Page 152 of Reaper's Ruin
I heard her stir behind me, the furs rustling as she stretched. When I turned, she was watching me with those impossibly blue eyes, a sleepy smile onher face.
“Morning,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. “How long have you been up?”
“Not long,” I said, moving back to the bed to press a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep well?”
She nodded, reaching up to trace my jaw with her fingertips. “I had the strangest dream. We were back home—my home, in Minnesota—and you were trying to figure out how to use a microwave. It was... weirdly domestic.”
I caught her hand, pressing my lips to her palm. “A microwave?”
“It’s a thing that heats food really fast,” she explained with a chuckle. “God, I miss modern conveniences. Do you know what I would give for a hot shower right now? Or delivery Chinese?”
“I could heat water for a bath,” I offered, smiling at her enthusiasm for these strange modern marvels I’d never experienced.
“It’s not the same,” she sighed dramatically, then broke into a grin. “But I appreciate the offer, Jeeves.”
I growled playfully, pulling her against me. “Jeeves?”
“Mmm-hmm. My very own personal butler, Jeeves, to heat bath water and wait on me hand and foot like you do. Except with better abs and a much nicer ass.” She ran her hands down my chest, her touch igniting that now-familiar heat beneath my skin.
I captured her mouth in a kiss that quickly deepened, her body melting against mine. It would be so easy to lose ourselves in each other again, to sink back into the furs and forget the world outside. But her stomach growled loudly, interrupting the moment.
“Breakfast first,” I murmured against her lips. “Then we can resume this... discussion.”
“Fine,” she pouted, then brightened. “I can help! Let’s use those mushrooms I found yesterday near the stream. Did you see them? We can cook those up with the rabbit you caught.”
I paused, remembering the fungi she’d proudly brought home the night before. “Soraya, I did see those mushroom. They’re poisonous.”
Her face fell. “What? But they looked just like the ones you brought back the other day!”
“The poisonous ones often do. That’s why I warned you not to forage without me.”
She flopped back on the bed with a groan. “Damn it! Why don’t you have delivery pizza or McDonald’s? This whole living-off-the-land shit is for the birds!” She threw an arm over her eyes dramatically. “It’s enough to make me want my fucking door!”
I stiffened at her words, and she immediately realized what she’d said. She sat up, reaching for me.
“I’m kidding,” she said quickly. “Bad joke. I’m sorry.”
I shook my head, trying to dispel the cold dread her casual words had evoked. “No, you should want your door. That’s the whole point of this. To help you find it.”
She slid her arms around my waist, pressing her cheek to my chest. “Maybe. But not yet. Let’s not think about that. I wouldn’t trade this—trade you—for anything. Not even indoor plumbing, and that’s saying something.”
I chuckled despite myself, the knot in my chest loosening at her earnest expression. “I’m assuming this is high praise?”
She grinned up at me. “The highest. Now feed me, mighty hunter, before I perish from starvation.”
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “As you command.”
The simple domesticity of the morning warmed something inside me I’d thought long dead. I cooked while she talked, her voice filling the small cabin with a light I’d never known in eight centuries of darkness. She spoke of her old life—her mother, her friends, her studies—painting a picture of a world so different from my own that it seemed almost fantastical. Which was odd becauseshe seemed to thinkmyworld was fantastical, but hers had flying metal crafts and ones on wheels that you rode around in instead of carriages. It had boxes that played stories and other wonders I could barely process.
“I wonder what my friends think happened to me,” she mused, picking at her breakfast. “I mean, I just... died. Murdered in my living room with my mom. There would have been a funeral, I guess. People crying. It’s so weird to think about.”
“Do you regret not being there? Not seeing your friends one last time?” I asked carefully.
She considered this, her brow furrowed. “I regret not seeing my mom again. Not saying goodbye. But the rest... it feels distant now, you know? Like a story I read once rather than my actual life.” Her eyes met mine. “Is that terrible? That I’ve let go so easily?”
“No,” I said honestly. “Death changes perspective. It’s not something most souls ever have to reckon with consciously, since they find their door and move on. You’ve had to exist in this in-between state long enough to see your old life from a distance.”
“And fall in love with Death himself,” she added with a small smile. “That probably changes your outlook too.”
