Page 11 of Guarded By the Reaper

Those marks, those tiny wounds, shouldn’t have affected me the way they did. I was a creature of death, for crying out loud!I’d seen it all, smelled it all, felt death’s icy grip a thousand times over. Yet, here I was, staring at a couple of pinpricks on this woman’s thighs like they were mortal wounds. And the feeling that slammed into me, right where my heart used to be, was anything but dead. It was a jolt of possessiveness that made my bones ache, a need to shield her from those things, to wrap my fingers around their necks and…

I shifted on the bed, my cloak rustling. I needed to focus. But the scent of her – all lavender and something uniquely Millie – was doing things to my hollow body. She was like a siren, luring me closer to… what? Oblivion? Redemption? I wasn’t sure which one scared me more.

“They won’t hurt you again,” I said, trying to keep it together.

I reached out, my hand hovering over her leg for a second before I gently touched the marks on her thigh. Her skin was warm beneath my touch. I could feel the life pulsating inside her. It was a heady sensation, intoxicating and terrifying.

Millie shuddered at my touch, but not in a bad way. I pulled my hand back as if burned.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I said. It was the truth. I would keep her safe. Even if it killed me. Which, considering my current state of being, was highly unlikely. But still.

“How? They come when I sleep. I can’t stop them.”

“I’ll be here every night. We’ll find a way.”

Millie gave me a gentle smile, then stood up and announced she needed the bathroom. I steered her gently towards it, my hand a light pressure on her back. Even that simple touch sent a jolt of longing through me. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the feeling. I was a Grim Reaper. What did I know about longing? About desire? Those were luxuries for the living, for creatures with beating hearts and functioning… well, everything.

The bathroom door shut with a soft click. I took up position just outside, my back to the wall. I could hear her in there, thesoft rustle of her nightgown, the splash of water as she washed her face. Each sound, each tiny movement, pulled at something deep inside me, something I hadn’t realized was still there. Was this… concern? Protectiveness? It felt uncomfortably close to… affection. And fear. I was terrified for her, for what those creatures might do to her if they managed to break through the thin veil of her dreams again.

I’d promised to keep her safe. But how could I protect her from something I couldn’t fight? The Poppets were like cockroaches, skittering in the shadows, slipping through cracks that even I couldn’t reach. They were extensions of Ma-Vasha’s will, animated by her power, and she… Well, she was older than time itself. As ancient as Death.

Millie’s mind was the one place I couldn’t follow. Couldn’t guard. Maybe she needed someone else. Someone who could fight those things on their own turf – in the ethereal realm where dreams and nightmares collided. Someone less corporeal. Less me.

But the thought of leaving her, of another entity – spectral or otherwise – guarding her door, filled me with a cold dread that had nothing to do with my usual state of being. I’d sworn to keep her safe, and I would. Even if it meant confronting my own limitations, my own inability to be what she truly needed – a protector in every sense of the word. No. I wouldn’t fail her. I couldn’t.

Chapter Six

Millie

The stairs creaked under my feet. I hated that they creaked, always had. They were a reminder that even in a house as grand and imposing as Asterhaven, some things were just old and breakable. My great-great-grandfather had called it Asterhaven, and it stuck.

Grim followed close behind, silent as a shadow, his presence comforting. It was strange how quickly I was getting used to having him around.

In the kitchen, I put on the kettle to make tea. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I hadn’t slept properly in days. Not since the nightmares started. And the lack of sleep was starting to get to me. My head throbbed, my limbs felt heavy, and every shadow seemed to hold some unseen terror.

“Are you all right, Millie?” Grim’s voice, low and raspy, startled me out of my thoughts. He was leaning against the counter, his skeletal arms crossed over his chest, his empty sockets fixed on me with intensity.

“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a smile. “Just a little tired.” I rummaged through the cupboards, my hand hovering over the assortment of teas. Chamomile, peppermint, Earl Grey. I settled for a blend called Midnight Serenity. It seemed appropriate, given the circumstances.

“I’m sorry you haven’t been sleeping well,” he said.

“Nightmares will do that to you,” I said, pouring the boiling water into a mug. The scent of lavender and chamomile wafted up, momentarily chasing away the stale, floral perfume that seemed to linger in every corner of the house.

We moved into the living room, me with my steaming mug of tea, him with his inseparable scythe. I curled up on one end of the sofa, tucking my feet under me. Grim took the armchairopposite me, his frame stiff and upright. It was as if he’d forgotten how to relax, how to simply be.

“They say homes hold onto the memories of those who lived within their walls,” he said. “Even after those souls have moved on.”

I frowned, taking a sip of my tea. It was lukewarm by this point, but I didn’t care. “Is that a Grim Reaper thing? Knowing about houses and stuff?”

He shrugged. “Let’s just say I’ve been around for a while. Seen things, heard things.” He paused. “This house is filled with love. With laughter, with the echoes of a family that was whole and happy.”

My chest tightened. A family that was whole and happy. Was. Past tense. Grim’s words, spoken with a gentleness I wouldn’t have expected from a creature of death, hit me harder than I’d anticipated. He was right, of course. Asterhaven had always been filled with warmth, with a sense of belonging that had wrapped around me like a blanket. Until it wasn’t. Until the car crash.

“Tell me about them,” Grim said. “Your parents. What were they like? What did they love?”

I hesitated. Talking about my parents, especially now, felt like picking at a scab that had just started to heal. But there was something about Grim’s request, something genuine behind his rasping tone, that made me want to tell him. Maybe he was right, and houses did hold onto memories.

“My mother,” I began, her face – always so vibrant, so full of life – flashing before my eyes. “She was like sunshine. Always smiling, always seeing the good in everything and everyone. She loved to garden. She said it grounded her. Kept her sane.” I smiled as I remembered the countless hours I’d spent with her weeding, planting, and occasionally, much to her amusement, getting hopelessly tangled in the rose bushes and ending up scratched all over.

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