Rhys Turner's world crashed and burned around him on Halloween in 2015. The loss of his fiance, Kian, left Rhys lost and unwilling to move on or seek closure. He spent the next two years wandering in the fog of grief, until Halloween rolled around again and brought Kian back with it. For one night.
One night was never going to be enough, though, and Rhys can't let him go. He takes Kian and flees the Grim Reaper. Spending his life on the run seems like an easy trade if it keeps Kian with him, but Rhys didn't count on how hard it was to run from Death. Not even the help of a witch and sheer pig-headed determination is enough when Kian starts fading a little more each day. Death's hellhounds are nipping at their heels and the only thing Rhys knows for sure is that he can't lose Kian again, no matter the cost.
This story is a part of a series, but is a complete story arc. It has a HEA and has explicit sexual content between two men. It is intended for audiences 18+.
Approximately 52,700 words.
- 3 To Be Read lists
Heat Level: 5
Romantic Content: 5
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Gay
Protagonist 1 Age: 26-35
Protagonist 2 Age: 26-35
Tropes: Married Life, Second Chances
Word Count: 52000
Languages Available: English
Series Type: Same Universe / Various Characters
“Rhys, open your eyes for me, love.”
A hand ghosted over Rhys’s cheek. It felt so real, with the soft skin of a palm grazing over his uncared-for beard.
“You’re not real,” Rhys whispered with a shake of his head. “You’re dead.”
“Please open your eyes. I’m here, love. I’m here.” Kian’s voice trembled. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”
“No, you won’t. You’re dead.” Rhys jerked his head, disconnecting the imaginary hand from his cheek. “I killed you.”
“What?” The shock in Kian’s voice sounded so real. It almost made Rhys open his eyes. “You didn’t kill me. What are you talking about?”
“If we hadn’t taken the shortcut, you wouldn’t be dead.” Rhys’s jaw clenched, tears pooling behind his eyelids again. He wiped at them angrily. Fuck that. He wasn’t going to cry for a dream.READ MORE
“No. Oh no, Rhys. You never killed me. They did. Not you. You tried to save me.” The hand caressed his jaw this time. “Please open your eyes.”
“If I open my eyes, you’ll be gone.” He moved into the touch. So real. “I don’t want you to be gone, Kian. Babe. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The anguish tore him up from the inside, and the urge to vomit rose in his throat again.
Someone pulled him against their chest, one of their arms wrapping around his shoulder while the other hand pressed against the base of his neck, rocking him in a soothing way. “I’m not going to disappear. I’m here, Rhys. I’m here. Open your eyes.” It sounded like Kian. It felt Kian, but it couldn’t be Kian. He was dead. Right?
He opened his eyes slowly and immediately focused on the chest his face was pressed against. It was the same navy cotton shirt Kian had been wearing when he died—but it couldn’t have been. Rhys pulled away, his stare falling on Kian’s beautiful face, soft and caring as it had been before blood oozed out of his mouth and nose on the night he’d died. Concern was etched into that perfect face, though, and his eyes were glassy. Despite this, a small smile danced around his pouty lips.
“Hey, love.” He held out a hand toward Rhys. “I’m here.”COLLAPSE