Page 33 of Grim
Before I can blink, he’s moved—lightning quick. His hand snaps out, grabbing one of my dad’s old ropes off the wall. I barely process what’s happening before my wrists are caught, spun, and cinched tight with practiced efficiency. His breath is steady. Mine is not.
“I asked you nicely,” he growls, dragging me away from the wall. “But clearly, you’re one of those mortals who only learns through escalation.”
“You tied me up with nautical rope. You know that’s not normal, right?”
He doesn’t answer. Just grabs another coil from a hook and gestures toward the hallway. “Bedroom. Now.”
“Excuse me?”
“Chair or bed, Rue.”
“I swear to—”
“You’re about to be tied to the banister if I don’t hear a reasonable response in the next three seconds.”
I glare at him. Hard. But the truth is, I’m already half bound and out of leverage. So, I choose comfort—grudgingly. “Bed,” I mutter.
He guides me in with a hand to my shoulder, surprisingly gentle, then crouches down and starts looping the rope around my ankles. He’s meticulous. He does it all without grazing so much as a knee, like this is a task he’s done a thousand times.
“Do I offend you that much?” I ask as he ties off the knot.
“In every conceivable way,” he replies, standing.
“This seems like an overreaction,” I grunt, testing the restraints on my bound limbs.
He looks me over before stepping back.
“You’re impulsive, emotionally unstable, and now cosmically radioactive,” he says, arms folding as he surveys his handiwork. “This is damage control. Nothing more.”
I scoff, testing the binds. They hold.
“Don’t worry,” he adds, voice going low as he leans in, so close that his breath ghosts over my ear. “It’s justuntil I get back. But if you keep testing me, Mayday …” His voice dips further, silk wrapped in threat. “You’re going to wake up with some very creative rope burns.”
He straightens, turns on his heel, and walks out without another word.
The door shuts, leaving me to stare at the ceiling. My wrists bound, my ankles anchored while a reaper paces my hallway.
Well, this isn’t a dream, but it’s definitely a nightmare.
CaptiveAudience
While Death spends his free time on mindless hobbies, I have taken the downtime of my last half of a millennium very seriously. Passion and productivity lead to perfectionist pursuits, and I don’t do anything half-cocked.
Upon returning to Rue’s bedroom, I admire my craftsmanship. My Shibari training really shines through in the gentle yet effective nature of each of her restraints. She’s sleeping when I arrive. I take a moment to write my successful post-case report on my latest crossover before tucking my phone in my pocket and clearing my throat.
Her eyes open with a start, and she sucks in a breath as she sees me. She tugs against her arm restraints. “Oh good, you’re back. Untie me now, asshole.”
“In a minute. We still have plenty to discuss, and I imagine you’ll be easier to converse with when you’re acaptiveaudience.”
“Wow, you come with dad jokes now too? You’re the whole package, aren’t you?” she quips, her sarcasm cutting through the tension like a well-sharpened blade.
“Drink it in,ma chère.” I meet her sarcasm in kind. Speaking of drinks, a thought occurs to me. “Would you like a sip of water?”
I can tell from her expression that she doesn’t wantme to help her, but given her current state, she smartly weighs her options and reluctantly responds with a, “Yes.”
I retreat to the kitchen, bringing back a glass of water, which I help her to drink. Her restraints allow me to sit on the side of the bed without the possibility of much physical contact.
As the first sip dribbles down the side of her face and she coughs, she glares at me. “I appreciate the gesture here, Clara Barton, but do you think you could at least hold my head up?”
