by
Asking a necromancer for help is scary; falling for him may be downright terrifying.
Darien Green's afraid he's going insane. The voices in his head are getting louder, weirder, and more numerous. But tattoos appearing on his skin say that there might be a magical reason, something other than his own brain going around the bend. He's worked up the nerve to ask the local necromancer for help. Now he just has to survive his encounter with tall, dark, and talks-to-ghosts.
Necromancer Silas Thornwood doesn't appreciate being woken out of his bed by a stranger pounding on his door. But when that stranger turns out to be a half-frozen young man with an unexpected appeal, Silas can't turn him away. Even Grim, his cat-familiar, agrees— in a world of death and demons, protecting gorgeous, ghost-ridden Darien is Silas's next difficult job.
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Publisher: Independently Published
Genres:
Pairings: M-M
Heat Level: 2
Romantic Content: 3
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Gay
Protagonist 1 Age: 18-25
Protagonist 2 Age: 26-35
Tropes: Rescue
Word Count: 49500
Languages Available: English
Series Type: Continuous / Same Characters
Chapter 1
Darien woke screaming. The instant he could move, he rolled over and stuffed his pillow into his mouth, trying to muffle the sounds, choking against his own wild breaths.
The nightmare tried to claw him back in, a new voice inside his head chittering about cats and stairs and dark places. The other voices were quieter, as if making room for the additional rider, but he could hear them shifting around in there, grunting or moaning a word. He clutched his head between his hands and pressed, wishing he could squeeze them out of his skull.
READ MOREOn cue, a loud thumping from below marked Mrs. Gordon deploying her broomstick. Shit. She’d said one more loud night, and he’d be out on his ear, rent or no rent. He flipped the pillow over his head, as if that would make a difference. A few more thumps, and silence reigned outside his head. Inside his head— double shit.
Crying, begging, cursing, strange laughter.
He forced himself upright— no way he was going to sleep again tonight. Things shifted in his skull, voices that almost made sense, hiding around the corners of his mind. He set his bare feet on the ice-cold floor, hoping the shock would do… something. Jump-start his brain, send the voices running, hell, stop his heart. At this point he didn’t much care.
All it did was chill his toes. He shuddered and eased out of bed. Tugging at the ratty blanket, he pulled it free of the mattress and wrapped it around himself, though it did very little to ease the cold inside him. As quietly as he could, he went to get a drink of water from the chipped sink in the corner, but when he got there, the mirror glittered at him, reflecting the neon lights through the cheap curtains. Red, yellow, red, yellow— no words, broken up by the fabric, just a flicker of malevolent fire.
Like the fires of hell.
He gave his own unshaven cheek a slap, because fuck the melodrama. He might be going crazy, but damned if he was going to drag religion into it. Bending to the sink, he let the water drip almost silently into his palms, until he’d gathered enough to splash his face. He took his mug from the ledge and opened the tap to a slightly faster flow. The pipes groaned, and he echoed them, as Mrs. Gordon thumped her ceiling again.
Losing the room for sure.
Well, at least that settled his mind. He’d been here almost a week, circling the drain, unable to pull the trigger, but tonight was like a last sucker-punch from the universe. Time to find the necromancer.
COLLAPSE
