The night before was surreal. Ryder had fallen to sleep on the way to his apartment. He’d let Liam half carry him up the stairs, took a shower, brushed crusted blood out of his mouth, and crawled into bed. Liam had stayed awake, a book in his hands, Ryder’s head on his lap, and stroked Ryder’s neck until he fell asleep again. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other until Liam woke before sunrise and whispered that he’d be back in a few hours.
Ryder wondered about himself. About what he was, what they were, and what was going to happen now that he was half of something acceptable, and half of something not. The morning warmth turned into midmorning heat, comfortable and sleepy, with sunlight striped across the bed.
Everything slowed. Everything felt at odds with itself, as if Ryder might close his eyes and wake up in the blackness of the afterlife again, skin cold and sunlight gone. He heard Liam coo at Percy and kept his eyes closed, even as Liam set two teacups on the night stand, even as he let out a gentle, timid breath.
Ryder turned to face him. Liam’s shirt was petal white. His tie fastened properly, a deep navy, the same color as the sea at dusk. He traced Ryder with a patient gaze, his expression unreadable.
What was there to be said? Ryder was above the covers, shirtless, in a pair of boxers, wondering if they would ever be more than what they were. He was more than what he’d been—a Fire witch, a dead witch, a necromancer, and something else entirely. But they were two boys who kissed and got ahead of themselves and slept in the same bed and had done terrible, wonderful things to each other.
Ryder had seen life and death. He’d unmade death itself. Still, he knew nothing. Not with Liam standing over him, smelling like brine and tea leaves and brown sugar.
His arms were above his head, one hand resting over his mouth. For some reason, it caused him to flush—the gust of his own breath against his knuckles, knowing his mouth was empty and he wanted to fill it with Liam’s tongue and skin and fingers and blood.
Liam kept watching him.
Ryder swallowed and slid his hand away from his mouth. How was class? Just ask. Ask him. Be done with this silence.
But the silence moved. It shifted around them, waiting, pondering. Sunlight warmed Ryder’s stomach and chest. He listened to the silence take shape, heard it break around the bed dipping under Liam’s hands and knees as he crawled over Ryder.
Ryder opened his mouth, but there wasn’t room for words. His lips just parted, and he tilted his head back, hoping to find Liam’s soft mouth, his sharp teeth and hot breath. Liam kissed him. He dipped his tongue into Ryder’s mouth and stroked it against Ryder’s, the kind of kissing that was too slow, too deep, too wet. Ryder tried to breathe, but he could barely find a reason to. Not with Liam tilting his head, not with their lips pressing and pulling, the easy slide of their tongues between shuddered breaths. Ryder tried to inhale, but ended up playing with Liam’s tongue ring. He tried to exhale, and Liam bit his lip.
Liam kissed his jaw. He followed strips of sunlight down Ryder’s chest, his lips soothing sharp nips from his teeth. Ryder tried to sit still, to let his body unwind with Liam pulling the strings, but his hips kept shifting and his eyelids kept fluttering and he couldn’t concentrate. The room was too hot. It was too good and too quiet.
When Liam’s lips pressed lightly against his hipbone, Ryder said, “I’ll never let you die.”
Liam paused. He set his chin on Ryder’s belly and blinked at him. “Never?”
“Never,” Ryder whispered.
Liam got off the bed, and Ryder closed his eyes. I shouldn’t have said that. But Liam’s energy was calm and moving, it rolled off him like waves licked the shore. Ryder listened to shuffling on the altar, to Percy meow, and Liam cluck his tongue. A minute later, Liam’s thighs slid over Ryder’s hips.
Relief shaped his mouth into a smile, and Ryder opened his eyes.
“Let’s see what the cards have to say, darkling,” Liam said. There was a fine dusting of stubble on his cheeks and jaw. His eyes lifted at the edges when he grinned.
Darkling sounded good in Liam’s mouth, and something hot tightened in Ryder’s abdomen as it dripped off his tongue. He replayed the sound again and again as Liam shuffled the deck. Darkling. Darkling. The syllables only came together that effortlessly when Liam or Belial said them. The thought of the demon slumbering inside him came and went.
Liam handed the deck to Ryder. He shuffled them and handed them back.
“Off the top,” Liam said.
Ryder took the card off the top.
“The bottom.”
Ryder pulled from the bottom.
Liam set the two cards on Ryder’s stomach and said, “Flip them over.”
Ryder flipped the first card.
The Magician.
Liam smiled at him.
He flipped the second.
The Sun.
“Ownership of oneself. A magical revelation,” Liam purred. He tapped on The Magician, then The Sun. “Good fortune. Vitality.”
“Looks like my luck’s turning around,” Ryder said, smugness lingering in his sleep-rasped voice. With one hand, he gripped Liam’s waist and walked the other up the neatly fastened buttons on his shirt. “What do you think you’ll draw? The Devil?”
Liam’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Don’t need to,” he said. His hands settled on either side of Ryder’s head. “I’ve got a devil right here.”
Ryder looked at Liam. Liam looked back.
“Darkling,” Ryder corrected softly.
Liam tilted his head. “Darkling,” he agreed.
Ryder’s eyes turned black. He snatched Liam’s tie, pulled him down, and kissed him hard.