Grave Dance

PC danced around us, his little gray body burning my legs where he brushed against my pants. Crap, I hadn’t even raised a shade and I was chilled to my core. I glanced longingly at my bed, but I’d made a promise to myself to stop sleeping with Falin—in any sense of the word—until I figured out how I really felt about him. And I’d made that decision before he’d gone and disappeared on me. Now? Yeah, I was sticking to my resolve.

“So,” I said, turning toward Falin.

“So?” He slid his jacket off and hung it on the back of my solitary chair. His holster followed.

“Do you want the bed or the floor?” The good-host thing to do would be to offer him the bed, but he’d invited himself, so I’d let him be gallant and take the floor.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” I said, and I meant it, but even to my own ears, the single-syllable word sounded feeble. Maybe that was because I was staring at the smooth skin being revealed as Falin unbuttoned his oxford.

“Really?” He pulled the shirt free of his pants so he could get to the last button, but he didn’t take the shirt off. It gapped as he stepped forward, exposing small glimpses of pale skin and hard abs.

He lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair back from my face. He’d stripped off his gloves at some point, so his fingers were bare and warm against my cheek.

“I—” I started, but he leaned down. His lips brushed mine, the kiss tentative, a question with just a touch of breath and heat.

Whatever I’d planned to say vanished.

I lifted on my toes, inviting more, and he didn’t disappoint. His lips closed over mine, firm and soft all at once as he deepened the kiss. One of his hands slid into my hair, the other around my waist as he pulled me closer, surrounding me with his heat, his scent, his touch.

Someone cleared their throat behind me. “Please tell me I get a veto in this.”

I jumped, breaking contact with Falin in midkiss.

Death leaned against the counter, his thumbs hooked in his pockets and his dark hair spilling into his face. I couldn’t do anything more than stand there staring at him as my heart thundered in my chest, though I couldn’t have said if I was more breathless from the kiss or from the fact that it was Death who had caught me at it.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” he asked. Death may have looked casual and sounded bored, but his eyes were fixed on Falin with dark intensity.

Yes. Very much. Not that I shouldn’t have been thankful—I had made a promise to myself, after all—but I couldn’t quite summon up that particular emotion as Falin’s hands slid over my shoulders.

“Alexis,” he whispered, his lips pressing against my hair, his breath tracing my ear.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the chill filling me and everything to do with the sensations his touch woke in my body rang through me. Aside from the awkward, teasing dance that Death and I had been stumbling through recently, I hadn’t been touched, really touched—in a month. The feel of his skin on mine sent a thrill through me as if it had been a lot longer than that. But I couldn’t do this. Especially not with Death watching every change in my features from beneath his heavily hooded eyes.

I shrugged away from Falin’s hands. “I’ll just take the floor,” I said, no longer caring who got stuck with the floor so long as his hands, and lips, and eyes stopped lighting a fire in my skin. I turned to Death. “What are you doing here?”

He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. “At the moment? Chaperoning.”

Right. Of course. I groaned silently and realized I could almost hear the ringing absence of movement as Falin went still behind me.

“Who’s here?” he asked.

As answer, I reached out my hand toward Death. I wasn’t sure he’d accept it. Roy enjoyed becoming visible, but Mr. Super Secretive Soul Collector? Him I wasn’t sure about. Hell, for all I knew, he might vanish just because I’d let on that he was present. But if he was going to stand around making commentary, I wasn’t going to be the only victim listening.

Death looked at my outstretched hand for a moment, and then smiled, flashing a row of perfect teeth before placing his palm against mine. I dropped my shields and Falin let out a curse.

“What’s he doing here?” he asked, the question directed at me and not the collector, though I knew he damn well was now visible. Falin crossed muscular arms over his chest and glared from Death to me.

I frowned at him. The point of dropping my shields was so they didn’t talk through me in the first place.

Death lifted my hand to his lips, drawing me several steps forward in the process, but he didn’t so much kiss my knuckles as smile into my skin. His eyes watched me as he did this; then, as if we were dancing, he spun me so my back was to him. Dropping my hand, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders. He was tall enough that he could prop his chin on the top of my head.

“I heard Alex was having a slumber party and decided to crash,” Death said, and though I couldn’t see it, I could hear the smirk in his voice.

I’m tall—I have been ever since I turned twelve and in a single year shot up from a respectable twelve-year-old height of four-eleven to a gangly height of five-ten. I’d slumped for the rest of the year, until I’d left the academy for summer break and my father had threatened to make me spend my entire vacation in a social polishing camp if I didn’t stand up straight. I’d soon stopped caring that I towered over my female peers and learned to enjoy the fact that I could look most guys in the eye. It was some time after that when I decided kickass boots that added an extra three inches to my height were the only way to go. All that said, I wasn’t used to feeling short. But with Falin towering in front of me looking like some sort of pissed-off Greek god carved out of marble, and Death pulling me back against his wide chest, I felt downright petite.

I also felt like I was suddenly caught in a situation that was about to spiral wildly out of control.

“You shouldn’t be wasting energy. We need to get your body temperature back up, not invite in the chill.” Falin stepped forward and, apparently deciding the best thing to do was ignore Death completely, rubbed his hands over my arms—which was more annoying than helpful.

Death’s arm wrapped tighter around my shoulders. “I have body heat.”

“Stop it, both of you.” I shrugged away from Falin’s hands, which earned me a frown from the fae, until I ducked out from under Death’s arm. Then I garnered frowns from both men.

But I couldn’t escape Death’s touch. He and I had to be in contact for him to be visible unless I wanted to start channeling major amounts of energy, which I didn’t, maybe even couldn’t at this point. So I stood there for an awkward moment, my hand clasped in his, but my arm outstretched to add space between our bodies. How do I get myself into these things? Well, there was always one safe topic: business.

“There was a collector at the crime scene earlier. Or at least I think he was a collector. But he collected the souls before death.” Well, with the female skimmer he did, though I could have sworn the male was going to make it before the collector showed and snagged the man’s soul. “Can you guys do that? Get impatient and collect a soul early?”

I’d been focusing on studying the layer of dirt coating my boots from my recent misadventures in the great outdoors, but as the silence stretched I looked up and found Death staring at me. Not the dark but intense I’m-imaginingyou-with-a-lot-less-clothing stare he’d been prone to giving me lately but a you’ve-stumbled-into-something-over-yourhead stare.

“What did he look like?” he asked.

“Male. Average height. Late twenties to early thirties. Dark hair. Long dark trench coat. What are you thinking?”

Death frowned, his gaze moving past me.

“Could he be involved?” Falin had snapped into cop mode while I wasn’t paying attention. “He was at a murder scene that had a rift into the Aetheric. Could a . . . collector”—the way he said the word made it clear it wasn’t a title he was accustomed to using—“have ripped through to the Aetheric?”

Death shook his head, but I wasn’t sure if he was disagreeing or simply dismissing his own thoughts. Then his eyes focused on me again. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m fine.” I should have saved my breath.

“She needs sleep,” Falin said, his gaze going icy again.

“With you, I suppose?” Death asked.

Falin crossed his arms. “It’s an option.”

“I’m fine,” I repeated. Not that either of them noticed—they were too busy attempting to stare holes into each other. Perfect. Just what I need. I was cold to the core, magically drained, and far beyond the point of exhaustion.

“You know what, guys, maybe you’re right. Have fun with the pissing contest. I’m going to bed.” I dropped Death’s hand, closed my shields, and marched over to collapse fully dressed on my bed. I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Chapter 21

I woke trapped under a warm arm. A quick status check showed I was still in my own bed and fully dressed, though my boots had vanished at some point in the night. I was sure the warm body curled around me belonged to Falin only because Death was staring at me from where he leaned against the wall across from my bed.

“Did you stay all night?” I kept my voice low, trying not to wake the man behind me.

Death lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Wasn’t much night left. More morning and early afternoon.”

“You know, that is kind of creepy stalker–esque.”

“I’m not the one who crawled into bed with you after you were asleep.”

Point. The men in my life were . . . complicated. And so much for my resolve. I craned my neck to glance back at Falin. His face was relaxed, peaceful with sleep. Good. Now to get out of this bed without waking him.

Easier said than done.

I tried to slide out from under his arm, but the more I wriggled, the more his muscles flexed, tightening around me. He dragged me back against his chest without waking, like it was a reflex.