Storm Warned (The Grim Series) by Dani Harper

of hair as it lightly encircled his nipples. Below his navel, darker hair formed a vee that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
    The rush of unfamiliar feelings flustered her. As a grim, she’d seen men’s bodies countless times over many decades as she bore dire witness to their impending doom. Although she’d felt compassion for the men, no other emotion stirred within her. Certainly no appreciation for their form. Now, deep inside, something long buried and long forgotten was suddenly wide, wide awake.
    If the man was awake, of course, Caris would never have indulged in studying his appealing form. Not only would she be shy about it, but she’d be far too busy puzzling over his striking blue eyes. Their vivid color was so like the high skies of autumn, yet there were shadows in them too, dark depths of heartache and raw anger buried deep.
    And still he gave me the very shirt from his back . . .
    She’d needed it, and she’d needed the water. Needed more, too, and she licked her dry lips with a tongue turned sticky. Caris hadn’t known thirst since she’d been changed all those years ago, but she was parched now. What does it mean? Other sensations, equally unfamiliar, rippled through her body. A grim’s heart did not beat and Death’s herald had no need to breathe. A grim felt neither heat nor cold, could be as solid as stone or as insubstantial as a ghost. A grim certainly did not suffer pain .
    Yet her ribs now hurt as if she’d been stabbed in many places, as the heart beneath them pounded far too fast. Her lungs labored to suck in air as if they couldn’t get enough. One leg would no longer bear weight, and it throbbed like a bad tooth. Worst of all was her back, where Maelgwn had struck her with the light whip. It stung sharply as if on fire, and she could smell singed fur—and burnt skin.
    The collar. The collar must have borne the brunt of the blow, or surely she’d already be dead. It must have been damaged, perhaps even broken, by the impact of the magical weapon. The heavy silver links had slid off her neck and dropped to the ground when she’d struggled to heed this man’s call . . . How many long decades had she borne the choking weight of faery-forged silver around her throat? The absence of it might have made her feel giddy if she hadn’t been in so much pain.
    Caris’s vision blurred and darkened at the edges. Had the impossible happened? Was she a mortal creature again? She was injured for certain, possibly dying . . . but free at last. Anything is better than being controlled by that spiteful prince for one more minute!
    From nowhere came the thought that her gruff father would have had far stronger and more inventive words for the pitiless faeries who had stolen away and enslaved his only daughter, and that thought suddenly made her miss Da so terribly that her heart ached as much as her whole body. Apparently her emotions had found their way back to her as well. How typical of the fae to restore those things that were the most painful to bear. She closed her eyes, so tempted to just let herself go, and yet . . .
    And yet she found that there was the tiniest spark within her, kindled by the lingering warmth of this stranger’s concern. Caris thought she sensed a flicker, then a solid glow, as that internal spark developed into a sparse flame. Gradually it grew and warmed, flaring from candle fire to cheering hearth, until the shuddering cold was dispelled from every inch of her body. Pain released its grip, and even the agonizing sting of the wound across her back was soothed. She breathed easier then, a long, deep sigh, as though she were relaxing into sleep.
    Sleep, however, was not what her body had in mind at all.

    “So the guy we’re going to see is a cousin of your friend Tina? We’re talking about the same Tina who owns the man-eating dachshund, right? Please tell me this relative of hers doesn’t have one too!”
    Morgan glanced over at her younger partner,