Page 80 of Grim
I smile wanly at her gently pulsing belly as she breathes steadily. Her sleeping form brings me great comfort. The way her body gently vibrates as she snores calms me. The finitude of my time, the erratic beating of mybroken heart, the impossibility of it all melts away when this loyal feline perches on top of my thighs and rests.
I jot down a closing couplet in my notebook. My vision softens as I feel fatigue overtake me while reviewing my words. I haven’t been awake long enough to already be tired. I close the worn book, wrapping the string around the catch while letting out a yawn. My head slumps back against the cushion as my pen slips from my fingers. My eyes close of their own volition, and I feel myself fall.
The atmosphere hums like static against my skin—warm, electric. I’m standing in pitch darkness, jagged earth beneath my feet. The air filling my lungs feels thin and cold here. I look up, or what feels like up to me in this dark place, and see no light source in the sky. No sun. No moon.
I try to move, but I cannot feel the ground underfoot in any direction. I feel trapped, and my pulse quickens.
Just then, a pinprick of light appears before my eyes. It swims and swirls in tiny arcs around me, and I follow it closely. It lands on a figure standing in the distance. Her curvaceous outline speaks of a soft femininity. Her auburn hair pours in waves over her shoulders. The small light dances in front of and around the unknown figure who looks statuesque in her stillness and her grace.
“Lead with love,” she whispers, and the light races away from her, casting her back into the pitch black.
I follow the light source as it travels in front of me and lands on another figure. This form is hard, sharper, and angled. The broad shoulders and trim waist could belong to only one man.
Kane.
I know it’s a dream. But I don’t care.
He stands an unknown distance away, the light bouncing off him in stark relief. His hooded eyes stare at me hungrily. Not the usual dark resignation he wears like armor. This is something rawer. Looser. Dangerous in a way that makes my knees tremble.
The small, floating light zips toward me, resting near my feet and lighting a path to tread toward Kane. I move cautiously and intentionally closer. When the light pulls us within inches of each other, I look up at him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, voice hoarse. “This isn’t safe.”
“Then why are you?” I counter, barely above a whisper.
His jaw tics. “Because I can’t stay away.”
My pulse stutters.
He moves toward me fractionally, and that’s all it takes. I’m in his arms in a rush of breath and reckless motion, fists curled in his shirt, mouth crashing into his. His kiss is fire. Heat, chaos wrapped in reverence. He drinks me in like he’s been dying of thirst and I’m the last drop of water left in the world.
His hands roam—slow at first, almost worshipful, then more desperate. One slides up to cup my jaw, and the other presses low against my back, pulling me flush against the hard line of his body. I can feel him—every inch of him. And it’s not enough.
“I dream of this,” he groans against my mouth. “Of you.”
My fingers tangle in his hair. “Then stop holding back.”
“Rue,” he growls—an actual, low sound in his throat—and his lips trail to my neck, my collarbone.
His teeth graze skin, and my knees nearly buckle. I feel him smile there, unrepentant and wicked. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
His mouth moves lower, dragging the strap of my dress down with agonizing patience, exposing my shoulder. He kisses the spot reverently, his breath hot. “This isn’t real.”
“I know,” I say on a pant. “But let me feel something while I can.”
My words break him. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The friction between us draws a soft, involuntary moan from my throat, and his gaze darkens. His mouth is back on mine—rougher now, urgent. One hand grips my thigh;the other cradles my skull like I’m breakable. And maybe I am.
“You haunt me, Mayday,” he murmurs, his mouth against the shell of my ear. “Every fucking second.”
And then he’s gone.
I choke on a broken exhale as my eyes come into focus on the space around me. The room has not changed since my eyes closed, save for the outline of a small child sitting—or rather, sort of floating—in the chair opposite the couch, his legs swinging lackadaisically.
“’Ello,” Seek sings in his soft Cockney accent.
“Hi, friend,” I rasp, my throat feeling dry. “What are you doing?”
“Watching you. Kane’s orders. No mischief, he said.”
