Chapter 29
I Know You
Aweek passed before Decker finally caught a moment alone with Laurie.
He’d thrown himself into repairing the town at night and the chapel during the day, taking advantage of his new vitality and cloistering himself there until he needed other supplies.
Ender’s Ridge swung in strange limbo, celebrating and mourning and rebuilding. Each time Decker trekked across the alley, something else required his attention—Decker, we need help repairing the livery fences, Decker, have the mercantile order lumber for new bridge, Decker, Decker, Decker.
Laurie hadn’t any luck either; he’d performed a handful of weddings in the last three days, held at dusk, and didn’t have any time to himself.
Tonight, he still wouldn’t be left to himself.
Decker rapped on the chapel doors at ten o’clock, shifting a small package at his side.
Quick, scattered footsteps sounded from inside before Laurie hauled open the door. He stared, gaze flicking down the length of him before returning to his face. “Decker.” His fingers danced along the edge of the door.
“I know it’s late,” Decker said. Incense clouded the space between them and made his head spin, or maybe it was how Laurie looked at him, like even the chapel wouldn’t be enough to keep them apart.
Laurie gave him a wry smile. “Time doesn’t matter to us anymore.” He hesitated, uncertainty and pain wrinkling his brows before he rushed, “Do you—do you want to come in? Does it—can I do that?”
“Depends.” Decker’s lips twitched at the flash of uncertainty from him. “Are you inviting me in as a neighbor?”
An owl trilled from behind the chapel and the tension in Laurie’s shoulders relaxed. “Weareneighbors.”
Decker’s smile grew, teasing. “Maybe more if you let me in.”
Laurie rolled his eyes even as a flush stained his cheeks. He swept his arm. “Come in, Decker.”
Never been so happy to.
The door softly clicked shut behind them, settling Decker in the scent of fresh-cut pine and smoke. He left the small, foil-patterned box to the side of the door.
Reinforced beams arced above them, charred planks smoothed away and spliced with new, pale wood. The full moon blazed through unpatched holes in the ceiling, scattering constellations across Laurie’s face.
Silver illuminated each strand of his curls, framing him in an angelic halo Decker never wanted to be without. Once again, they were back in the alley, on the mountaintop, with unsure hands and hesitant words.
Laurie’s eyes dropped to his lips.
A flame, gentle and insistent, flickered back to life in Decker and he traced the length of Laurie’s spine with a languid touch. His lips brushed against Laurie’s neck, nudging his head back.
A soft noise left him, vibrating against Decker’s mouth, and he smiled against his skin when Laurie leaned into him. The acrid residue of incense and the slight tang of sweat and sandalwood bit at his tongue when he mouthed under his jaw, grazing his lips over his stubble.
“You’re safe with me, preacher,” Decker whispered.
Laurie bumped against the door and he drew in a tight breath, hands laced in Decker’s hair, searching for the knotted leather until it tugged loose and his hair fell around them in an inky curtain. “Would you like to know me, Decker Belmont?”
Drawing back, he searched Laurie’s eyes. They were hopeful and tentative, as if he feared that even now, he wasn’t wanted.
“I know you, Laurie Lane,” Decker said. “I am the one who made you.”
Their lips met as they had, the soft, unsteady ground of a truce, melding together until neither knew who held the white flag. He saw Laurie as he was, years of denial crumbling away in a single, desperate kiss Decker drowned in.
Lips parting, Decker’s touch slipped along the other man’s jaw, drawing him closer, breathing the same air, consuming him. Laurie was sweet, and lovely, hiding sharpness that he needed to uncover.
Laurie pressed into him, eyes gleaming as he broke off the kiss with a nip of his fangs at his lip.
For the first time, Decker saw a mirror of himself.
