Marked by Death (Necromancer #1) - Kaje Harper Page 0,63

settled confidence was part of his appeal. “But that’s different.”

“I know it is. I wish I could give you back those years. But their loss doesn’t change how much I want you.”

Darien’s throat closed up. He flicked his free hand. Enough. Move on.

Silas must’ve got the message, because he said, “Of course, it’s not easy, being two men together. What we do in this bed is technically illegal. That’s a risk, a weakness, if someone wants to harm us.”

“Like you can’t deal with ordinary laws,” Darien scoffed. “Like Grim would let anyone arrest us.”

Silas’s lips twitched, but he said, “It’s still a consideration.”

“Not much of one. Anyway, I’m gay. If it’s not you, I’ll be with some other man.”

Silas’s grip almost broke Darien’s fingers. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I’d rather I didn’t too. And I need that hand.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Silas eased his hold. He began planting kisses across Darien’s knuckles. “So, you’re willing to… try this out? To stay with me? Please?”

The power of having this man beg him was like a rush of fire through Darien. “I might. On one condition.”

Silas looked up, gray eyes dark and deep. “What?’

“Quit wasting those kisses on my fingers and get up here.” Darien tapped his lips.

Silas surged over him, a tidal wave of weight and warmth, mouth landing on his, parting his lips, demanding surrender. Darien fell back on the pillows with Silas on top of him and welcomed the kiss. Silas’s tongue stroked his, teeth nipped his lip, breath mingled, hot and needy.

Darien shoved a hand down the back of Silas’s absurd pajama pants. “Get these off.”

“Patience, dear boy.” Silas sucked roughly on his neck, no doubt dragging up a hickey under Darien’s chin.

The one kind of mark I have no objection to. But he writhed under Silas’s weight, working his own shorts down. “Patience later. Naked now.” He arched, rubbing their groins together, feeling Silas as hard as he was.

“Slow down! Don’t know if I have the energy for two rounds.” Silas groaned.

“So one round, then breakfast, then we go back to bed.” Darien cupped Silas’s head against him, feeling a mix of wanton and tender that lifted him high as helium. He bucked his hips up, relishing the solid weight over him.

From below, the questing howl of a cat made them both laugh, shaking their bodies together. Silas said, “That’s all Grim will allow us anyway.”

Darien grabbed him and held him for a demanding kiss. “Then make this one count. I want you.” I love you. Too soon, of course, too much, but as Silas gave in, shoving his cotton pants off, all that long elegance draped heavily over Darien, he thought it might not be long before the time was right.

Then he stopped thinking, and lost himself in “Ah” and “Yes” and “Harder, dammit” until the blood roared in his ears. If Grim made any more noise, neither of them could hear it.

***

Downstairs, Grim popped the fridge door open and hooked the bottle of cream out onto the floor, cushioning its fall with his chest. It cracked, just enough to leak a tasty puddle on the tile. From the sounds overhead, it’d be a while before anyone saw to his comfort.

As it should be. His foresight was a fickle thing, coming and going, sometimes hard to interpret. But since Darien had arrived, past hints had grown clearer. It was these two men he’d once seen wrapped up together in the big bed, Darien who’d been the figure at Silas’s side in other visions as they fought, and loved, and grew older together.

Of course, he’d seen other futures where they never met. He’d seen Silas die at Azimothandurin’s hands, alone. True sight was a kaleidoscope and the future was never fixed, until it went past. Growing old together wasn’t guaranteed.

Grim shivered, and gave his shoulder a quick reassuring lick, before settling into a crouch over his cream. The worst of those early visions had popped like soap bubbles. Azimothandurin was banished. His two men were together now. If all went well, they were on their way to the best moments he’d seen.

Human love. Such a fragile, powerful thing, to affect the turning of the world.

A hoarse shout from overhead made him flick his ears.

And so messy, and foolish, and loud.

Grim finished off the spilled treat, licked his whiskers clean, and trotted off to find another plump rat or two to lay at the bedroom door. Just so his men would know better than to take him for granted. Life at