Page 15 of Guarded By the Reaper

I had to get out of here.

Millie reached for me again, and her hand clasped my cloak. I knew this was wrong. I’d told her to never touch my cloak, but here I was, unable to stop her. I should’ve jumped to my feet and reinforced my own rules – don’t touch the cloak, don’t touch the scythe. But this woman could disarm me with a look, and her touch was simply something else. It made me feel powerless.

Chapter Eight

Millie

“Grim, wait,” I said, my fingers tightening on his cloak. The rough fabric felt cool in my fist. “I think your cloak helped. I haven’t slept that well in ages. Not one nightmare.”

He stiffened, his skeletal frame seeming to shrink in on itself, as if my touch pained him. “Millie, we talked about this. Don’t touch the–”

“But I think it kept the Poppets out,” I insisted. “It was like they couldn’t reach me, not with your cloak around me.”

He sat back down beside me. “When I became a reaper, Death gave me three things. The cloak, the scythe, and… something else.”

“Something else?” I prodded, curious.

He shook his head. “I can’t talk about it. Let’s just say it’s a secret.”

“Mysterious,” I teased, unable to stop a small smile from playing on my lips. “A man of mystery. A Grim Reaper with secrets. I never...”

“Don’t,” he growled, even as a flicker of amusement danced in the depths of his empty sockets.

“Don’t what?” I pressed, enjoying his discomfort a little too much.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” he muttered.

“And what, pray tell, is so hard about it?” I challenged, my fingers toying with the edge of his cloak. The fabric felt alive, thrumming with energy.

“This,” he said, his empty eye sockets boring into me. “Us. Being this close. You, wrapped in my…” He trailed off, as if suddenly at a loss for words.

Oh, right. That. I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me.

“What? Don’t tell me you never had a woman sleep under your cloak before,” I teased, unable to resist pushing his buttons a little. “It’s okay, you can tell me. Your secrets are safe with me.”

“We’re not having this conversation, Millie,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked, unable to keep the laughter from my voice. “Afraid I’ll tell the lady reapers that you have a thing for human women? That you prefer a good cup of tea and a chat to reaping souls and whatever else you do in your spare time?”

He didn’t answer. I could tell by the set of his jaw, the way he kept clenching and unclenching his skeletal hands, that he was struggling to maintain his composure. Which, of course, only made me want to tease him more.

“It’s okay,” I said, softening my tone, my hand reaching out to touch his arm. I stopped just short of making contact. “We’re friends here.”

“Friends?” The single word, spoken in his raspy voice, seemed to crackle with an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” I said, surprised by the sudden intensity in his gaze. “Friends. What else would we be?”

A flicker of something dark and unreadable crossed his skeletal features. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“Never mind,” he muttered, turning away. “What do I know about friends?”

Seeing him like this, so vulnerable, was like a punch to my gut. The playful banter died on my lips, replaced by a wave of sympathy so strong it nearly took my breath away.

“Grim,” I said softly, my hand finding his arm, letting my fingers rest on the rough fabric of his sleeve. “Talk to me. What’s it like? I mean, being a reaper?”

He tensed under my touch, his whole body going rigid. But he didn’t pull away.

“It’s…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words, his empty sockets fixed on someplace beyond the walls of the house. “It wasn’t always like this.”

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