Graveminder

be efficient and gentle.”

“And professional?” Rebekkah prompted.

“Do you want me to be professional?” He pulled his shirt off. There wasn’t a lot of blood on it, but there was enough that he wanted a clean one. “Is that the lie you still want to hear?”

“You’re heading into dangerous territory, B,” Rebekkah cautioned, but she’d made no pretense of looking away as he stripped off his shirt and put it into the biohazard bin.

He grabbed a clean shirt from the closet, but didn’t put it on. “And?”

She pulled her gaze away from his chest and studiously looked at the floor in front of her. “I don’t need you to look at my side. It’s fine.”

He walked across the room and stopped in front of her. “That’s not what I asked.”

She lifted her gaze. “You do know that I wasn’t ... when Charles said those things ... I mean, I slept there, and—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted. The last thing he wanted to hear just then was Rebekkah talking about Charlie. “You don’t owe me an explanation; you’ve made that abundantly clear.”

“Sure.” She put her hands on his bare chest. “And I’ve known you too long to believe for a minute that you’d be fine with me being with Charles ... or anyone else.”

“Maybe I’ve changed.” Byron ran his hand over her hip. “Maybe—”

She stretched up and kissed him, carefully and slowly, and all of her repeated protestations that she didn’t do relationships felt empty. She didn’t touch him as if this was casual. He’d had friends with benefits; this felt like more. It always had.

For both of us.

She pulled away. “No.”

“No what?” he prompted.

“No, I don’t want you to be professional, and no, you haven’t changed, but right now I’d probably ignore that ... again. Then tomorrow we’d regret it.” She stepped back.

The temper he’d been trying to keep in check slipped a little then. “Bullshit. I never regret it the next morning. You’re the only one with that issue.”

And as she had done for the past nine years when he tried to talk about things she didn’t want to discuss, Rebekkah changed the subject. “I need to find Maylene’s journal. She left me a letter that said there were answers in it. I started to look for it, but I didn’t realize how important it was. Now I need ... I’m not even sure what I need, but there’s a dead girl out there and I have no idea how to stop her.”

“Right,” he bit off.

He pulled on his shirt, lifted the bag, and walked toward the doorway that led into the hall. He felt like he was walking a thin line between pushing her to face facts and going along with her habitual avoidance. The problem was that he knew they were past the point where ignoring their relationship was an option.

She can accept murderers and hidden worlds, but us ... that she can’t accept.

Frustration barely in check, Byron stepped aside for her to pass him.

She caught up the hem of her skirt and stepped into the hall. Once he pulled the door shut, she asked, “Will you come with me? To look through the house, I mean.”

“I was planning on it. First, though, I need to grab something.” He locked the storage room behind them. “Last night, before Dad ... before I came back from there without him, Dad said he left some things up in his room.”

“And you didn’t get them yet?” She gave him an incredulous look. “Why?”

He stared back at her for a moment. “Because I thought finding you was a bit more important, all things considered. Dad said that nothing else could be done until you met Charlie, and the whole thing was a bit surreal. I just wanted ... I needed to find you before anything else.” Byron took her hand in his. “Whatever else happens, however infuriating I find your refusal to admit what’s between us, you are my first priority for the rest of my life. That’s what it means to be the Undertaker. You, my Graveminder, are my first, last, and most important priority. Before my life, before anyone else’s life, you .”

Rebekkah stared at him silently. “What?”

“My job , Rebekkah, is to put your life before mine.”

“I don’t want ...” She shook her head.

“Don’t let go of my hand in the tunnel again. You can die there.” He gave her a tight smile and then added, “I, however, can get shot repeatedly and live, apparently.”

She opened and closed her mouth, and tears filled her eyes.

And, as had happened so many times when she wept, his temper vanished. He sighed. “I love you, and I would rather be the one trying to keep you safe than let anyone else in this world ... or that one ... do it, but I need you to work with me. I don’t trust Charlie, and I don’t know what game he’s playing, but I do know that it didn’t even occur to me to hesitate when I had to shoot two men to reach you.”

“B, I didn’t—”

“No. I don’t want to hear all the reasons you can’t this or that. Just tell me that whether or not you can give us a chance, you will work with me on this Graveminder thing.” Byron stared at her. “I’m the only one that can open the gate, Bek, and I’ll let the whole town die before I let you go over there and get killed because you’re being stubborn.”

“I promise,” she whispered.

He hated the way she was staring at him, as if he was somehow a stranger to her, but he hated the thought of failing her even more. Rebekkah’s safety was the most important thing in both worlds. I won’t fail you. Byron thought about the bullets that had been fired toward Rebekkah, about the certainty he’d had earlier that she was in danger. I can’t be sure she is safe ever again. The dead walked, and her job was to find them. The man who controlled the land of the dead was not to be trusted. The only thing Byron knew for sure was that he would die rather than fail Rebekkah—and that if he did die, he was failing her.

Chapter 36

REBEKKAH WAS SPEECHLESS AS THEY WALKED UPSTAIRS AND INTO THE private part of the house. She followed Byron and tried not to notice the tense way he held himself. It wasn’t like they hadn’t had their share of arguments, but there were topics he’d always allowed her to avoid. After the immediate shock of Ella’s death had passed, Byron would look at Rebekkah sometimes with an expectant expression—and she would pretend that she didn’t know the conversation they should have. Years later, when they ended up in bed the first time, she ignored the “what-does-this-mean” conversation. He’d pushed a few times, but every time, she’d walked out or silenced the conversation with sex. I don’t deserve him. That was the truth of it, and she knew it.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly as they went up the second set of stairs.

At the top of the steps, Byron glanced at her and sighed. “I know.”

“Truce?” She held out a hand.

“We’re still going to talk,” he warned her.

She kept her hand extended. “And I’m going to hold your hand when we cross the tunnel to the land of the dead, and”—her voice cracked—“do my best not to get either of us shot.”

Byron took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulled her to him in a quick hug. “That wasn’t your fault. Not you getting shot or my killing those men.” His voice was rough as he added, “It would destroy me if I lost you, Bek.”

The truth was that she would feel the same way if she lost him, but before she could admit that, he pulled away. Brusquely he walked down the hall and opened a door. “Come on. Dad said we’d find some answers