Marked by Death (Necromancer #1) - Kaje Harper Page 0,36

before. It melded with his own seamlessly, and buoyed him up into a light, easy strength where all things felt possible.

Darien pulled his hand back slowly. When they separated, no trace of green or gold remained on his fingers. Silas caught his wrist, and kissed the base of Darien’s thumb, and the skin was cool but real against his lips. “Yes. Well done!”

He pushed to his feet in an effortless rush. He felt as good as he had the very first time he’d taken ghost-held energy for his own, like he’d drunk a super-power potion and could fly. Home is that way. The path was so clear it might as well have had streetlights.

“I see the way. Come on! Can you get up? Do you need help?” He bent and put his hands under Darien’s arms to lift him.

Relief swamped him as Darien helped push to his feet, then shrugged him off. “Yeah. I’m tired and my arm hurts like a motherfucker, but I think I can walk.”

“Let me help. Just in case.” He wanted his arm around Darien again, a touch of skin on skin where nothing could get between them. Darien didn’t fight off his hold, and even leaned a bit, which meant either he wanted it too, or he was that tired. Or missing that much life force.

Silas didn’t let himself worry about that, just focused on getting them going through the fog. They left the River and its seductive whispers behind, and it felt like just minutes— like normal— when he saw the glimmer of his cellar wards. The barrier between them and the mundane world rippled, his frozen shape and Darien’s looming ahead, standing close together on the other side.

He pushed and they popped through, snapping back into themselves, both staggering a little with the shock of regaining the world. Grim muttered a cat-curse and shook like a dog. Silas’s first breath back filled his lungs with lifegiving normal air, smoke-tinged but wholesome. His mundane body ached, thighs sore from bracing himself, arms and shoulders and back a painful echo of the blows he’d fended off.

There was no sign of Crosby’s body, just a burned spot where he’d stood and the dead crow, a lump of dark feathers on the floor. The overhead bulbs revealed Silas’s network of runes marred with deep scorch marks paralleling the chalk all around the edges. Too damned close.

Darien sagged against him and Silas caught his weight. He could hear Darien muttering, “Not passing out. Not fucking doing that again.”

He hugged him closer. “You’re alive!” Relief bubbled over in a ridiculous babble. “You’re okay, you’re not damaged, it worked, by all that’s holy, we made it, you and me, together!”

Grim stalked past them. “Right. Forget the cat. I wasn’t even there.”

Silas braced Darien against him, while reaching down to touch Grim’s furry head. “All my gratitude, Grimalkin. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

Grim head-bumped his fingers. “That’s better. I’m going to hunt down a fat mouse while you get the boy settled, but I’ll expect my cream later. And some tuna. Bacon wouldn’t go amiss either.”

“You’ll get all the goodies you can eat.” He straightened, hugging Darien against his side. “How about you? Bed or food?”

“Definitely bed.”

“Can you manage the stairs?”

“Is there a bed at the other end of them? Bring it on.”

Darien’s optimism was a bit unfounded, but they got him up the stairs eventually and into Silas’s rooms.

“Bathroom first?” Darien muttered as they went in, pulling off his sweater and rubbing at his mark-free arms.

“Sure. But I’m coming with you. Don’t want you falling on your rump.”

“Again. My ass still fucking hurts from the last time. Just so you know, gonna be off limits for a week.”

Silas was pretty sure the flash of heat that went through him ended up in his face. “We’ll discuss, um, limits, once you’ve slept.”

“Ooh, kinky—” Darien cut off short as they staggered into the bathroom. His abrupt stop knocked Silas off balance and they swayed. He realized Darien was staring at the big mirror.

“Does it feel good to have those marks gone…” He petered out as he realized good was not the expression on Darien’s face.

“I look… weird,” Darien whispered.

“You’re tired and—” He stopped there, because Darien was right. He looked… older. There were a few threads of silver in his dark hair over one temple. Tiny lines fanned out from his eyes and curled at the corners of his lips. The fine skin of his face was just a little