Marked by Death (Necromancer #1) - Kaje Harper Page 0,14

him in the bed. In all his thirty years, he’d never shared with anyone. His occasional sex partners had been fast and anonymous, a release of body tensions and nothing more. Necromancers couldn’t afford to trust strangers, and he had no intention of even suggesting his life was open to sharing. Men had come, and come, and gone.

This was just… weird. Despite his thinness, Darien’s body was like a hot water bottle under the sheets, a warmth unlooked for. Silas stopped himself twice from unconsciously gravitating towards it. Darien’s breathing was a living thing, in a space where there usually was silence. Silas rolled over, put his back to the young man in his damned bed, and tried to convince his muscles to relax and go to sleep, already. But it wasn’t until Grim jumped up, claws prickling Silas’s hip as he landed, and curled up between them purring and licking his whiskers, that Silas finally relaxed enough to drop off.

Chapter 5

Darien woke and jolted upright. He was in a bright room. The sun shining through the windows made his head throb like a strobe light. He slammed his eyes shut and tried to think. The bed beneath him was soft and the air was warm, the sheets under his hand were smooth, not coarse. There were no shouts or rumbles from outside to shake the quietness.

Something heavy landed on his ankles and he yelped and opened his eyes. A huge tabby tomcat stared at him. “Oh, there you are. I thought you were sleep-sitting. Come on. Bacon’s ready and I’m eyeing your share.”

“Bacon!” The clench of his empty stomach was strong enough it took a moment to realize he was talking with a cat. Another moment to remember. “Grimalkin. Silas!”

“Oh good, your brains didn’t leak out your ears after all. Come on.” The cat jumped down and headed for the door, the tip of his tail beckoning.

Darien slid cautiously over and set his feet— enclosed in thick socks— on a floor that didn’t feel like an iceberg. He stood cautiously. The pounding in his head had eased a little, but over the clamor of his empty stomach, other needs made themselves felt. “The bathroom?”

“That way.” The cat flicked his tail. “Don’t drown in the tub. His nibs would be most disappointed.” He vanished out into the hall.

Darien made his way stiffly to the connecting door, which— yeah— opened into a bathroom he vaguely remembered. He made use of the toilet, then turned to the sink to splash cool water on his face. When he looked up, the shadow of a bruise colored his temple. The tail of the tattoo on his neck caught his eye. He traced the line with his finger, still not seeing or feeling anything except a dark gray line of ink. Or whatever those fucking spirits actually put under my skin.

He chose not to think about that part. The voices in his head were still quiet, and even with the headache, he’d take this any day of the week. The tattoos were nothing. The screaming and cursing and crying… He pressed his palms to his eyes and reminded himself they were silenced, controlled. Silas can help.

He hurried out and toward the stairs, careful this time on the worn treads. It was cooler downstairs and the chill air made him shiver, but good smells beckoned. He squinted against the bright sun beaming in down here too, and set out. One false route led to a dusty parlor with shrouded chairs, but then he found the kitchen.

Silas was leaning back in a wooden chair, a mug at his elbow and a sheaf of the morning paper in his hands. Grim crouched on the table with a plate in front of him, and he barely spared a glance for Darien before going back to gnawing on a long strip of bacon. An empty place was set with silverware across from them. The small window above the sink blessedly did not look east, so the light didn’t pierce his head.

He hovered in the doorway. “Wouldn’t it be easier for a cat to eat bacon if you cut it into pieces?” came out of his mouth, in place of I have no clue what happens next.

Silas waved long white fingers without looking up. “He likes to kill his food. There’s more bacon on the stove, toast in the toaster, milk in the fridge, coffee in the pot. If you want tea, you’ll have to make it yourself.”

It was easier to