Page 65 of Grim
I blink my eyes closed, physically scrunching my face to push these haunting images out of my brain. In the dark behind my eyelids, Kane’s mayhem plays on a loop, accompanied by the sounds of innocent suffering.
I open my eyes again slowly. Hoping to be reborn into a new world. One that does not contain the horrors of catastrophe.
But of course, I do not. I rouse into this cold one.
I don’t remember how we got back. One second, I was surrounded by smoke and chaos and death; the next, I’m home.
I sit up from the couch, my body heavy with exhaustion. The weight of what I saw and felt sinks into me, dragging me down like quicksand.
I don’t even realize I’m shaking until Kane crouches in front of me, his green eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them.
“Rue.” My name is a whisper, an olive branch.
“I …” My voice breaks. “That was … I …” I can’t form words.
“I know,machère.”
And he does. I know he does. This man has seen, felt, and heard all those cries for centuries, been party to limitless pain, absorbed infinite sadness. He’s been forced to play a wicked part in Time’s cruel play. He has the skills to help Fate mold and paint the most surrealistic of horrors. He is Death’s spawn. And he has burrowed dangerously deep under my skin.
I look up at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears.
“Your shirt is clean,” I say, noticing how crisp, white, and dry his button-down is. And looking for any way to divert the conversation from where my mind and heart think they want to take it.
“Well, you’ve been asleep for a few hours, so I had time to change.”
“What?!” I say frantically. “I’ve lost so much time!”
“That was a lot,” he states calmly. “Your body needed time to recharge.”
“But it felt like only moments ago. The memories are so fresh.”
“Those won’t ever go away, I’m afraid. And they won’t get any easier to cope with.” I can hear the knowledge in his voice.
“Kane.” My throat is tight.
“Talk to me. I’m here.” He reaches for me, placing his firm hands on the tops of my thighs, and I flinch at the contact. He looks down, then back to me. He does not release his grip; instead, he digs his deadly hands more firmly into my flesh. “That is not me, Rue. I have no choice.”
“Not all of you anyway,” I parrot Asher’s line meekly.
“What I am capable of does not define who I am.” The silence lingers. “And I will never hurt you.”
The look I give him must make him see the doubt because he repeats himself earnestly.
“Ever.”
“No one can promise that,” I whisper, thinking of the many ways Kane could do just that. Now that he’s found his way under my skin and into my heart.
I take a steadying breath. His statuesque form frozen below me, arms still atop my thighs, face locked on mine.
Then I surprise myself by smiling. I place my hands momentarily over Kane’s, then run my fingers along thelength of his outer arms. I drink in the muscle and corded tension as I wend my way up his biceps to his shoulders. My hands trail over the crease of his neck, and I finally place my palms as firmly on his cheeks as his are on my thighs. Without words, with something more than words, I speak to Kane as I move my face closer to his and pull his nearer mine. He willingly gives me the lead as I give myself over to this sometimes man, sometimes monster, sometimesmine.
Except he isn’t a man. He isn’t a monster. And he isn’t mine.
But before I can let those thoughts cloud my judgment or falter my resolve, I pull his face to mine and kiss him. I tell him with my assertive action that I see all of him and I want in. I dive my tongue into his warm mouth and beg him silently to ravage me. He digs his fingers even more firmly into my thighs. I can feel his strength, and it sends warmth instantly up my legs. His fingers dig into my bare flesh. I can feel the marks he’s leaving, and all I can think is,More.
I want him to mark me everywhere. I want him to claim me. To consume me.
My tongue works feverishly to encourage him to pursue me and push further, harder. I feel myself coming unglued, giving over to temptation and lust in ways I’ve never known in all my days.
