“You just saw me this afternoon.” I meant for it to be a joke. It fell short.
He stepped back, holding me at arm’s length so that he could look at me. “I didn’t want to go earlier.”
“I know.” I did. Our relationship was the definition of complicated. He was breaking all the rules to be here. The other collectors kept telling me if I truly cared, I’d send him away. Relationships between soul collectors and mortals were forbidden. Dangerous.
The being in charge of the soul collectors, who I called the Mender, had already stripped Death of some of his abilities because Death had twice exchanged essences with me. The ability to exchange essences was meant to allow soul collectors to pass along their mantle when they grew weary so that they could move on to wherever souls went next. As in, it was meant to be used on another disembodied soul, not a still-living mortal. Under normal circumstances it couldn’t have been used on the living, but because I was a planeweaver and touched several planes at once, Death had been able to use it with me. He’d saved my life, and in the process had become mortal himself, at least temporarily. I’d bargained with the Mender and taken a huge debt I’d yet to repay, but the Mender had agreed to return that ability once Death was ready to pass on, ensuring he wasn’t doomed to eternity as a soul collector.
That bargain didn’t mean the Mender approved of our relationship. What more would he do if he found out we were still together? Relocate Death? Strip all of his abilities and send him along with all the other souls? That was one of my greatest fears. Whenever the time between Death’s visits stretched too long, I worried that Death had moved on, and I’d never get to say good-bye, or even know what happened. He’d just vanish.
Complicated. That was an understatement.
“No running, remember?” Death said in response to whatever he saw on my face.
I tried to smile, but my smile felt too far away, out of reach, buried under all the things we didn’t say, didn’t discuss. I barely admitted it to myself, but I was worried about us. He had never said it, but I could see in his eyes that he was too. That fact hurt worse than I was prepared for. He was always the confident one. The one so sure of his feelings. The one not afraid to say “I love you.”
I couldn’t stand there anymore, staring into his warm eyes and seeing both love and worry. My first instinct was to pull away, to cross the room and focus on something—anything—else. But he was right. When we’d first started this, I’d promised not to run. If I broke that promise, if I pulled away, I’d be giving up on us. That wasn’t an option. So I stepped forward, toward him, sliding my arms up over his shoulders, pressing my lips to his.
The kiss started soft and sad, and then grew, becoming needy, full of longing and urgency as our bodies mirrored the chaotic swirl of emotions tangled between us. Time was short. He could get called away. But he was here now. Real and warm and mine for right now. My hands slid down his chest, tracing muscles still hidden under his shirt. When I reached his waist, I shoved the hem of the shirt up, anxious to feel more skin under my palms. To drag my fingers through the fine dark hairs on his tanned chest.
He broke off long enough to pull his shirt over his head. Then his mouth closed on mine again. His hands slid over my ass, and he lifted me. I obliged by wrapping my legs around his hips, drawing my body over a part of him that was now very hard. He groaned and walked us to the nearest wall, pressing my back to it. I was pinned between the cold stone behind my back and Death’s warmth seeping into me from the front.
I broke from his mouth, gasping as I said, “I own a bed, you know.”
“So you’ve told me. You own a wall too.”
He leaned in, but I pressed a finger to his lips, stopping him only an inch away.
“I own the whole damn castle.”
I moved my finger, the distance between us closing so that his reply of “You do” was murmured directly against my lips.
His hands moved to my waist, sliding under my sweater, making my skin tighten and tingle as he moved upward, over my stomach, my ribs, until his thumb hooked under my bra and stroked my breast. I inhaled, squirming against him. Needing more.
“We have too many clothes on.” My words came out more as a moan as he unsnapped my bra so he could cup one breast. He seemed to understand anyway, pulling back enough that I could wiggle out of my sweater before attacking the button on his jeans.
We left a trail of discarded clothes from the sitting room to my bedroom until we tumbled completely naked into my bed. I scrambled on top of Death, taking the length of him inside me, my movements slow but rhythmic, enjoying watching him under me, responding to every twitch of my body. The moonlight flooded through the window, bathing both of us in soft light. His fingers dragged at my hips, trying to change my rhythm, but I resisted until he sat up under me.
“You are trying to torture me,” he said, sucking my nipple in his mouth and drawing hard.
I moaned, my rhythm faltering, and Death used the opportunity to flip us over. Despite his words, he didn’t rush it but let his pace build gradually. I met him thrust for thrust until we both came screaming and panting.
“That was . . . We should definitely do that more often,” I said, one hand still tangled in his dark hair. I couldn’t feel my legs yet post-orgasm, but they were probably still locked behind his butt.
He laughed, the sound deep and masculine rolling over my sated flesh. Then he kissed me, though we had to break off quick as we were both still gasping.
“I love you,” he said, and rolled us over so we were both on our sides.
It took only a little wiggling to find a comfortable position in each other’s arms. We’d fit together since the first time we embraced. We lay there, holding each other, until we were breathing normally again. I was exhausted, both in a post-great-sex kind of way and emotionally exhausted after a long day, but I didn’t know when I’d see Death again, so I couldn’t put off asking him the questions I needed answers to, even if the conversation would kill the contented post-sex buzz we had going on.
“We need to talk.”
Death’s arms tightened slightly around me. “I’m told it’s never a good sign when a woman says that.”
I pushed up on one elbow so I could see his face. “Not that conversation.” Though at some point, we were going to have to talk about our relationship and all the unanswered questions that hung between us. They might not affect our sharing really, really good sex, but if this was a relationship and not just a booty call when he could spare a moment, we had to have that talk. But not tonight. “It’s about my case.”
Death didn’t say anything, but he didn’t vanish, so I took that as a positive sign.
“How does a ghost get inside someone else’s body?”