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Grave Consequences

Page 66

by Lissa Kasey

Kevin chittered from his corner, fur puffed, eyes darting between the combatants. Nox landed on a nearby shelf, hissing at the raccoon with all the ferocity of a dragon who’d been denied his moment of glory.

Kevin chittered back.

Nox hissed louder.

“Both of you,” I muttered, “shut up.”

Beau’s gaze swept the room, cataloguing the damage. The splintered floor. The dented wall, broken pots, and overturned tables. The tension crackled between Angel and Zhenjun like static before a storm. He let out a long, weary sigh.

“Sorry,” I grumbled, hoping Beau wouldn’t bury us all in his supernatural dirt patch out back. “Hotheaded boyfriend and equally troubled boss. My life in a nutshell.”

I sent out a tiny burst of energy, the first thing Zhenjun had taught me minutes before Angel burst through the door. A mix of my necromancer magic and the Weaver power, a pulse that felt like pushing air through a straw. The motes scattered, a thousand dots of darkness launching themselves into the shadows like startled birds. No longer attached to me, but not gone. Never gone. The motes were everywhere. The more I looked, the more they materialized as if drawn to me.

Pieces of people, souls, whatever, sort of. But, also energy lost to the Veil.

I got shakily to my feet. “Angel, I’m okay. He was teaching me. Not hurting me.”

Angel’s chest heaved. The Bastion snarled and fought the vines, but recognition shifted in his gaze. Focus returning to those beautiful eyes of his.

I stumbled to him, needing to touch him, forgetting for a few seconds that I was a ghost, and reminded a moment later that in this magical cottage, I was more than that. I pressed my forehead to his.

His cat form bristled for a heartbeat. Then he shifted, beast to human, vines still locking him in place. The magic slid away to reveal the beautiful man I was really, truly, insanely falling in love with.

Very naked.

I mean, really naked.

I blinked, suddenly aware of the room. Of Ivan. Of Beau. Of the raccoon still chittering from the corner.

“Uh.” I stepped in front of him. “Everyone, please ignore the,” I waved vaguely. “everything.”

I paused, trying to focus. Trying to magic him some clothes.

Nothing. Reaper magic didn’t work that way?

“Figures. Apparently, I can make myself solid and give myself a whole wardrobe, but I can’t give you pants. That’s ridiculous. What’s the point of being a magical ghost if I can’t help my boyfriend with his nudity problem?”

Angel stared at me. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m not,” I lied.

I mean, what wasn’t to enjoy? The man was mouthwatering. Even covered in battle scratches and exhaustion, he was still the best thing I’d ever seen.

He pressed his forehead to mine. “I feel you. How do I feel you?”

I flushed, biting my tongue to keep from saying something wildly inappropriate for the current company.

Beau waved his hand. The vines loosened, sliding away from Angel like retreating snakes. I caught him as his strength gave out, holding him as we both hit the floor, and sighed, thankful, so fucking thankful, to be able to touch him again.

A thick robe appeared, dangling from the end of one vine like a peace offering.

I snatched it and wrapped it around Angel, my hands moving fast, trying to cover him and ignore the mess of emotions churning in my chest. But the more I looked at the lines crawling up his arm, dark and wrong, the worse it got. It was as if darkness had chiseled itself together and poured itself into his veins. It hadn’t been that bad when I’d snuck out of bed to practice Reapering with Nat.

His hand slid to the back of my neck. His thumb traced my jaw, eyes half-lidded, part exhaustion, part something else entirely. Now was not the place. Definitely not the place. But I couldn’t deny the pull to touch him, to feel him solid and real against me.

“I can feel you,” he said. Like he was testing the words. Like he couldn’t quite believe them. His eyes filled, becoming water pools of molten brown, that hurt me to see. “Is this a dream? Am I dead?”

I kissed him. It was desperate, part to touch him, and part to prove that we were both real, even if it was only here.