Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
But can I get her to feel the same?
The seconds are ticking by. Each one is so valuable.
I hold her and stare at the ceiling as she falls asleep on me, hoping she’ll be in love by the time she wakes up.
Our fate depends on it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Anna
* * *
The bed is empty when I wake up.
I stretch out to feel Grim’s warmth, but I feel nothing but cold sheets.
“What a night,” I whisper to myself as I stretch out and stare up at the ceiling. I still have an aching down there, but it’s not the aching of lust. It’s the aching of being stretched and filled up so completely for the first time.
That was a wild night. Leave it to me to lose my virginity to a Grim Reaper. My friends called me every name in the book—prude, wholesome Anna, goody-goody priss—all because I didn’t want to lose my virginity to some random guy. They always thought I was acting like such an innocent little princess, but if they only knew. I giggle, thinking of what their shocked faces would look like if they found out that I lost my virginity to a dark gray undead being from the underworld. They’d lose their freaking minds.
I hear a crashing downstairs, which sounds like pots and pans being slammed around.
When the smoke alarm goes off, I jump out of bed, throw some pajamas and a robe on, and rush downstairs.
“Are you… making breakfast?” I ask as I grab a magazine and wave it under the smoke alarm until it stops blaring.
“I’m trying,” he mutters back.
“Oh!” I say when I enter the kitchen and see Grim in front of the stove. The first thing that catches my attention is the fact that he’s naked from the waist up. His cloak is wrapped around his waist, covering his lower half, but every single delicious back muscle is visible as he scrapes something burnt in the pan. The second thing I notice is the mess. There are dirty bowls, pots, pans, and cooking tools everywhere. Half of the fridge has been poured out on the counter and the room is hazy with smoke.
“I’m trying,” he says as he runs a hand through his hair and surveys his mess. The movement causes his big hulking biceps to move in a way that has me swallowing a moan.
“Are you watching YouTube?”
There’s an instructional video playing on my iPad on how to make pancakes. The lady cooking has a neat stack of pancakes with a slab of butter melting on top. I can’t help but notice that her kitchen doesn’t look like a culinary war zone.
“Have you ever used a stove before?” I ask, remembering that this man is from the 1800s.
“Of course,” he says with a nod. “I had a huge cast iron stove at my house. Wood burning. Top of the line.”
“Okay,” I say as I start to pick up some food and put it back in the fridge. “What about an electric stove?”
“No,” he says, “but I have seen people use it. I rendered the soul of a guy who was trying to make homemade dynamite in his oven once. He blew himself up.”
“Well, let’s not go blowing anything up,” I say as I turn off the burners. He has them all on high.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I know humans get hungry at sunrise. I wanted to nourish you.”
“We’ve had many amazing inventions since the 1870s,” I tell him as I open the cupboard. “But none more amazing than Pop-Tarts. Behold, the peak of human ingenuity.” He watches in awe as I make a show of ripping open the foil and plopping the strawberry Pop-Tarts into the toaster. “Easy peasy and we don’t have to blow up my house or make an epic mess.”
He looks like he’s taking mental notes.
“I guess I haven’t quite grasped the fact that you’re from the 1870s,” I say as I take out the coffee. “But I’m starting to now.”
He’s watching me as I put a pot on. I think he’s trying to figure out how everything works.
“Do you remember anything from back then?” I ask as I hit the button.
“I remember everything,” he says.
I begin to clean up and he helps me. God, he moves so fast.
“But it was, what? One hundred and fifty years ago? How could you remember?”
“Time doesn’t work the same way for Reapers as it does for humans,” he says as he clears the counter. I sit back and watch as he moves faster than I ever could.
“How the heck does time work differently for you? Time is time. It’s unchangeable.”
“To humans, maybe,” he says as he grabs a rag and wipes the counter clean. “But to us, a moment in time is malleable. It’s pliable.”
I sit down on the stool at the island and watch him in awe. He’s the most fascinating man I’ve ever met.