Graveminder

Byron flipped forward again and read:

Mae was bitten. I wanted to kill the dead, but she’s unable to remember that they are monsters. She lets them in her home, brings them to her table ... I don’t know how to reason with her sometimes. Sometimes I think she forgets that she is human. If they come here, they can kill her. They would kill all of us. She tells me I worry too much, but I exist to protect her. It’s my job.

Carefully, Byron closed the book and went upstairs.

This wasn’t a fantasy: there were no rules in place to protect the townsfolk while they rested. The monster could—and had—entered homes. Daisha had entered this house and killed Maylene. She’d entered Byron’s home and bitten his father.

And we have no idea where she is.

He thought about Daisha coming into the house while Rebekkah was alone. His shower was brief. He’d barely dried before he yanked on a pair of jeans; he dried his hair with one hand as he opened the door of the bathroom.

Rebekkah stood in the doorway to her room watching him. She’d obviously made a decision of some sort because she’d brought his bag to her room. It sat on the floor at her feet.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked.

Without breaking their gaze, he came to stand in front of her. They’d been here, in this standoff, so many times over the years. She’d only ever had to look at him, and he was hers to have. She never admitted that what they shared was special. He couldn’t count the number of rooms they’d shared and the number of nights they’d spent in various cities and towns, yet never once had she allowed herself to admit that he mattered, that they mattered.

“Is it that you don’t want to sleep alone or that you want me here?”

“You,” she whispered.

She backed away from him, and he stepped into her room. He unzipped his bag and pulled out the gun that Alicia had given him. He put it on the nightstand, and then put the bag against the wall where he wouldn’t trip on it if he had to get up suddenly.

Rebekkah pushed the still-tangled bedcovers back and sat on the edge of the mattress.

He turned off the lights and went to her. With a small sigh, she curled into his arms. He lay back and held her.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she murmured as her eyes drifted closed.

“Liar.” He held her with one arm cradling her to him and the other free to smooth her hair back.

Or reach for the gun.

Rebekkah’s eyes opened again. “Byron ...”

He wrapped a damp strand of her hair around his finger, then let it fall onto her shoulder. Some part of him, the same part that had accepted the terms she’d set every time he’d held her, told him to keep quiet. The rest of him was tired of playing by her rules. “No changing. No commitments. This is meaningless. It’s always meaningless.”

She sighed. “That’s not ... never mind.”

“I’m bound to you for the rest of our lives. I’ve loved you for years. You’ve loved me just as long.” He didn’t look away as he said it, and she didn’t deny it this time. “You can protest all you want, but my job is to keep you safe, take a bullet over there if I have to. I signed a contract. I shot two men today.”

She sat up and pulled away from him. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask you to do anything.”

Byron watched her. “And you can’t change who you are or what you feel. I get that, but I can’t change who I am either. This is who we are. Regardless of what we do now, I’m in your life. Regardless of how you feel, I’m yours until our death. ”

“If Ella hadn’t died—”

“But she did .”

Rebekkah scooted to the foot of the bed, putting herself out of reach. “She died knowing that I ... that we ...”

“ Kissed . It was kissing, and we’ve done a hell of a lot more since then. It’s not Ella standing between us. You feel guilty, and you’re afraid. I understand, but you need to let it go. I won’t ever leave you, Bek, no matter how often or how hard you push me. I’ve been waiting for you for most of my life, and I’ll be here. That won’t change whether you and I see where we can go or not. Tell me we’re just friends, or friends with benefits, and”—he shrugged—“I’ll try to accept that.”

“You’ll try ?”

“Yeah, I’ll try .” He rolled onto his hip and slid to the far side of the bed. “I’m going to spend however long we have anchored to your side. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t want you in my life and in my bed. I’ve lov—”

“Maybe you don’t want me , Byron. Did you even consider that? You want the Graveminder .” She glared at him. “If Ella hadn’t killed herself, you’d—”

“She did, though, didn’t she? And, in case you forgot, I felt like this before she died .” He sat up and tugged her onto his lap. “I used to look for you every time I came home. I scanned Dad’s letters looking for mentions of you. Not Ella, not the Graveminder. You , Rebekkah.”

“Would you do it if I weren’t the Graveminder? If you weren’t the Undertaker?”

“I wish I could answer that, but there isn’t an answer. We are those things. I can’t undo any of it. Unless you die, you’re the Graveminder, and”—he took her hand in his—“I don’t think tossing yourself, your life, and the town to the side to figure out you and me is a very good idea. If you want to ignore this, ignore me for everything but the ... job, I’ll try to do that, but I think it’s a mistake.”

She didn’t answer, and after a minute, he released her hand.

“We don’t need to figure it out tonight. It’s been a long”—he glanced at the red digits of the clock—“day, night ... several days. Let’s try to sleep.”

“You’re a good man.” She crawled off his lap. “You deserve better.”

At that, he paused. His resolve not to continue to push her tonight evaporated. “So now you’re protecting me? Staying out of my bed and my life to keep me safe?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s one way to put it.” She slid to the opposite side of the bed, but she didn’t lie down.

He stretched out and propped himself up on one arm. “You might be the woman I love, but it’s not like I’ve exactly been celibate.”

“So tell me it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Tell me it wouldn’t complicate everything; tell me it wouldn’t be the start of a relationship.” She slid off the bed and stood staring at him for a moment. When he didn’t answer her, she put a hand to the hem of her nightshirt and lifted it slowly. “Or tell me no.”

Byron watched her lift the shirt, enjoyed the sight of her bare hips and her flat stomach.

When he didn’t speak, she continued to lift the nightshirt higher. All the while she held his gaze. “You don’t want the same things I do.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Without breaking their gaze, he moved toward her. He knelt on the mattress so he could reach out. Slowly, he trailed his fingertips over her stomach.

She paused.

“I didn’t say stop,” he whispered.

She pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor.

He cupped her breasts, and then kissed first one and then the other. “Beautiful.”

She caught her breath and slid her hand around the back of his neck.

He slid his thumbs over her already hard nipples, and then he trailed his hands over the curve of her breasts and around her back. He didn’t hold her fast, but he kept his hands on her bare back. His fingers splayed across her skin, and for a moment he couldn’t think beyond the knowledge that he was finally touching Rebekkah again.

She didn’t speak—or pull away. Her breathing was as uneven as his. Her lips parted, and she stared at him.

He moved upward, nipped her throat, and kissed his way to her ear. She sighed and tilted her head to give him better access.