Page 90 of The Reluctant Reaper
“No,” Gray said. His grip tightened; he’d been holding Amara’s hand while they waited for Hilly. “I’ll go back. I’ll pack up your craphole and bring your stuff back here. Except for those bacteria traps you think are slippers. Those I’ll be setting on fire.”
“Don’t you touch my Homer slippers! Or any of it. You’re free, Gray.”
He frowned. “I was always free.”
“No, I mean free of—you’re not going to die this year. You’re going to have a lovely long life in southern Minnesota.” Amara smiled, which was the easy part. Keeping the smile, that was where it got tricky. Not letting it look like a death’s-head grin? Also tricky. “And I’ll stay here. And it’ll all be fine.”
He dropped her hand like it was made of mud. “First, what the hell? Second, there’s nothing lovely about life without you.”
“Awwww.”
“Stop it, Penny!” Amara yelped.
“Third, I’m moving in here with you guys if Hilly lets me. Which reminds me, Hilly, is it okay if I move in?”
“Of course, darling, but it’s Amara’s property now. And so her decision.”
“Well, you can’t,” Amara declared.I forgot about that. I’m officially a zillionaire. No more trust fund; I control it all. Might as well take the perks with the responsibilities.“I forbid it. I banish you to Minneapolis and sentence you to live happily ever after.”
Gray had no immediate reply, which was alarming beyond belief. Worse, he wore his I’m-thinking-super-hard-and-just-figured-out-something-huge expression. “Your dad said it was a trade. Did you bargain away my death?”
“Really?” Amara said, but not to Gray. “You guys are just going to stand there and listen to this obviously private conversation?”
“It’s interesting,” Penny said.
“A better question is, why are you having this private conversation in a cramped hallway outside your father’s death room?” Arawn pointed out, even as he snapped his fingers and walked away, the hellhoundlets trotting behind him.
“Point,” Amara admitted, even as Gray took her hand and led her away, away, all the way to the tower.
He slammed the door and leaned against it. “Tell. Me. Everything.”
“Wow. You didn’t say a word the whole time you were hauling me up here. That raises concerns.”
“Start with, ‘I figured out Skye was the bad guy’ and finish with ‘and then I lost my damned mind and tried to make Graham Gray go back to Minnesota because I’m a jerk with the heart of a jerk.’”
“Oh, the details.” She flapped a hand.
“Amara. I’m supposed to die soon. Or I was.”
“How could you even know that?” she cried.Whoever told, they might get what Skye got.
No. Don’t joke about that. Not even to yourself.
“Because death gods all have at least one thing in common,” Gray said wryly. “Not a single one of you is as subtle as you think you are.Everyonewho met me was sad and just had to comment.”
Amara glared at the floor.
He’s right. We’re idiots.
When Gray reached out and gently tipped up her chin, she glared at him. “Your parents,” she finally muttered. “Your parents killed you.”
“Right. Heart attack?” Gray’s lack of surprise was heartbreaking. “Because my doctor told me I’ve got the BP of a Russian CEO in debt to Putin. And a raging vitamin A deficiency.”
“Ooooh, political. Aneurysm. A few months from now.”
There was a pause while Gray let that sink in and Amara wished she was anywhere but here, having any conversation but this one.
“I’m so sorry. Your folks—they should pay. And they will.”
