Grave Visions (Alex Craft, #4)(13)

Blood pounded in my ears and I strained to hear over it, searching the quiet night for sounds that someone was there. I heard nothing but PC snoring at my feet and the slight buzz of the house wards. Even Caleb and Holly were finally silent. I should have been relieved that the wards hadn’t been disturbed; after all, they were meant to ensure nothing malicious and no one uninvited got inside, but too much had happened in the last few months for me to feel truly safe, even behind wards.

I had a moment of indecision. If someone was in the room and I opened my eyes, they might notice, and it wasn’t like my eyes would do me any good in the dark. But it was a reflex. My instincts demanded I try to look around. I fought the urge as I instead listened for something disturbing the darkness and wished my dagger was closer, like under my pillow. I hadn’t quite gotten that paranoid yet, but maybe I should have. Unfortunately, the dagger was in my purse somewhere on the floor by the bed. Fumbling for it in the dark would definitely give me away.

“You’re cute when you pretend to sleep,” a deep and wonderfully familiar voice said.

My eyes popped open, my fear washing away in delight. Normally, with the room so dark, I couldn’t have seen someone leaning against the closed guest room door, his thumbs hooked in the loops of his faded jeans. But Death wasn’t a normal guy, and I wasn’t exactly seeing him with my eyes. The smile that tipped his full lips was both relaxed and suggestive, and he watched me with hooded hazel eyes, his dark hair falling forward to brush his chin.

“What time is it?” I asked as I rolled into a sitting position and stretched. A yawn caught me unawares in the middle of the stretch, and I pressed the back of my hand over my mouth to cover it.

“Late or early, whichever you prefer to call it.”

I nodded at the answer. There was a clock beside the bed, but I couldn’t make out the numbers.

I smiled at Death, but it felt awkward and I clutched at the edge of the comforter where it still bunched at my legs, pulling it self-consciously higher on my thighs. I’d seen Death only once in the last two weeks, and we hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk. He was my oldest and closest friend, but during a case involving a creature from the land of the dead who’d been riding mortal bodies, we’d become more. A lot more. I wasn’t sure if we were exactly dating—did adults really date? That felt like such a high school term—but we’d become lovers and I’d promised I wouldn’t freak out because of the change. I didn’t do relationships well.

But now? Well, he’d kind of disappeared on me again, and since we’d switched essences back, I was once again mortal and he was a soul collector. The relationship was forbidden. And he was just leaning against the door, watching me, not saying anything.

I tugged the comforter up higher, until it covered most of the thin silky cami I’d worn to bed. Death watched the movement, one eyebrow lifting, and then he pushed away from the door. My breath caught as he strolled across the room, his gait casual but his presence seeming to take up more space, so that by the time he stopped in front of me there seemed to be no air left in the room. I wanted to reach out to him, to fling myself in his arms, but I also had the urge to scoot back, putting more distance between us. I’d like to say it was a compromise between the two that I did neither, but in truth I just froze, waiting.

Death, on the other hand, had no hesitation. He reached out and trailed one finger down my cheek.

“No running, remember?” he whispered. His finger traced my jaw and he tilted my chin so I had no choice but to look into the fathoms of his eyes.

Then he kissed me.

It started light, just a teasing brush as much breath as lips. My hesitation melted away. The comforter fell from my fingers, and he deepened the kiss, drawing me into his arms. I met him eagerly, almost greedily, standing and lifting onto my toes as my hands slid up, over his shoulders.

I nipped at his bottom lip playfully and his mouth pressed a smile into mine. When he chuckled, the soft sound rippled over my flesh, sending a surge of excitement through me. Turning, he sat on the bed, dragging me down with him until I was straddling his lap.

The heat of his body passed through his jeans into my bare thighs and I was extremely conscious of how very short my silky shorts were. That of course, didn’t stop me from kissing him again.

We were both breathless when we broke apart and from where his body pressed against mine it was obvious he was happy to be exactly where we were. Still . . .

“Isn’t this against the rules?” I asked, pushing back slightly so I opened the smallest of gaps between our bodies.

He made a sound that could have been anything and leaned forward, pressing a kiss against my shoulder. He brushed the strap of my cami aside and kissed the spot it had covered a moment before.

I pressed a hand against his chest, stopping him. “I’m serious. What happens when your boss finds out about this? He’s psychic, maybe omnipresent.” And I’d met the Mender, who seemed to run the soul collectors. He was freaking scary.

“He doesn’t know everything. And there have been others who have hidden things from him.”

“You mean the Reaper?”

“Among others.”

I frowned, my body cooling. Several months past a grave witch changeling and her soul collector lover had nearly torn reality and the world as we know it apart in an attempt to be together. I didn’t like the parallel.