Free Darkness Calls by Marjorie M. Liu

and turned over my palm, staring at the glittering veins of organic metal that wound through the scales and flattened claws of my tattoos. Red eyes glittered from my palm, staring at Grant, and a faint purr of pleasure rumbled against my skin. Grant kissed my hand.
    “I’m not sorry they kicked you out,” I said quietly, heart aching for him. “But I’m selfish.”
    He smiled, and squeezed my hand with that gentle strength, which always made my eyes burn at the most unexpected moments. Like now.
    Grant said, “I’m worried about leaving you, Maxine. I’ve got a bad feeling.”
    “Told you, I’m coming along.”
    “You haven’t said how.”
    “I think you know.
    He gave me a long, steady look. “And you’re sure?”
    “Grant,” I said quietly. “I’ve never had answers. I just do what has to be done. Same as you.”
    “Same as me,” he murmured, and then: “You need me. You need someone to watch your back.”
    “Trust me, I’m covered.”
    “Ha,” he said. “You’re afraid. Ever since this morning, you’ve been afraid.”
    “No.”
    Grant’s fingers tightened. “Bad liar.”
    I shoved his hand away. “Don’t look at me.”
    He grabbed me again, but this time it was a fistful of my hair. It did not hurt, but the way he did it, the intensity of his gaze, shocked me into stillness.
    “I love you,” he said, dragging me so tight against him I could hardly breathe. “You’re an easy woman to love, Maxine, but you’re a hard one to be around. Because of this. Because the world hurts you, and I can’t stop it. Because I know . . . I know we won’t have fifty years. Maybe not even twenty, or ten, or one.” Grant leaned in, and I felt swallowed by the pain in his eyes; a mirror to mine, that I had never voiced, never dared say out loud.
    “You’re going to leave me,” he whispered. “By choice, or by death. And maybe . . . maybe you’ll leave someone behind. Someone we’ll make together. But you’ll still be gone, and you don’t know . . . you don’t understand —”
    I placed my hand over his mouth before he could say another word. I understood. I knew. I had been the one left behind.
    I said, “We have time.”
    Grant closed his eyes. “I want time. But I want something more, Maxine. I want to protect you. I want you to let me help you. Because I’m not going to let you die. When the boys leave you—when they abandon you for your daughter—I’m not going to give up. I’m not going to say good-bye. Not like that. You’re not going to be like the others in your family. I want you to die an old woman, with me. In our bed. In my arms. Your heart’s going to give out, Maxine, but it’ll be when you’re ready. And not because a demon put a bullet in your brain.”
    I stared, stricken. No idea I cried until I blinked, and tears rolled down my cheeks. I started to wipe them away, but Grant kissed my face, and his thumb brushed my skin, and my heart pounded so hard I could not breathe.
    “Maxine,” he murmured, in my ear. “Don’t cry.”
    Don’t die. Not before me, I replied silently; and sniffed hard, rubbing my nose. “You go. I’ll be there. We’ll take care of this together.”
    He hesitated. “You thought it was a trap.”
    “Still do. So go, or don’t—but not because you’re worried about me. Otherwise, you’ll always wonder. You’ll regret. And regrets . . . can turn to resentment.” I forced a smile, trying to be light. “You talk about wanting me all old and wrinkly, but let’s try to get there without you wishing you’d done things different.”
    Grant shook his head. His cheeks were flushed, the skin around his throat mottled. Eyes bloodshot. He swept my hair from my face, his palm lingering over my temple, where I had been shot. Whether he touched me there on purpose, or by accident, I could not tell—but the heat of his hand was a comfort.
    “Stubborn,” he said. “If something happens?”
    “I’m hard to kill,” I replied dryly. “You’re