Page 42

thirty

" H appy birthday to youuu..." Day sang off-key, loudly, and for the thirteenth time today—despite his solemn vow not to.

His grin stretched ear to ear, brighter than the candles flickering between us.

I played along, eyes shut, breath held, leaning toward the cake to make my wish. "—dear Astoria, happy birthday to—”

He stopped, and the smile vanished from his face. The cake slipped from his hands, hitting the floor with a wet, final thud.

My heart slammed against my ribs, and I turned just in time to see his eyes widen, locked on the window. Outside, a wave of darkness surged over the hills, swallowing light as it moved. At its center—something. Someone.

The door burst open.

“Day!” I shouted, but he was already gone, sprinting barefoot into the night as if he didn’t even hear me.

The cake lay ruined at my feet. A few stubborn candles hissed as I upended my mug of tea over them. The sweet scent of frosting clung to the air.

Still in my pajama pants and t-shirt, I ran with a pulse of dread pounding in my ears. The farther I climbed the hill, the heavier the night bore down—a sickening certainty that something was wrong…

With every step, I felt it.

Him.

His hoarse voice ripped through the darkness, searing a hole in my chest. "Stay back, Astoria," he demanded, words broken and choked with pain.

At the edge of the fence, Day stood frozen, horror etched into his face. Beyond him, Grim collapsed under the attack of what looked like wraiths. They swarmed him, shadows moving with rage, fresh marks clawing into his body, blood soaking the frozen ground.

"Grim!" I screamed, sprinting toward him.

Day lunged, grabbing my wrist, trying to hold me back from crossing the fence. His grip was iron, but desperation made me reckless.

"Keep her back, Day! I swear if you don’t I'll fucking kill you!" Grim shouted, his voice raw with agony.

I yanked against Day’s hold until my shoulders popped and tears blurred my vision. Finally, his grip slipped. Grim’s gaze found mine across the night.

His dark eyes, rimmed with red. His cheeks slick with tears. "Don't cross the fence, Tempest," he gasped. "Please. I'm begging you."

Another shadow latched onto him, wrenching his shoulder backward with a sickening crack. The only sound louder than the shriek of the wraiths was Grim’s scream—ragged and unbearable.

I couldn’t stay back.

I wouldn't.

Hopping the fence was easy. The sting of magic bit into my skin, slicing across my senses, but it was nothing compared to the terror of losing him. Somewhere behind me, Day screamed obscenities, his voice nearly as broken as Grim’s. But I barely heard them.

I ran.

Barefoot across frozen ground. Through the snapping and hissing dark.

Tears welling in my eyes as wraiths clung to Grim like leeches, tearing at him.

A few of them peeled off, twisting toward me.

I didn't slow. I didn't flinch. Nothing could deter me, not when he was within reach.

Not when there was still a chance to save him. Death needs me.

It felt as if an eternity had passed before my body crashed into his, knocking us both to the ground, scattering the wraiths like smoke. For one breathless moment, it was enough.

"You never listen," Grim groaned, pushing himself up, dragging me with him.

A shadow shrieked as it dove at us. Grim twisted, pulling me protectively into his chest.

"You called. I came," I choked out, tears spilling down my cheeks.

A sharp stinging crawled down my back; the bitter cold gnawing at my bare skin.

The wraiths gathered again, circling like vultures, their forms flickering in and out of focus.

Almost human, but twisted and wrong, shrouded in darkness.

One darted toward us, and on instinct, I reached out.

My hand brushed its smoky form and it erupted into blinding light, dissolving into nothing.

Grim gritted his teeth as another tore into his leg, leaving a fresh gash.

I lunged for that one too—just the faintest touch, and it burned away, pure and silent.

"How are you doing that?" Grim gasped, awe threading through the terror.

"I don't know," I panted. "I'm just... touching them." It felt like bringing someone back from the dead—the same pull of energy, the same conscious surrender. Only now, it wasn't a revival. It was release . "I think... it's like my curse.”

Grim winced but managed to haul us both upright, leaning heavily on me. As the wraiths closed in again, he reached for one with a trembling hand. The moment his fingers brushed the shadow, it imploded with a crack of black force, collapsing inward until only air remained.

His gift, and mine.

Together.

"You're sending them on," he breathed, clinging to me with the little strength he had left. His dark eyes gleamed, terrified and reverent, as the last of the souls wavered. Their attack halted as they waited…

For me.

I let them come, slowly, patiently—each hovering just behind the other as they waited for me to touch them.

And with that one brush, they dissipated—their dark and foreboding forms turning to mist in the night sky, glowing and ethereal as they made their way through a sheer portal that appeared at Grim’s call.

As the wind died down, and the swaths disappeared, I adjusted Grim over my shoulder, supporting his weight as we hobbled back toward the house.

When we made it inside, Day had already swiped the dining table clean, everything in a giant mess on the floor. Hoisting Grim onto the smooth surface, he ran down the hall.

“I’ll go grab a few things,” he yelled.

Smoothing Grim’s hair back, I looked him over, my vision blurry with the tears burning my eyes. Pale and bloodied, he gave me a soft smile, catching my hand with his own as he held it to his cheek.

“I want you to try something for me,” he choked out. His body shook violently.

I nodded, “Anything.”

“I want you to heal me, like you sent those spirits on. The same way you bring back the dead.”

I choked on my words; I couldn’t heal anyone. I tried. Countless times. I’d hold Ishani and rock her in my arms as I moved through the motions. Each time I came up short and nothing about her condition changed. Every attempt was futile and only further pushed me toward bitterness and rage.

“Try, for me .”

His eyes glittered; my favorite dark and starry night. Secrets coming to light. He was asking too much of me, but as I stood there acknowledging the trust in his eyes, I knew I had to try.

He held my palm against his cheek, then moved it down his body until my palm covered a deep gouge on his chest. Closing my eyes, I placed both hands there, centering my thoughts on the wound, renewing his spirit and mending what had been broken.

Warmth bloomed. My hands burned. His skin turned molten as a bright light illuminated my palms.

Grim’s eyes stayed trained on me the entire time, and we both gasped as if all the oxygen was suddenly ripped out of the room. The realm unseen to me shuddered, and what could only be explained as a veil appeared with a shimmer as Grim took a deep breath.

Day dropped the towels and supplies he held, his jaw dropping. Reaper barked.

And then there was light.

The house was washed in it, blinding me.

"You and I—we're the same," Grim murmured, his voice thick, almost dreamy.

"My Tempest," he sighed, the words slurring into the night air as I leaned closer, drawn to him like a tide I couldn't fight.

In one swift, aching motion, his strong arms seized me—dragging me down until I crashed against his chest. Our lips collided, rough and desperate, the world falling away around us.

It wasn’t gentle or careful. It was all consuming, like a man on the verge of extinction.

“Day, go home,” Grim grit out, before descending upon me again.

Day chuckled, tossing a washcloth at our heads. “Glad to see you’re fine. Happy birthday, Storybook.” With that, he was gone.

Grim sat up, bringing my body with him as he stood. Carrying me in his arms, he stalked down the hall, blood coating us both. Reaper barked, causing Death himself to pause, his head cocking to the side.

“Whose dog is that?”

I smiled, clutching his neck, pressing my face into the space between his collar and jaw. “Yours.”

Continuing down the hall, Grim kicked his door open. "You will explain," he growled. "Later."

I inhaled the scent of him, letting it flood my senses. It was sharp and biting, the oleander clung to the back of my throat like memory—burnt salt stinging my nose.

When I was a girl, my mother used to sprinkle salt across the threshold of our front door, convinced it would ward off evil spirits. I thought she was foolish then. My grandmother would smile softly and say, "It costs nothing to let someone find their peace."

But that keen-edged, almost acrid scent stuck with me. When I met Death, it annoyed me how much he smelled exactly as I'd imagined, as if every nightmare and every haunted story had been about him. But now it wasn’t rage that clawed at me.

It was him .

All the softness he'd hidden for a century.

All the pieces of him I never thought I'd be allowed to touch.

For the first time in my endless life, I was grateful for it.

I didn't want it to end.

With a snap of his fingers, the blood and sweat vanished from our clothes. His skin smelled clean, fresh, like rain on a blade of grass. He set his forehead against mine as he carried me to the bed, setting me down gently, as if the moment between us was pulled taut—threatening to unravel.

"I've always known you were otherworldly," he said, voice roughened by something too big for words.

"Like you.”

"Like me." He kissed the curve of my neck, lingering there, breathing me in. "Stay here," he murmured, as if I could ever leave.