Page 124 of Like Grim Death: Part One
“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” I mutter it, and I can’t keep my eyes open. I slump against the doorway.
I think of Rain.I’ll keep you safe, I promise. I would lay down my life for your next breath.
“Are you?” The man’s voice is closer now.
I smell him. Like incense. Heady and dark. I feel his breath on my neck, but I can’t move. More milk pushes through my nipple, and I ache all over.
“You are exhausted, living this life, aren’t you?” The words are on my skin like a caress. Then his arms come around me, and I want to fight, I want to grab my knife, but my hands are limp. It’s like they’re not mine at all. Like I can’t move my limbs. I have no motor control. “I have felt this too.” He lifts me in the air, hugging me to his chest very carefully, but he makes a whimpering sound, like he’s hurt.
Then his mouth comes over mine and all I can think is Lucifer will kill him if he sees this.
“Don’t worry,” he whispers, his lips touching my own. “I’ll keep you safe, Lilith.”
* * *
My pulse quickens as I clutch Rain tighter to my body. He’s wiggly in my arms, twisting up to look at me, his little lips tipped into a smile. I return it nervously, my eyes glancing at his deep blue ones, his dark head of hair fluffy and sticking up all over the place. He just got up for the morning, and the sun hasn’t risen, Lucifer still sleeping hard in our bed.
I know the boys are downstairs, and Ella. Brooklin left last night; her car wasn’t in the drive on the camera. I haven’t gone down to see if they’ve all killed each other yet but now, it doesn’t seem to matter. I’m standing outside of one of the guest bedrooms on the rarely used third floor, the door ajar, and it’s like all the breath has left my lungs. I’m only in a red sleep shirt, hanging over ripped-up black shorts, my feet pushed into white socks and black sliders. I don’t even have my knife, because when I came up here for some alone time with Rain, to keep him from waking everyone else up, I didn’t expectanyoneto be here.
Now though, when I slowly lift my gaze from Rain, thinking for two seconds maybe my tired brain is playing tricks on me like in that strange dream last night, my eyes lock onto slate gray ones, circled with brown.
It feels like my muscles are frozen. There’s a bite of cold in the house because it’s Lucifer who lives here, and usually I’ve adjusted to it. But now, I cradle Rain’s warm body closer to me, and I shiver as I stare at a man I’ve never seen before in my waking life.
But I saw you last night in my dream.
My mind is blank. It’s like it’s stopped working, and my thoughts tangle and twist together as my pulse flies inside my chest.
I glance down the hallway, seeing nothing but darkness, the black, damask wallpaper making everything even more sinister in this moment than it really is. The chandelier hanging above the spiral staircase is like slick, silver icicles suspended together, but the switch is off.
Slowly, I turn my gaze back to the man.
He’s sitting on the edge of the four-poster black bed, with silver bedding. It doesn’t look as if he slept under the covers. Then again,why the fuck is he sleeping inside my house?
He’s wearing gray fitted pants, a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up his wiry forearms, tattoos along his wrists, and on his hands.
It looks like candles inked into his fingers. A nun with a habit on one hand, a skull on the other.
With ice in my veins, I reluctantly drag my eyes up to his throat.
There.
A red line tattooed around his neck like a choker.
I feel sick. My stomach swoops, and I take a step backward, holding on tight to Rainy.
I glance at the rest of the guest bedroom. A velvet, silver couch facing a TV mounted into the wall, a fireplace below it. All the guestrooms look like this, but…who the fuck is this? Who. The fuck.Is this?
He has tattoos leading down into his dress shirt, but it looks like they’re only on one half of his body. His hair is dark brown, curly; it’s slicked away from his face. High cheekbones, a silver scar over one, another on his throat, leading down into the tattooed side of his chest. He looks… my age. He has on high-top, lace up, dark blue shoes, flat on the floor. They seem familiar somehow. He’s lean, kind of like Lucifer, and tall, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
My tongue feels heavy in my mouth. I should call for help. I know the boys would run up here in a heartbeat. But I can’t seem to say anything.
And before I can decide what to do, taking one more step backward, my sliders sinking into the plush blue runner carpet on this floor,he speaks.
“Don’t scream.” He whispers the words, and I catch the curl of an accent in his voice.
Russian.
My heart hammers faster. I think of Nikita.RC and Mikhail.But thiscannotbe Luce’s uncle because he’s too young.
