Welcome to Tales from the GrimVerse: Grim & Bare It – Killion’s POV, an urban fantasy novel I’m republishing with scenes from the original story but told from the Master Vampire’s point of view.
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The rush from his spirit leaving took Chloe by surprise. She fell against the wall and slid to the floor. Her gasp of shock tugged at my own chest. Being half-vampire, my heart didn’t beat. In that moment, it did.
The distinctive code red alarm went off on the floor, but her usual tumultuous thoughts were a blank slate. “Chloe!” I used my commanding tone, yet bliss exuded from her features.
Just what I needed—my trainee to succumb to the high of soul transference. If I didn’t shake her out of it, I might lose her to death.
This was why I didn’t mentor grims. They required too much hand-holding. Regardless that I felt attraction and that strange need to protect her as if she were one of my Undead, she would require too much time and energy.
The thought should have been more annoying than it was. My half-human heart shouldn’t beat again at the idea of spending more time with her. My pulse should not quicken.
I palmed the handle of the scythe and telepathically spoke to her. Fight it, I demanded. It’s not your time. You have work to do.
Her mind focused on my voice. Mom?
The weapon took whatever form a person needed to calm them about dying. Just like Talon saw his own mother, Chloe heard hers. While I would rather my voice anchor her to this world, I would accept whatever worked. She was connected to something much bigger than her human life, and I knew that the first time one experienced it, it was a drug that demanded you beg for more. The omniscient sense of power and peace was impossible to ignore.
Her eyes under her lids moved as if she were watching a movie. Through the scythe, I seemed to be connected to everything she saw, sensed, and felt–the wisdom of the ages, the understanding of all that existed. We were connected to all beings. In the void where thought had ceased, the voice of angels rose.
My vision began to white out, and I had the urge to clasp her to me, keeping her physically anchored to this world, even though we were both spinning out into another dimension. “Chloe, wake up. Now!”
My voice cut through the angelic choir, and this time, she spoke aloud. “Mom?”
I started to reply, and through the glistening whiteness, the outline of a form emerged. The woman appeared to vibrate, the air around her resembling heat waves rising from pavement on a summer day. Her face became more lucid, a gentle smile on it. Without warning, she slipped inside my body and used my mouth to speak. “I’m always with you, and your father and I are waiting for you on the other side when it’s time. All is well.”
She exited as quickly as she’d arrived. I slumped against the wall, rubbing my chest. Chloe called out, “No, wait! Mom, come back.”
Staggering to the bag lying open on the floor, I shoved the scythe inside, the connection between us breaking. I scooped Chloe from the floor and laid her on an empty bed. Her hair fanned out on the pillow, her arms fell open as if waiting for a lover’s embrace. My chest squeezed, my hands aching to touch her everywhere.
The psychopomp returned and hopped up onto her chest, the weight forcing the breath from her lungs. Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t open her eyes. I shook her shoulder and demanded she wake, but she was still trapped between worlds.
This shouldn’t be happening. The soul transference could surprise a new reaper, but most had a stronger desire to live than to die. What did it say about her that she did not?
Such a strange and unique creature, this one.
I could not let her pass to the other side nor linger in the in-between space where only ghosts roamed. I pinched her side. “Wake up, Grim 281. Now.”
She sucked in a startled gasp. Her eyes flew open, and she cringed at the sight of the psychopomp staring down at her. Drool dripped from Ghost’s fangs. At the same time, she wagged her tail.
“Oh, get off,” Chloe groaned.
“Good, you’re back,” I said, discreetly checking her eyes for any trace of the afterlife that might linger. The eyes, indeed, are the doorway to the soul. Hers appeared normal, and an odd relief hit me deep inside—I would have to teach her how to master death. “You have to learn to control yourself.”
The psychopomp morphed into her puppy version and licked Chloe’s nose. The pert appendage screwed up, and she moved the dog off of her. “What just happened?”
“Soul transference.” I helped her sit, catching her when she nearly toppled. “Yours will most often experience what the retrieved soul does as it crosses to the afterlife. It’s considered a job perk by some.” Yet, her reaction had been extreme, even for a newbie.
She blinked and rubbed her temples. “I saw my mom.” She wiped drool from her cheek. “I didn’t want to return.”
I kept a hand on her arm as she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. It was no hardship to be this close to her. “Hence, the need for control.”
“How do I do that?” Her face took on that blissful look once more, her eyes darkening. “It was nirvana, heaven, utopia. Wait—was it heaven?”
I had to break the connection to her or I’d drown in those beautiful eyes so full of hope. “Come,” I said, ignoring the question. I grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “We have more to accomplish.”
“Why wasn’t my dad there? Can I talk to my mom whenever I want?”
She had to grip the rail to steady herself when she stood. Everything in me started to reach for her, scoop her up again, and carry her out. The craving inside me flared to life, quicksilver and potent in its intensity. I had to get out of the room, stop thinking about putting her in a very different bed where I was master. Where I could put that same look on her face in a much more satisfying way.
And here I spoke to her about not losing control, and I was about to do it myself.
I was out the door before she could blink.
“Wait!”
The hallways were quieter now. As Ghost pranced after me, I forced my feet not to hesitate, my head not to swivel to make sure she followed.
I heard her staggering steps. It was all I could do to keep my focus pinned on the elevator doors, the shiny metal reflecting my appearance back to me. My hand gripped the strap of her bag so tightly, my knuckles grew white. My jaw was set and the rings of my eyes were red.
I shut them, reaching deep to grab a hold of the beast clawing his way free and forcing him back to sleep.
I didn’t open them again until she reached my side. She picked up the dog and cradled her, and I noted the blissed-out smile still on her face in the mirrored reflection.
She was addicted to the feeling of dying. Of leaving this plane. Being her mentor, it would fall to me to help her keep her craving at bay.
My only fear was that I was now addicted to her.
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Next up, Episode 7 – The Dog Ate Her Homework