Death Becomes Me (Call Me Grim Book 2) (7 page)

But a huge question still tugs at the edge of my brain. If Abaddon needs a body to leave the Gateway, how did he manage to get Annalise?

7

Our feet touch the cracked asphalt of a parking lot. Pain blossoms in my injured ankle with the impact and I grab Aaron’s arm to stop myself from falling flat on my face. A curse word flies from my mouth.

“You okay?” He steadies me.

“Yeah. Just this damned ankle. It hurts like hell.” I limp a few steps, testing how much weight I can put on it without it screaming in protest. “I can’t imagine what it was like to have your whole body covered in these things.”

“It wasn’t fun, I’ll tell you that. But they do heal.” He stoops down in front of me. “Let me see it.” He reaches for my leg. His fingers lightly graze the back of my calf as he guides my foot to his lap.

Three distinct stripes of my raw, bleeding flesh circle my lower calf and ankle just above my blood-soaked sock. Fluid-filled blisters line the charred edges of the wounds, where there’s still skin left to blister. Aaron leans closer. He doesn’t touch the tender hamburger meat that used to be my leg and ankle, but I still flinch.

“This needs dressing.” He gently places my foot back on the ground. “And antibiotic ointment.”

“And pain medicine, too. Let’s not forget that.” I suck air between my teeth when my heel hits the pavement. In addition to the pain, we’ve been flying for hours on little sleep and zero food and my muscles ache with exhaustion. The greasy scent of fries and burgers surrounds us. “And maybe some dinner,” I add.

The rising moon peeks from behind the skyscrapers in the distance and reflects off the windows of the buildings around us. I have no idea what state we’re in, much less what city, but I’m sure Aaron knows.

My cheeks prickle with heat. It’s probably petty of me, but it’s irritating that Aaron can see where we’re going when we run and I can’t.

“You know.” I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but I know it’s there. “You really need to teach me how to see when we run. I hate not knowing where we are all of the time.”

“I will.” Aaron ignores my tone and takes my hand. He marches us across the parking lot toward the fast food joint where that glorious smell must be coming from. “After we get your ankle taken care of and eat.”

“So, where are we?” I jog to keep up with his long strides.

“Chicago.” He leads me past the burger place.

“Chicago?” I say, disbelieving. I’ve always wanted to visit Chicago. There’s so much art and culture and great food and people. Everything Carroll Falls isn’t, and I’m finally here. But there’s something else about Chicago. “Wait. Didn’t Bobby say Chicago is where that rogue Reaper lives?”

“He wasn’t sure, but yeah,” Aaron says. We round the side of the building and duck behind a foul-smelling dumpster where we can become visible without scaring the crap out of people.

Aaron turns me around so I face him. Our chests touch in the cramped space, not that I mind. His eyes sparkle as he sweeps a loose strand of hair out of my eyes. The crackle of visibility surrounds us and I can’t help the grin that spreads over my face.

“Hmm … Sounds like someone finally has a plan.” I smirk up at him.

“I think I do. Sort of.” He leans down and brushes his lips against mine, soft and brief, then pulls away. “You’re right, Libbi. We can’t run forever. And if this guy really exists and he’s been free for years, I think we should find out how he did it.”

“I totally agree.” I run my palms down his chest, feeling the ripples of his body under my hands. “Just one little problem. How the hell are we supposed to find a guy who’s managed to avoid Death for years?”

He glances over my shoulder and combs his fingers through his hair. “Well, I haven’t exactly figured that out yet.” He meets my gaze again and grins. “But we’re here, and that’s the first step. Right?”

I give him a skeptical frown.

“Don’t worry. We’re both smart people. We’ll think of something.”

I could argue that point, but decide not to. We finally have a plan. It’s a shaky, half-assed plan, but it’s still a plan. And that’s at least a little bit better than “run from Abaddon forever.”

***

The sign in the window says “Mighty Burger: The Best Cheeseburgers in Chicago.” After devouring one myself, I have to agree. It’s certainly the best burger I’ve ever tasted, but Carroll Falls isn’t exactly known for its fast-food cuisine. And I’ve never been to Chicago. There could be dozens of heavenly burger joints in this city that I don’t know about.

I suddenly have a strong desire to test a few more local restaurants to compare.

Aaron thinks we’re safer in a big city. There are more people and that means more Reapers. And the more Reapers there are, the better our chances of blending in and being ignored. But that doesn’t mean we can afford to stick around for more than a day or two. That sort of sucks
.
I probably won’t get a chance to glimpse Lake Michigan or touch the Cloud Gate sculpture that Kyle calls The Bean, like I’ve always wanted. I won’t get to wander the galleries of the Art Institute of Chicago, or study American Gothic up close. We can’t stay in one place long enough to be tourists and risk being seen or sensed by an area Reaper.

We don’t know who we can trust. Now that Abaddon knows we’re on the run, he won’t let us slip through his grasp again. The only thing we can do to make sure he doesn’t find us is keep moving and stay low. And that doesn’t give us a lot of time to find this escaped Reaper guy.

Time. It’s only a matter of time. I will find you.

I push the memory to the back of my mind. Maybe Aaron’s right. Maybe Abbadon was bluffing, trying to scare me into running back to Carroll Falls and giving in.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

With full bellies, my ankle slathered with ointment and wrapped in gauze, and way more pain medicine than the bottle recommends in my system, we stroll the city sidewalk hand-in-hand. Everything is so big and loud—the buildings, the streets, the people. So many people. They jostle us as they walk by, completely oblivious to us, and I am so grateful to whoever discovered analgesia. I wonder if they would notice if we disappeared right here on the sidewalk, under the bright florescent lights. The daring part of me wants to test that idea.

“All right, Aaron.” I tug playfully on his arm. Maybe I took a pill or two too many. “You said after we ate you’d teach me how to see clearly when I run.” I pat my abdomen for effect. “And I’m feeling pretty full.”

“Okay, okay.” He chuckles. “I’ll show you.”

He pulls me out of the way of the other people crowding the sidewalk, and presses his back to the dirty wall of a building. I settle in beside him, my shoulder brushing his arm.

“It’s pretty simple, really,” he says. He points to the end of the traffic-choked street. “Do you see that sign down there? The one with the wineglass on it?”

I follow the line of his finger with my eyes. A pink and white sign glows at the end of the long block, the words “Wine & Spirits” are written in cursive neon across the surface of a humongous wine glass.

“Yeah.”

“Before you start to run, focus on something about that far in the distance. Once you get going, you need to keep refocusing as you go, always on something about that far ahead.” He turns to me, his lips tilted in a smile. He’s always happiest, and cutest, when he’s teaching me something. I almost get up on my tiptoes and kiss those full lips of his, but I restrain myself. “After a while,” he continues, “you’ll notice things in your peripheral vision are getting clearer. You’ll be able to read signs and see cars and people. And before you know it, you’ll be able to see almost as well as you do when you’re standing still. It takes practice, but once you get it, it’s pretty easy.”

“Okay.” I squint down the street at the sign. The muscles in my thighs twitch with anticipation. I may be sore and tired, but I want to run. I want to see if I can do it without the world disappearing in a blur of lines and colors.

“Do you want to try?” He grins.

“Hell yeah.” I grab his hand and yank him along the sidewalk.

“Umm … Wait a minute.” He pulls against me and I stumble to a stop. “We’re still visible.”

“Oh, yeah.”

I let him lead me into an alley where we can transition into invisibility without causing a scene, if anyone would happen to look up from their smart phones long enough to notice. Once we are ghosts to this world, we step out onto the street and I find the wineglass sign again. I focus on it, lock it in my sight like a deer hunter locks sights on his prey, and run.

It takes me more than a few tries, but once I figure out how to shift my focus without losing the image, it becomes easier. After an hour of running up and down the streets of Chicago at the speed of sound, my enthusiasm becomes dampened by extreme exhaustion. The muscles in my legs wobble like Jell-O and my head swims with fantasies of standing in a hot shower, then lying down in a soft, comfy bed.

“Where are we going to sleep tonight?”

“How about there?” Aaron points across the street through the heavy traffic.

Light shines from the interior of the hotel like a beacon, guiding us, welcoming us. My body longs for that shower. I can almost feel the soft towels and silky sheets. I wonder if they have mints on the pillows.

The doorman’s shiny black shoes scrape the white marble as he widens his stance and slips his gloved hands behind his back. The light breeze rustles the leaves of the potted plants on either side of the heavy wooden doors.

Aaron pulls on my hand, leading me toward the double doors, but I tug him back.

“Wait,” I whisper. “I only brought five-hundred dollars. This place looks like it costs more than that for one hour, much less an entire night.”

“You’re right.” Aaron smirks at me. “I guess it’s a good thing we’re invisible, then.” His palm presses to my hip and he nudges me against his side. His breath tickles my ear. “Have you ever wanted to know what it’s like to sleep like royalty?”

His eyebrows arch with mischief as his arm tightens around me. My only answer is a devious grin, but I suppose that’s enough. He marches right past the doorman with me in tow. Not that I mind. This is the most adventure I’ve had in my life.

8

After sticking our heads through half a dozen doors, and seeing a few things I’d rather forget, we find an empty room and melt all the way through the door.

Moonlight filters through the sheer curtains and casts an intricate pattern of silvery light and purple shadows across the white carpet. Aaron flips on a lamp and the shadows scatter.

“Wow.” Aaron scans the room. An impressed smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah.” I drag my fingertips over the white satin bedspread. Cool. Crisp. And so clean I’m afraid I might make it dirty just by standing next to it. I yank my hand back and check the cloth for grimy fingerprints.

Aaron doesn’t appear to be nearly as concerned about filth as I am. He kicks his shoes off and leaps onto the bed like he’s diving into a swimming pool. At least he showered and changed his clothes at Bobby’s, but that was hours ago. The bedspread billows up around him and he laughs.

“Comfy?” I say through a smile.

“Oh God, Libbi, you can’t even imagine.” He closes his eyes and slides his hands up and down in two half circles next to his body, like he’s making a snow angel. “Lay down. You have to feel this. It’s like a cloud.”

“I don’t think so. Look at me.” I gesture to my sweat-stained tee-shirt and dusty jeans. “I’m filthy. Even if I stripped naked, I might leave a dirt-print of my body on those sheets.”

“You know…” Aaron raises his eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound half bad. You being naked, that is.”

“How charming, perv.” I lob a pillow at him. It hits him square in the middle of his chest. “I’m taking a shower.”

Aaron chuckles and his eyes follow me as I sashay to the bathroom door, wiggling my butt a little more than I usually do, and pull it open. I find the light switch on the wall, snap it up, and gasp.

Gleaming-white marble. Golden fixtures. Lush towels and bathrobes with gold embroidered trim. Everything glitters. The walls, the sink, the shower, the double occupancy whirlpool tub. Even the toilet seems to be made of gold-swirled white marble.

It’s so over-the-top, I wouldn’t be surprised if the mirror is polished sterling silver. Hell, it probably is.

I peel off my grimy shirt and jean shorts. The sink fills with grey-tinged (pink-tinged, once I get to my bloody sock) water as I scrub the only clothes I have with the hotel’s bar soap. When they’re as clean as I can get them, I wring them out and drape them over the side of the whirlpool tub to dry.

Carefully, I unwrap the bandage covering my wounds and step into the shower. It’s magical. The water beats my stiff muscles into submission as the tension of the day washes away with the swirling, dirty water. I don’t know how long I stand under the jets enjoying the hot massage, but when I finally decide to get out, my body feels like jelly and my fingertips look like raisins.

I redress my ankle with ointment and fresh gauze. My clothes are too wet to put back on, so I shrug into one of the thick bathrobes before I leave the bathroom. I tuck the robe around my body and tie the belt tight. I don’t want to take any chances.

But there’s no need for concern. The only thing Aaron’s looking at right now are the insides of his eyelids. The blanket covers him up to his bellybutton and his bare chest rises and falls with each soft snore.

My eyes sweep the floor, the chair, the sofa, the end of the bed, for his clothes, but they’re not there. I don’t know where he put his clothes. For all I know he could be under that blanket in his underwear.

I swallow the growing lump in my throat. If he’s under that blanket in only his underwear, he’s practically naked. And so am I.

Blood rushes to my cheeks. Maybe I should put my clothes back on, whether they’re wet or not. But that’s ridiculous. My clothes are soaked and he’s sound asleep. Nothing’s going to happen. Not that it would be a terrible thing if it did. I’m just not sure how Aaron feels about me, or if our relationship is real or even healthy.

I am the only living girl Aaron can touch. Am I a trap for him? Bobby made it a point to say he’d do anything for a kiss. But would Aaron?

I grab an extra blanket out of the walk-in closet that’s about as big as Max’s bedroom, and make my way to the couch beside the door to the balcony.

The lights of the city shimmer against the sheer curtains. Chicago. A city I will sleep in tonight, but probably never fully see. Disappointment pulls at my limbs. It’s a silly emotion, given the circumstances, but I can’t help what I feel.

I pull the curtain aside and gaze out at the skyline. It’s beautiful. The lines of the buildings jagged against the dark-purple sky, like knives piercing the clouds. The moon’s reflection ripples on the lake’s surface, dipping, gliding, diving like a swan amidst a sea of stars.

I jump to my feet. I have to draw this. I might never see it again, and for some reason, drawing things makes them feel real for me. It solidifies them in my memory, like cement. I creep over to the nightstand next to Aaron’s sleeping form and slide open the drawer. Inside, I find a pen and a pad of blank paper with the hotel’s logo at the top.

Pen and pad in hand, I hurry back to the balcony door, slide it open, and slip outside. The cool, early summer breeze wafts around me. It pushes the robe against my body and combs back my wet hair. I shiver and tug the collar closer around my neck, but I don’t go back inside. I can’t. Not until I sketch Chicago’s nighttime skyline.

The balcony chair’s legs squeal as I drag it to the railing. I need to get as close as possible to see between the bars. I can’t have an obstructed view.

I lay the first tentative lines of ink across the paper, creating the horizon, and let the pen take me away the way my pencils always did. The simple act of creation takes me to a world where there are only lines and shadows and light. There is no death. No rogue Reaper. No Abaddon. No responsibility.

Here, I’m just me. A girl, lost in the scratch and scrape of pen over paper.

Something shuffles behind me.

I yelp and swing around in my seat, startled.

Aaron leans against the jamb of the sliding glass door with a strange smile on his face. His thumbs are tucked casually in the pockets of his jeans. The curtains billow behind him. The moonlight dances over his bare skin, over the crisscrossed pattern of silvery scars on his chest.

The pen drops from my hand and rolls across the balcony floor, toward the edge. Aaron pushes away from the door and stops the pen with his foot, right before it would roll over the ledge.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He leans down and retrieves the pen. “You were just so engrossed in your drawing, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“How long have you been standing there?” I fold my hands over my drawing, hiding it for some reason.

“Long enough.” He gives me a crooked smirk. The wind tosses his black hair as he crosses the balcony. He drops to one knee in front of me and holds the pen up, like it’s a rose. “Your pen, my lady,” he says with a lift of his brow.

Keeping one hand firmly over my drawing of Chicago, I reach for the upheld pen. But before my fingers can close around it, he snatches it back. His head tilts playfully and he smirks. He slips the pen in the pocket of my robe.

“Can I see it?” His fingertips graze the back of the hand I’m using to hide my drawing.

“It’s not done yet.” That may be true, but mostly I’m afraid the drawing is awful. I drew it so quickly and there is absolutely zero light out here and I don’t want him to see it.

“It doesn’t need to be done. Watching you was most of the fun. And if it’s even half as beautiful as you were while drawing it, it’ll be spectacular.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Can I see it?”

I don’t know what to say. If I say he’s wrong, that there is no way this thing is spectacular, then I’ll look like a self-depreciating loser who’s fishing for a compliment. But if I agree, then I’ll seem like a conceited bitch. Since I don’t think I’m either of those things—at least I hope I’m not, anyway—I don’t say anything. I pull my hand away from my drawing and turn it toward him.

His eyes shine as they move over the lines of ink on the page. He traces the strokes with his fingers, a soft smile on his lips. Then he looks up at me and my chest flutters with anticipation. He holds me in his gaze and lifts my left hand up in front of him. My tight fingers relax as he uncurls them one by one, kissing each ink-stained fingertip. Last, he plants a kiss in the middle of my palm.

“It’s perfect.” His lips move against my skin with his words, sending a tingly ripple up my arm.

“Hardly.” I manage a sarcastic laugh. “I did it so fast. I’ll probably just throw it out.”

“Never.” His hand follows the wave of ripples to my shoulder. He cups my neck and brushes his thumb over my cheek, my chin, the contour of my lips. Soft and tender. His eyes dance over my face like they can’t decide on a place to settle, like they’re afraid to stare at one place too long for fear of missing something.

“God, you’re beautiful, Libbi,” he breathes when his azure eyes finally meet mine again.

I can’t help myself. I lean in. I don’t care if his feelings are real, or if he’ll decide I’m a trap after a while and resent me. I don’t care that I’m only wearing a bathrobe, or that we’re outside and it’s getting colder by the minute. I want his mouth on mine. I need to feel his skin under my hands.

My hands slip around his neck, into his hair, and I pull him to me. Our parted lips meet. Electrified waves ripple down my body to the pit of my stomach, dispelling the chill in the air better than any heater could.

Slow and soft at first, then deep and passionate, the kiss intensifies. I’m breathing too fast, but not enough. And I want, no,
need
to be closer. He must read my mind because he grasps my hips and draws me to the edge of the chair, bringing our bodies together, where I can feel him against me.

He pulls me to my feet. Our lips barely separate as we make our way through the sliding glass door and inside. The backs of my legs hit the bed and I jump as pain blossoms on my ankle.

“I’m sorry.” Aaron pulls back, eyes wide with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I draw his lips back to mine. Being extra careful not to hit my wounds again, I lay back and pull him down with me.

My fingers graze the raised scars on his back, reminders of what he’s been through, what Abaddon did to him. But they’re also a testament of how strong he is and how much he’ll endure for someone he loves. Even die for them, if he has to.

And he wants me. He’s selfless, and caring, and so damned sexy it hurts, and he wants me. And I want him more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. How did that happen?

His lips travel to my cheek, down the slope of my neck, and across my collarbone. They move down a little lower to play in areas I haven’t shown anyone before. His rapid breaths tickle my sensitive skin as his hands glide over me. They slip under the hem of the bathrobe and up my bare thighs. And I freeze.

What if Bobby was right? What if Aaron just doesn’t want to be a virgin forever and I’m available? Or worse, what if what I’m feeling isn’t real, either? These types of things can go both ways. What if I’m only interested in Aaron for the same reason? Maybe I’m just so blinded by desire I don’t know what truly drives me. Maybe he’s
my
trap.

“Wait.” I gently push him back.

“Oh.” Aaron’s voice is low and gruff as he pulls away. He places his hands on the pillow on either side of my head and hangs over me. “Was that too fast?” His eyes focus on mine, intense pools of ice-blue. His moist lips glisten and, oh God, I want to kiss him.

“No,” I say too quickly. “I mean, maybe.” I glance at the ornate clock on the bed stand, afraid that if I keep looking at him, I won’t be able to resist. “Yes.”

“Oh,” he says again. “Sorry.” I don’t have to see his face. I hear the defeat in his voice.

“I’m just not sure if...” I can’t finish the sentence. How can I tell him I’m worried he doesn’t have genuine feelings for me? How can I say that I’m afraid he’d be with any old girl if it meant he’d have the experience? How can I tell him I’m afraid he’s only with me because he has to be? That I’m afraid of trapping him? If I’m wrong, it would hurt him to know I don’t trust him.

He rolls off of me and onto his side, his head propped in one hand. I can feel his eyes on me, studying me.

“You’re not sure if…what?”

“I’m not sure if...” I flop to my side and face him, propping my head on my hand, mirroring him. “Look. I don’t know about you, Aaron, but I’ve never done it before, and we’ve only been boyfriend and girlfriend for, like, a day, and I’m not sure. Okay?”

“Is that all?” Aaron’s face relaxes a bit and the hard, worried crease between his eyes fades.

“Yeah,” I lie. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Of course. But it feels like there’s something else—”

“Well, there isn’t.”

“Okay, then. If that’s all it is—” Aaron rolls onto his back and slips his hands behind his head. “—I can wait until you’re sure.”

“Okay, then.” My cheeks tingle with relief even as my heart sinks with disappointment. I don’t know if I’ll ever be one hundred percent certain. Depressing, but true. As long as we are both Reapers-on-the-run with no other romantic options, he’s stuck with me.