Page 20 of The Grim, Me, and The Reaper Makes Three

After a life on Earth that had been riddled by insufficiency, by solitude, he knew that he clung to his love for William like it might be his salvation. Born to a poor mother who served as a custodian at a university in Osaka and a British scholar of a father who had no qualms with forcing himself on the local help, Atticus had known only a brief taste of his home country before he’d been ripped away by his father, who insisted on bringing him back to England so that he could oversee his education. Atticus would never forget the final glimpse he’d had of hismother standing on the dock, her face blank, but her eyes so clearly conveying the extent of her desperation.

He had never seen her again.

His life had then consisted of days shut away in a room where an array of private tutors instructed him on Latin and Greek and the early European iterations of alchemical studies and botany. He was smart, curious, and powerless, but it was all that he had known.

He was twenty when his French tutor grabbed his cock through his tweed trousers. Later that week he had sucked the handsome young man’s cock, receiving very detailed instructions (in French) about how to best go about pleasuring a man.

The physical explorations escalated for the next month, culminating in the day when his father, hearing the rhythmic banging of the settee against the wall, barged through the door to investigate.

What followed was undoubtedly an accident. His father, while cold and reserved, was not a violent man. However, the sight of his son getting fucked by Jean Alain must have been enough to ignite his temper, because one misplaced shove had flung Atticus sideways, where his head met the stone of the hearth, killing him instantly.

Such a silly way to die,he thought, his mind immediately conjuring Tatiana’s reaction to hearing that she’d been hit by a vehicle.

Could he?Could Atticus stomach the unknown for the sake of an eternity that could possibly be more than he had ever allowed himself to imagine?

He had been a coward, and it had cost him the happiness of the man he cared about more than anyone else in the universe and the possibility, themaybe,of someone else he could care for too.

Now, it was up to him to fix it.

8

WILLIAM

Even hundreds of years after his death, William still had to fight the clinging fingers of claustrophobia that tugged at him every time he walked through the sterile, white hallways of the Afterworld Department of Resource Allocation. The ceilings seemed to press down on him and the air was stale and tasted metallic against his tongue.

William’s short life as an early settler in the American West had been devoid of the physical comforts he’d been exposed to in the years since his death. He and his seven siblings had shared corn-husk mattresses in the loft of their log home. Days were spent hunting or trapping beavers, which they traded for their basic necessities. The terrain had been too rugged for farming, which left them reliant on trade to survive.

After a fever had taken his life when he was twenty-nine years old, the quality of his existence in the Afterworld had, if he was honest, been a welcome reprieve.

But, after over a century of living in the mansion assigned to the Reaper and his consort, William hungered for what came next. He hated everything about the home where they had lived since Atticus had stepped into the role of Reaper. The coldmarble floors, the stone pillars and gothic details, all felt like the walls of a gilded prison.

It had been the easiest decision at the time, choosing to become The Grim so that he could remain at Atti’s side when he became the Reaper. The procedure had been quick, albeit painful, but William had found a sense of peace in his canine form that he had never been able to find previously. His mind quieted, his senses sharpened, and the way that his paws met the ground beneath him— there was nothing that compared to it.

But now the beast within him craved freedom. He was ready to find their eternal resting place, a home that was trulytheirs, not a temporary residence that was tied to a job.

Perhaps, if they tracked down Tati, he could convince Atticus to be done. Perhaps, he could be ready to relinquish whatever it was that tied him to the role of Reaper.

His anger with Atticus had faded as quickly as it had reared its ugly head. He knew Atti, and understood his lover’s tendency to torture himself within the confines of his mind. He may not understand Atticus’ resistance to Tati – not when they’d been there together to witness her, to see the warmth and passion she’d infused their lives with after only one night. No, he may not understand, but he suspected that Atticus had concocted a reason for her dismissal that stemmed from his own insecurities. Tati, well, she had been perfect in every way.

It only took William a minute to find him, letting his heightened sense of smell guide him to a table that faced a bare white wall. As long as his lover was in the Afterworld, some invisible tether within would always lead him to Atticus.

William took in Atticus’ hunched posture and the stiffness in his neck. A wave of warmth swept through him.Oh, Atti,he thought, and closed the remaining distance between them.

Softly, he cleared his throat.

When Atticus glanced up, his red-rimmed eyes were blinking furiously, confusion twisting his beautiful face. But the moment that their eyes met, William watched the tension melt from his broad shoulders, and one of Atti’s pale hands reached out toward him.

William dropped to his knees, leaning his scruffy cheek into Atticus’ soft palm.

There was a softness, a vulnerability in Atticus’ wobbly smile that made William’s chest ache. The dark-haired man cleared his throat. “I missed you, love.”

William smiled back. “It’s only been a few hours,” he said gently, even as he pressed a kiss to the hand that cradled his face. “What are you doing, Atti?”

Atticus cleared his throat, holding William’s gaze. “I am going to find her,” he said, his words unwavering.

William looked up at him. “Are you sure?” He needed to know that Atti wanted this, wantedher, as badly as he did; that all of this work wasn’t just for William, but for an eternity that the three of them could build together.

Averting his gaze, Atticus nodded toward the never-ending stream of documents spilling out onto the desk. “I am waiting for her to apply for her bakery. It will come, pup. It will come, and as soon as it does then we will go find her.”

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