The following evening, Grelle departed Dispatch on timid feet. The current babysitter let her out, led her down to the Board for a scolding, and pushed her out the door with a fresh stack of papers with souls to collect. Back to work already. Even so, she hesitated when she came to the front door. Was Sebastian really outside? The others couldn't have been talking about any other demon, but if it was Sebastian, was he still there? What did he want from her? She couldn't guess.
Swallowing, she opened the door and stepped out into the dusky air. She drew in a deep breath. So much better outside. But the breath caught in her throat. She could see him—just there, a little ways beyond the light of the gas lamp sitting on a bench on the street.
It was no use. He'd seen her see him. She couldn't just go running, but she didn't know how to face her demon. For the first time in a long time a bit of embarrassment had crept into her conscious. Embarrassed was not her thing—not at all. She was Grelle she was never embarrassed. And yet… Sebastian rose to his feet and she lingered just beyond the doorway. Her legs wouldn't move. They were scared.
He could only come so close to Dispatch before a hoard of Shinigami would descend upon him in a murderous storm, but he seemed to sense the energy and stopped several yards from where Grelle stood at the door. Still she couldn't get her legs working. The pair of them just stood there and looked at each other—or rather, Sebastian looked at her and she looked at the ground.
"I've been waiting," he said.
Her shoes stood out red against the dark wood of the stoop. "I know."
He paused. "I can't come any closer than this."
"I know."
He went quiet. Sebastian was never one to waste words. Gritting her teeth, Grelle looked up, mustering the courage to ask him why—why was he here, why had he come for her at all, much less waited outside for a week—but then she met his eyes and all the words went out of her. He hadn't changed. That strange Sebastian, the new one, the one who'd stayed with her for two straight days, kissed her, made promises and said such sweet things was still there, looking in every way as though it was taking a great deal of effort to remain where he was. Out of reach. He offered his hand.
Grelle set her Death Scythe down, placed the collection sheets carefully on top, and descended the steps. What was she doing? This was madness. The look in his eyes, though. It was sincere. She was sure.
As soon as she was within his reach, he grabbed her—pulled her well clear and away from the boundary of Dispatch and locked her in his arms. Already he was pressing his mouth to hers, frenzied kiss after kiss. Startled, Grelle jolted, tried to wriggle away, but he was strong. She got free of his lips for but a moment.
"Sebastian."
He silenced her, but now she knew how to escape.
"Sebastian, stop."
She managed to get her face far enough from his, to get her hands up to hold him away. What on earth was going on? She stared at him in shock.
"Grelle, please."
He looked back at her with such desperation the color drained from her skin. He'd lost his mind. She'd never seen him like this—never seen him vulnerable. But it was genuine. For whatever reason, he made it seem as though his very life would flicker and go out. Her heart beat fast in fear.
"Sebastian, you're scaring me."
He could offer no explanation. He just stared, a dull ache eating away at the back of his gaze. What else was she supposed to do?
She touched her lips to his and he made this noise at the back of his throat like she'd hurt him, so she pulled away, and swiftly, but he held her head in place, his lips just fractions from her own.
"Please."
His eyes were shut, his brows drawn together with his whispered plea. She couldn't bear to see him like this. It made her heart hurt.
Afraid though she was, she softened the force by which she'd held him at bay, moved her hands up behind his neck and lifted herself the short distance between them to meet his lips. He made that sound again, whether out of pain or pleasure she still was unsure, but she pressed on in spite of it. A moment later, he kissed her back, and impressively, but she was in charge. He followed her lead. What a feeling it was to be directing Sebastian Michaelis.
Who could say how many seconds, minutes flew off in the breakneck embrace but her breath came heavily when she finally decided to pull back. He still held her close, warm. She liked the feeling of his arms around her back, her chest pressed against his. She kissed him once more, as insurance.
When he finally opened his eyes, he smiled down at her and the expression was so different from before that it made her laugh.
"What's gotten into you?" she asked.
"It's you, Grelle," he replied, taking her hand in his and lifting it to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. "I nearly drove myself mad thinking about you, waiting."
So had she.
"Why me?"
"I don't know. And I know that's not the most romantic answer, but I don't understand it either. All I know is that I need you."
She pursed her lips. Was she falling into some kind of trap? Did Sebastian want something? Information, the use of her Death Scythe, access to Shinigami records? He could be up to anything, and had been up to everything, but if it was a trap, what a sweet, sweet trap indeed.
She smiled and he kissed her.
"Run away with me, Grelle Sutcliff."
"I have to work."
"Leave it."
She looked at him. "I can't. It's part of who I am."
He seemed to understand that. He met her eyes and studied her through them for a moment, hunting down the little fragmented pieces of a person that she was. She could only stand a few seconds of the scrutiny before she flicked her eyes away, inhaling deeply, realizing she'd been holding her breath.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"No."
He stroked her face, looked her over like a protective mother would her young, searching for insult or injury so he could right them. She'd never known a demon to be so affectionate. She shut her eyes for a moment and let a deep breath escape her lungs.
"What is it?" he asked.
"You're turning into everything I'd once imagined you to be, and it's wonderful, but I'm afraid it won't last."
"Why?"
It was such an innocent question, asked as though he truly could not comprehend a reason why they should not or would not remain together—like he'd forgotten who he was, who she was, what they were, and who they had been. And perhaps he had, but she hadn't. And that's where it counted. In her own heart.
"I have souls to collect, Sebastian," she said, and moved away, slipping out of his arms and going to retrieve her chainsaw.
He stepped after her. "May I go with you?"
She halted. Go with her? A demon on soul collection? "William will have a cow."
"I understand, but I will not act unless it is to help you. I don't want to leave your side, Grelle. That is all."
She picked up her papers, her Death Scythe, turned to face him on the stoop. Probably—no, definitely they were being watched, probably had been since she'd stepped out the door. By now every Shinigami in the English Division of Dispatch would have heard about her little tryst. A demon and a reaper. She couldn't even guess at what titillating stories were fluttering through the halls even as she stood and studied him—though there was probably nothing a Shinigami could think up to improve a rumor that she and Sebastian hadn't already done. She was in deep. If nothing else, it would pay to keep an eye on him.
She swung her chainsaw up onto her shoulder and descended the steps. "All right, then. You can come. But stay out of the way unless I ask for your help, got it?"
He looked like a kid at Christmas when he nodded. "Yes."
"Good. This way."
Making a gesture down the street with her head, Grelle started off. Sebastian came instantly to her side, following so loyally she probably could have walked into a lamppost and he would have done the same. What had she gotten herself into?