Stairs were going to kill me. Trying not to think of the wound on my thigh, I limped down the stairs as fast and quietly as I could. I knew there were still two other warlocks inside the house and I didn't want to stick around to fight. I needed to save my energy to run. The wooden boards creaked each time I set my left leg, so many fucking stairs, I stretched my arm each time I grabbed the rail.

At least the door wasn't far. My fingers shakily, urgently twist the knob and—

Antonio barked from upstairs. "GET HER! GET HER! SHE IS NOT—"

I swung the door open and took off running into an open wheat field. I had no idea where I was nor did I have any idea where I was going. I've been isolated in the middle of nowhere. I look over my shoulder, seeing the tilting worn-out two-story house. My eyes drift to a ruffling sound, two warlocks were running toward me and another pair emerged from the left. Where did they come from?

My head pounds as panic nips at the corner of my mind. I push myself harder ignoring the throbbing on my leg. I don't know where to go. I don't know where to go. I don't know what—If you wish for my presence, you can scream the name you've given me and I will appear before you. 

My heart races. 

I tilt my head slightly back, and I'm mesmerized by the thousands of glittering stars in the night sky. I almost feel as if he is watching me from up there like he is waiting for me to say his name.

But I don't want to wish on a star. I want him to be real. I want—no, I need him to be real because I can't be disappointed over something that is not real.

Wheat faintly grazes my legs and arms. Exhaustion begins to climb over every wound and ache. I want to call him, but will he show up? I can hear you, raven. It rings like a dream.

I draw a sharp breath. "Gri—" Hot wind passes my shoulder, and ahead a patch of wheat is ignited. Dammit. I take a different direction and run faster as I hear them getting closer. I glance over my shoulder and see a flaming ball flying across—I duck my head and watch as another part of the field is being swallowed by fire.

"Grimm." It comes out breathless and below a whisper. Nothing happens. No one is here. Panic settles in my stomach, and a knot forms in my throat. "Grimm," I say, a bit clearer.

Nothing.

I can't keep running forever. They're going to catch me if I don't do something. Why wasn't he here? Why isn't it working? They keep throwing flames scorching the wheat field and at one point they're going to trap me. My legs waver in despair but my lungs burn in desperation. I look upon the starry sky as if it were him.

"GRIMM!" I shout.

"GRIMM!" I beg.

One of the warlocks yells. "No one can hear you! No one can save you! Give up!" I ignored them because they didn't know who swore to me they would come. He promised.

"GRIMM!" I cried.

"GRIMM!" I screamed.

I sound like a madwoman calling for her lover but as my legs begin to slow down, I think about what I'm doing wrong. Harbinger of Death, I remember. They must die. Every single one of them. My feet are starting to trip, so I sprint like it's a race. I close my eyes and I wish but I do more than a wish.

They're all going to die, my heart skips like a rabbit. Death will appear as will The Capturer of Souls, in the same body, and he will end their life because it is time for their souls to be captured. And because I demand it.

"Grimm." His name comes out like a sin but it's filled with the same devotion of a prayer.

Another blaze of fire almost grazes my skin but I stumble backward from it and my legs are about to give out—I stretch my arm to grab onto something but instead, something grabs me.

My wrist is pulled and I spin around, colliding with a solid figure.

"Raven." My heart stops when I hear his velvet voice.

I slowly peer as my trembling hands are on his chest. He wears the same regal coat as last time, long collared edges with a looped chain and silvered skull buttons. My gaze moves upwards, and I pant harder as I come to see those starry eyes. His inky hair is pushed back, but his cheekbones look more sunken. Yet, his vicious crimson lips stayed maddening as ever.

I whispered. "You're here."

Behind him, a wall of pure darkness cloaks us from my attackers. It feels secure, his cool hand around my wrist feels secure. He lays a finger beneath my chin—I could feel him, he is real—his eyes move frantically as he inspects every cut, blood, and tear staining my face. It's absurd but I like it.

"I'm sorry, I'm late," Grimm says.

He is here, my sweet dark fantasy. My hands relax on his chest as his scent of smoke soothes the pain.

"Where were you?" I keep my gaze on him, unblinking.

His fingers softly skim my cheek, he tries to rub the stains away. "Hell." He whispers it as if he was one of the souls being tormented. But my heart flutters at the thought of Grimm being able to hear me where dread and misery existed at all times.

My hands ache for—

An aggressive light pounds against Grimm's barrier, but it quickly diminishes as the darkness swallows it. Another light strikes. I slip my hands from his chest but his hand is locked on my wrist. The pain surges all over my body reminding me why I called him in the first place. 

I need him to do this for me because I was beyond exhausted. The sigils spilled my blood just as my own magic drained my entire body. And the running has made my lungs burn. I was so fucking exhausted, and there were so many of them.

I turned my gaze toward Grimm who looked at the semi-glowing barrier, "Are they the ones who hurt you?" He said furiously.

I look down at my torn tights, drenched in scarlet. My hands were covered by small scratches. This is all I could see but I know Grimm saw everything else. My tangled hair was soaked in blood and sweat. Lips cracked. Red-rimmed eyes with a hint of hysteria.

And I know the more he stared the more his gaze bore the eyes of an executioner.

I needed him in the same way he needed me, desperately and selfishly.

My hands curled at his chest. "I called you..." Underneath my greed another madness lives quietly, I called you, but I want you to kill them because you want to do it for me. 

Instead, my voice comes out as raw as a sinner's confession. "Kill them. Kill all of them." 

The white from his eyes has disappeared and turned into bottomless pits.

Blackened vines overtook the veins on his face, pulsing in rage. "How?" Grimm asks, how do you want me to kill them? It's not one of curiosity instead it is one of pledge and fulfillment.

Maybe this is as far as we could ever reveal ourselves.

"Do what you do best and show them your worst," I said as quietly as I hung myself by the last thread of sanity.

He lets go of my wrist as he lifts his chin and positions his hand out as a form of a command, the shadows beneath him snake around until his scythe slithers into his hand like a fitted glove.

His knuckles turn white as he grips it. Grimm turns his back as he lifts his hand as the barrier of darkness cascades revealing seven furious warlocks who were confused by Grimm's appearance.

 Where did the rest come from? 

A few of them took a step back as they took notice of how easily the darkness returned to him and settled behind him as mist but prepared to attack at any given moment.

One of them takes a step forward, head held high as if he has already defeated Grimm. 

I stare at him with his brown hair, I think his name was Russ. "Who are you? What are you?" He questions him like a traitor. "Look, we only want the De Luna witch but if you choose to protect her we are left with no other choice than to kill you."

Grimm spins his scythe in a taunting way, the steel blade points at each warlock like a judgment has been made. My mouth twitches—He is going to cut their heads off one at a time. One at a time.

"You think you can kill me? You think you're strong enough to do it, Russell?" Grimm keeps a cool tone.

And like provoked animals, they crowd behind Russell as if Grimm insulted them all. They lose their confusing faces and are overtaken by anger. Russell mutters an incantation, and a ball of fire sits on his palm. Grimm stands unfazed and holds his presence as he steps closer to him.

Russ spits at him. "I don't know what you are, but your face suffers, and your power is darkness. If I recall, light always defeats the dark, right?" His eyes flicker toward the scythe as he taunts. "You think you'll be able to kill us with that? There are seven of us, you'll be long dead before you know it."

Grimm's lips curl upwards and it looks as if blood has trickled down his mouth. "I've always admired foolishness as you mortals have always confused it with bravery." Fire is shot, and without warning, Grimm slams his scythe on the ground releasing a rupture of doom.

The ferocity knocks me down but I sit up as I catch my breath. A stream of blazing fires set on the field. My gaze turns toward a marching Grimm who controls the black mist around the seven kneeling warlocks at the same time. Their mouths are wide open as they projectile vomit the shadows into the air. From where I sat I could see the horror and shedding tears.

Grimm speaks devoid of emotion, "Seven is not a big number. Look at all of you, unable to move—only being able to feel and watch as your life diminishes right before your eyes. Now, as I said, seven is not a big number. According to my personal best, I've killed far more than seven at once." He teases a promise. "But you could all grant me another personal best, seven dead warlocks in seven seconds."

Smoke attaches to him like a second skin.

He stretches his arms out, flexing his muscles as he swings the scythe in preparedness—you could hear the blade cutting the air. He came close to the warlock on his right and swung the blade with proficiency. "One," Grimm says as the headless body drops to the ground.

And a flash of silver ran across to the next warlock's neck. "Two." Blood sprayed his face, but he moved swiftly to the next one as he timed himself. 

It felt like I was watching art being made but the abstract kind which I never understood but I understood Grimm. How poetically violent the red is smeared across his face. He was what drew your eye in—the explosion of red and black—you looked at him and everyone else was a blurred background.

My fingers unintentionally held four fingers, I lift the—

"Oof!" My head smacks the ground as a tight grasp cuts my breathing. "Maldita perra! How dare you sit there and watch death as if it were entertainment." Antonio seethed. I clutched his wrist around my neck but I became captivated by how much the sigils took from his flesh. His face was scarred.

Hypocrita. As if he didn't enjoy the scene of the sigils tearing my skin. However, I can't help but let a wispy laugh escape from my lips. 

Enraged, Antonio's hands tighten around my throat, "Why don't you fight back! Come on, I know you're not a weak pathetic witch. Stop pretending!" He shouts.

I don't fight him because I'm still counting, and I'm on six. He doesn't hear the footsteps of his executioner because he is too focused on me. "Muerto—te—ves—más—bonito." He sees the smile in my eyes and he opens his mouth—(You look prettier dead.)

Whoosh, more blood is stained across my face. Death was punctual as ever. I cough violently as I press my hand over my chest trying to steady my breath. I only hoped Antonio was able to catch a glimpse of his blood on my face.

I lift my gaze toward Grimm who looks down at Antonio's decapitated head. His nostrils flare as he plunges the end of his scythe into Antonio's head and creates a mud-splattering noise.

"Eight warlocks, seven seconds." Grimm breathes out unevenly.

I'm a little impressed, although I shouldn't be at all. 

His deep obsidian eyes find mine, he takes a step forward and stretches his arm out like a fallen star except, his gaze flickers down at his hand. The shadows swirl between his fingers, and Grimm is repulsed by them. I frowned as I sat on the ground, watching him twitch his fingers as he tried to make the effort to make them go away.

Grimm scowls until his frustration cracks, "I can't."

I lean forward but he retracts his hand. "I do not wish to harm you. I can't touch you. You shouldn't touch me. Do not—" Self-loathing slips from his tongue. 

I do not understand why Grimm can't control his power but I knew the feeling too well of self-hatred and how it can send you spiraling.

So, I keep my hand out. "I know you would never hurt me," I say quietly and admit. "I trust you." He is hesitant but he stares at my hand as if it were his last hope. 

His brows are pinched together, his jaw clenched as he fights his rotten self, and yet, I admire it.

"I'm not afraid of you," I told him again as I told him before.

Grimm stretches his hands out, our fingers brush, and I grasp his hand. The shadows do not harm me; instead, they circulate our hands like a cosmic gently and calmly. He lets his scythe go and it is consumed by the shadows. 

He slides his other hand under my arm and slowly helps me get up, and the throbbing increases on my leg. Grimm grips my arms and pulls me closer, still frozen in fear, but our breaths mingle at this proximity.

I took in his appearance, a couple of strands of his hair hung over his forehead, and my finger ached to push them back. Blood dances on his face, I mirror the same look, but his veins were corrupt and poisonous. I yearned to touch him and I wanted to touch him as how he looked right now.

Rotten.

My other hand comes up and it hovers over his right cheek, I stare into Grimm's eyes. He closes them, afraid. I place my palm on his cheek. His breath hitches but he finally leans into my palm and although his eyes are shut, a soft pained expression settles between his brows.

He whispers as a deprived man."You command my body before I can rule it. From the moment you call my name to wherever I stand, you invade my entire being." My heart is seized by an uncontrollable fluttering. 

I've lost all rationality tonight, what's one more irrationality? I closed the gap between us until our bodies pressed together like molded figures.

I slightly tilt my head, my eyes glancing down at his lips. They looked like a delirious red. His eyes open and they catch mine. 

Grimm dips his head as his hand snakes around my waist, our noses brushing against each other. His cold skin sends a shiver down my spine. His eyes drifted down my lips and they stayed there longing and agonizing.

I licked my top lip. Bésame con esa cara que se pudre ante mi. (Kiss me with that face that rots before me.)

And like that, he has stolen my native tongue without knowing, but I speak another language he doesn't know, and yet, my lips quiver in a rush to spill all I know, which is him.

"Horrified?" He said low and hushed.

"Frightening." Grimm's body goes rigid but my hand skims down his jaw until I grasp his chin, I lean forward and turn his head slightly. He relaxes once I press my lips against the corner of his lips. I can't kiss him because I know I'll want more.

"Thank you for tonight," I murmur, feeling the faint curve of his lips.

Before I pulled back, he took my hand and lightly pressed his lips inside my palm. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. You can have anything." 

What a sweet lie.

I meet his gaze, his rotten face has disappeared. The shadows are gone as well. He knew it as well, and we went back to pretending. I held onto Grimm's arm as we walked away, leaving trails of blood, seven decapitated bodies, and a burnt wheat field.

He wanted to burn the bodies, but I stopped him. "No, let them see. This will be their only warning."

Death and I walk side by side as we always have.

A/N: It wasn't my intention of writing a slow burn romance but here we are. TYSM FOR 4.58K reads! Vote & comment if you want them to kiss already.