion, thrusting deep one last time before he comes deep inside me.

His hips jerk, his mouth crashes to mine, and we fall together—shaking and so potently alive.

He holds me through it, chest pressing to mine, my heart racing fast and hard enough for the both of us. We lie there beneath the storm, bodies tangled, my breathing ragged, and my heart still trying to catch up.

He uses his free hand to wipe the rain from my face—from my forehead to my chin. His touch has a primal edge to it, a roughness that disappears when his hand continues its descent from my chin to my throat, where he delicately checks my pulse again.

“That …” I whisper breathlessly. “That was worth every second I have left.”

He flinches like the words cut bone deep. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he kisses me again.

His voice is thick when he murmurs, “Absolument.Absolutely.”

In this moment, I don’t feel like I’m dying. I feel somehow more than alive. Like time itself does not exist, but I do. We do. And together, we are infinite.

SlipperWeather

The rain hasn’t stopped, and neither of us seems to care. We just lie there, limbs tangled, the storm crackling above us like it’s bearing witness.

Rue is half draped over me, her lips still parted, eyes closed, hair soaked and wild against my chest. Her body is warm despite the chill, but I can feel the edges of her shaking—small, barely there tremors from exhaustion or cold or maybe just the unraveling of whatever she’s been holding on to.

I tuck her tighter against me, shielding her from the wind. I wonder if my body provides any warmth to her. At least it can provide shelter.

My palm rests on her chest, her heart beats soft flutters now beneath my fingers. I count silently, clocking her pulse.

It’s slow, and the beats are faint.

The cold clinician in me quiets as another voice in me rises in volume. Panic whispers through me before I can stop it. Quiet, soul-deep dread that seeps into my very marrow.

She shivers again, and it pulls me back to the present. She’s too cold. I don’t hesitate, scooping her up, soaked dress and all, and carry her down from the rooftop. My arms begin to shake in ways they never have before. It’s not from the weight of her. I’m a reaper. I can liftvehicles without much effort. No, this is from the thought of what’s to come. What I’ll do when I no longer have the option to carry her.

Inside, I move on autopilot as I lay her on her bed. I grab a towel and fresh clothes from her dresser, and I begin to strip her out of her soaked garments. My hands move gently but efficiently.

She’s barely awake, murmuring something I can’t quite make out as I dress her in a baggy black T-shirt. It swallows her whole, hanging off her frame like a shroud.

Her eyes flutter open once, bleary and heavy-lidded.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hey,” I reply, brushing damp hair from her temple. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”

Her lashes lower again, and she sighs softly, curling into the blanket like a child seeking shelter. I kneel beside her bed, hand still on her hair, watching the rise and fall of her chest.

I press a kiss to her forehead and smooth back her hair.

“Somnus mortis frater est,” I whisper darkly to the sleeping Rue, voice raw and hollow. “Sleep is Death’s brother. Might as well get some practice.”

Her fingers twitch, but she makes no offer of reply, just continues life’s metronome in even, slowing breaths.