Grave Memory: An Alex Craft Novel (44 page)

Oh, I was more than sure.

I let him see my desire, my need. But that wasn’t all he wanted. I could read it in his face. He knew me, perhaps too well. We’d both danced around this attraction for a long time. It never occurred to me he was as afraid as I was that if things changed we’d risk the relationship we shared.

“I won’t run tomorrow, my word on it.”

He watched me with those multicolored eyes for several seconds. Then he released my wrists and his hands moved to cup my face, his lips taking mine, a wave of pleasure cascading from my lips to much deeper places as his soul touched mine. His hands slid over my shoulders, along my torso, pausing briefly to torment me with need as his thumb circled my nipples. Then he moved to the button of my hip-huggers.

“Hey, that was my idea.” I said the words directly into his lips and felt him smile.

“I got to it first.”

Which led to a race to see who could get the other’s clothes off faster. I should have won—gravity was on my side. But he was stronger, lifting me easily, which not only helped him with my hip-huggers, but pulled me away from his jeans.

I resorted to cheating. Sliding from the counter, I went down on my knees, dragging his jeans to his ankles. All that was left were a pair of black boxer briefs his body strained against. I happily freed him.

I took him in my hand, and ran my fingers down the velvety softness covering all that hard heat. Above me, Death shuddered. I smiled. Then I ran my tongue in a circle over the tip of him, tasting his saltiness.

“Alex.”

I looked up, meeting his gaze as I took as much of him into my mouth as I comfortably could. His eyelids fluttered, his chest hitching as his breath caught, but he didn’t look away as I slid down him. My hands moved to his thighs and then trailed up to his ass. Every part of him was toned, perfect. And there wasn’t a tan line in sight. I let my mouth move tortuously slow, swirling my tongue around the head
of him as I reached the end. Then in that same smooth glide, I slid down his length again.

“Alex,” he said again, his voice hoarse, as he grabbed my shoulders. He pulled me up. “Not the first time. I want to be buried in your body.”

He lifted me back on the edge of the counter.

“I own a bed.”

“We’ll use the bed next time,” he said, and slid two fingers inside me. “So wet but still so tight,” he murmured.

I forgot all about the bed.

He moved agonizingly slow. Teasing, sweet torture. I gripped his shoulders as the warmth built in my center. My breathing turned erratic. Sounds escaped my throat.

The orgasm hit hard. Fast. My head fell back as every nerve ending flooded with sensation. Exploded in pleasure.

Death’s mouth covered mine and claimed my scream. He scooped me into his arms. The cool wall met my back, Death supporting my weight as the head of him pressed against me, into me. Even as ready as I was, it was a tight fit.

He slid in slow. Each inch sending ripples through me that mixed a bit of pain with exquisite pleasure. I writhed in his arms. He slid in the last inch, our bodies meeting.

I locked my legs around his waist as he began to move. He was gentle until his body could glide in mine; then his rhythm changed, sped up and he thrust harder. Every movement made things inside me tighten. My body clenched hard. His pace changed again.

I came screaming, my hands moving to the wall so I didn’t claw Death’s back. His rhythm faltered and he drove himself into me one last time, hard. The feel of his orgasm threatened to bring me again.

He leaned into me. We both breathed heavy, riding the aftershocks. I was caught between him and the wall, my legs curled around his waist, and I could feel his pulse pounding, matching mine. His fast breaths tickled my neck and I reached up, moving damp locks from his face. Death pulled back enough to smile at me, and the amount of emotion in his eyes was enough to scare me. He didn’t give me time
to dwell on it, but kissed the last of my breath away. Then without letting go of me, he moved away from the wall, carrying me.

He didn’t lie. We moved to the bed next.

Later we lay with our legs in a tangle, happily exhausted. Death ran his hand along my hip, touching just because he could.

“Alex?”

“Mmm?” I was close to sleep. I’d skipped most of the hours of the night before, but it had still been at least twenty-four hours since I’d last slept and they’d been long, busy hours.

“Remember what you promised me?”

“No running,” I murmured as a yawn made my jaw crack.

I felt more than saw him nod. “No running.” He wrapped an arm around me, moving us closer together. “I love you.” He whispered the words as if he wasn’t sure he wanted me to hear them.

I stopped breathing. From the tension in his arm, I knew he felt the change. I wished I could have hidden the reaction; if I’d had warning, I might have been able to. It wasn’t even the confession that made me react—I’d heard him say as much when I was dying under the Blood Moon months ago. I’d known. I’d pretended I didn’t. But I’d known.

No, what made me react was the fact I’d heard those very same words from another man in the last twenty-four hours. At least Death didn’t pull daggers on me after saying them.

As if he knew where my thoughts had traveled, Death pulled me even closer, and in a low, quiet voice said, “And I think you should toss that
other
toothbrush.”

A
loud banging woke me, pulling me out of my first nightmare-less sleep in months. I felt Death’s warm chest under my cheek and, remembering the night before, a blush burned up my throat and into my face.

“Morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. Clearly he’d been as rudely awakened as I had.

“Hi.” The heat still burned my cheeks, and I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off Death. I’d never seen him look anything but perfect, so seeing him in my bed, his hair mussed from sleep, those deep eyes only half open, he looked so…real. It was cute.

With a move almost too fast to follow, Death rolled us so that he pinned me down with his body. I gasped, and his mouth suddenly covered mine. The knock sounded again and Death broke off the kiss to glance over his shoulder.

“Think they’ll go away?”

“Probably not. Let me up.”

He twisted his head, cocking an eyebrow over one handsome eye. “You’re a little pink there, Alex. Not going to risk forswearing yourself, are you?”

“I’m not running,” I said, not sure if I should be insulted or not. But he was smiling and I found myself responding
with the same expression.
Damn, it’s hard to be mad at the man.

“Well, in that case…” He rolled again, taking me with him so I ended up straddling his hips. “This is a rather nice view.”

He reached up, running his thumbs along the undersides of my breasts and my skin tightened in response. I was sore from last night, but it was a good kind of sore, and I could feel he was not in the least bit displeased to be where he was.

Another bang sounded on the door.

I twisted, sending my door a glare that should have melted it on the spot. PC whined at the foot of the bed, as if complaining about me not answering the door. I sighed and extricated myself from Death’s arms. Which took a hell of a lot of willpower and yet another banging knock at the door.

“Geez, I’m coming,” I muttered as I stalked across the room looking for something to wear. I spotted my robe and shrugged into it.

“Your charm, Alex,” Death called from where he’d propped himself up on one arm on the bed.

Right, I’d actually gotten used to the pale glow, especially since it was barely noticeable in the light streaming in through the windows. But barely wasn’t “unnoticeable” so I slipped the perception charm over my head.

I jerked open the door, ready to give whoever was on the other side an earful—until I saw the gaunt figure with long brown hair and deep sunken eyes.

“Tamara?”

She gripped a coat closed around her despite the warm morning air. I’d seen her wear it in the morgue only a few days earlier and it had fit fine. Now the coat swallowed her frame.

“Something’s wrong,” she said, her voice raw, as if she’d been crying, but her eyes were dry. She lumbered through the doorway, her movements strained and jerky, like a badly
controlled marionette. “You said you got the—” She cut off as her eyes landed on the man in my bed.

“Oh, you have company.” Her voice was completely flat. She turned to Death. “Sorry to break up your morning, but I need Alex now. She won’t call, she doesn’t do second dates, and she won’t remember your name next month, so you don’t really need a long good-bye.”

My eyes bulged. “Tamara.”

She turned. “What? It’s true.”

“He’s not random,” I hissed under my breath, and her pale lips formed a small “O” before she turned and gave him an appraising glance.

“He’s also not you-know-who,” she whispered, shielding her mouth with her hand.

“I can hear you,” Death said as he sat up and stretched. “I assume you’re not coming back to bed?”

Damn, I wish I were. I shook my head. He sighed and climbed out of the bed, gathering the sheets around him as he moved. He kissed the top of my head as he passed me on the way to the bathroom. My eyes followed him, taking a more than appreciatively long study of his broad shoulders and muscled back that tapered down to a very nicely defined ass that the sheet did little to disguise.

I wasn’t the only one staring.

“Remind me I have a fiancé.”

“Stop ogling my—” I cut myself off and Tamara whirled around.

“Were you about to say boyfriend?” She grinned, which with her gaunt cheeks was a rather ghastly expression. “I want details. Dish.”

I’d actually been about to say my Death, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. Or talk about him. Besides, there was a far more pressing issue.

“What happened? I know we destroyed Larid. Trust me, I got a good look at him.” Way too close of a look.

“Well, something went wrong.” Tamara let the coat fall open. Her clothes hung off her emaciated body. “I know
every bride wants to lose a little weight before the wedding, but this isn’t exactly what I planned.”

I chewed at my bottom lip, staring at the way the skin sank into the hollows between her sternum and ribs. It was like she’d burned off all the fat in her body in a single day. It would start eating her muscles next—if it wasn’t already.
And what about the baby?
I was too afraid to ask, but I saw the haunted look in her eyes that was for more than herself.

We’d killed the ghoul. I’d been under Larid when the creature went up in flames. Why was she still turning?

“And then, well, see for yourself.” She opened her mouth, peeling back her lips. Her teeth were slightly pointed. Not yet full-on ghoul-like, but definitely changing.

“Damn. Wait here, okay?” I hurried around her and tapped twice on the bathroom door before bursting through it.

Steam rolled out of the shower as Death stuck his head around the curtain, water streaming from his hair and over his broad shoulders. “Here to offer to wash my back?” he asked, dark eyes twinkling.

“This is serious. Can you see Tamara’s timeline?”

Death frowned, the flirtatious glow leaving his face. “She’s not one of my souls.”

“Well, can you find her collector? I need to know how much time she has before she turns ghoul.”

“Alex, you’re not even supposed to know about the fact we can see time fluxes.”

I wasn’t above indebting myself over this one, but before I could shape more than the
pl
in “please,” Death held up a hand.

“I’ve watched several of these things form. Based on how fast she’s progressing, she has less than a day left. In a couple of hours, the changes will be irreversible.”

Hours?

“How do I stop it? We killed the ghoul. I—”

“Love, if we’re going to continue this conversation, either join me in here, pass me a towel, or let me finish and I’ll be out in a minute.”

I left him to his shower. When I stepped back into the main room of my apartment, I found Tamara collapsed in the only chair I owned, her head buried in her arms on the short bar. She looked up when she heard me, and her pale lips tugged downward.

“By your grim look I take it that wasn’t a quickie in the shower.”

I tried to smile, to make my face more reassuring but the word “hours” echoed in my head. “Let me see your arm?”

She nodded, sliding out of the coat. She’d covered the stitches with a gauze infused with a healing charm. And not an over the counter OMIH issued bandage either, but one of her own creation that was probably a hell of a lot more potent. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working on this particular wound.

“Damn,” I whispered, looking at the blackness that crept like rot around the edges of the sutures.

Tamara glanced at her arm, a puzzled look crossing her face. “Of all things going wrong, the wounds not healing as fast as expected is the least of my concerns.”

“Not—” A thought occurred to me. “They don’t look black to you?”

“Uh, no. Alex, you just went pale. What?”