“You are so evil,” whispered Dean in awe. “I love you.”
Silas grinned at him, malevolence sparkling in his dark eyes.
Dean laughed as he stared in delight at his blood-soaked mate. His bad-ass, necromancer, supervillain mate. Suddenly quite convinced that even without Silas’s help, he wouldn’t have stayed dead for long. Nothing, not even death could keep him from Silas. Their love was too strong.
Chapter seventeen
Deanrelishedthefeelof the sun on his skin. Dying had given him a newfound love of life and even simple things brought much pleasure. Like now, standing up a ladder, holding a piece of guttering up whilst Brendan nailed it into place.
The companionship, the satisfaction of fixing things, the feel of being useful and the simple feel of the sun. It was all wonderful.
Silas was hovering at the bottom of the ladder. Following him everywhere like he had been for the last week. Dean liked it far more than he should. He didn’t need to be pampered and protected, but it was so very nice. And spending more time with Silas was pure bliss. But the necromancer was a busy man. Dean knew he shouldn’t keep him from his work.
Brendan nodded his thanks at him. The job was done. Dean wanted to slide down the ladder, but he suspected Silas would tell him off, so he climbed down carefully. As soon as he was on the ground, he pulled Silas into an embrace.
“Angel, I know you have shit to do. I’m fine.”
Silas pulled away to glare at him. “I don’t care. None of us know how long we have on this earth, every second is precious, I don’t want to waste it. I want to spend it all with you.”
Dean didn’t know what to say to that. It was terribly romantic and very gushing for the normally reticent necromancer. It made his heart do little cartwheels in his chest. His heart that had been shot through with a silver bullet, with nothing to show for it except a faint pink scar on his chest. Malachi had done wonders on his body. Silas had brought his soul back from the dead. Dean shuddered.
Speaking of the dead, Dean heard yet another shriek from the courtyard. He glanced over to see Luke scurrying away from one of the zombies that was shuffling along, throwing feed down for the chickens.
“Can you turn the zombies off now?” begged Dean.
Silas crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“They are scaring people. Their guts are hanging out and wrapped around their necks from you throttling them to death with their own intestines.”
“So?” Silas glared.
Dean sighed and tried again. “The flies, the smell. It’s far more disturbing than the time you reanimated the chickens the kitchen crew were about to cook.”
Silas scowled, but he muttered something in a language Dean didn’t know, and the zombies started shuffling away into the woods.
“I sent them to guard the perimeter. Happy now?” snapped Silas.
“Thank you, Angel.” Dean said with a smile. He wrapped his arms around his mate’s waist, pulled him close and leaned in for a kiss, but Silas wriggled away. Stepping back, out of reach.
Dean sighed in weary disappointment. “Angel, I’m not a zombie. I’m sleeping, eating, going to the toilet. Having intelligent conversations. Well, intelligent for me.”
“You might be a really good zombie, because I brought you back so soon.”
“How soon did you bring those back?” argued Dean, gesturing at where the once-hunters-now-zombies had been before Silas had sent them off into the woods.
“Immediately,” confessed Silas grumpily.
“See? I’m nothing like them.”
Silas just stared at him, looking unimpressed and completely unconvinced. Dean tried to quell his growing panic, would Silas really never sleep with him ever again?
“I’d still want you if you were a zombie,” Dean muttered sulkily.
Silas raised an eyebrow. “I can’t tell if that’s romantic or disgusting.”
“Romantic,” insisted Dean.
Silas sighed. “You always have looked at me the way a labrador looks at a hot dog.”
