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L uke Wynnter was trapped in a delicious dream. Beneath him, a pretty man’s mouth trembled open as Luke slid deep inside him. His lips curved into a grin. Luke thrust hard and expected a moan. Instead, a hand landed on his shoulder and shook him fiercely.

He opened his eyes. Immediately annoyed that someone had woken him up, Luke frowned. His irritation disappeared a heartbeat later as he took in the frantic expression on his dearest friend’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asked, shaking off any last vestiges of the lovely fantasy his sleeping mind had conjured for him. He sprang out of bed to confront whatever trouble they were facing.

“Hurry,” insisted Foxe Arwynn, the necromancer who’d summoned Luke a decade ago. His voice was strained. “Grab your stuff, we need to get out of here.”

It wasn’t the first time Luke had been shaken awake, and he held in his disappointed sigh. He didn’t have to ask what had happened. Foxe was a gambling addict and, since the death of his father, had no means to support either of them. They’d make a little and set it aside to pay things like rent or cover a few nights at a motel like the one Luke was standing in. But inevitably, Foxe would sneak out and lose it in a casino.

Foxe rushed to gather his clothing, and Luke made swift work of securing his few belongings. It was easier to flee with less. Plus, anything of value had long ago been pawned to feed Foxe’s habit. Luke switched from pajamas to jeans, put on his sneakers, then slipped his backpack on.

“Are you ready?” Foxe asked breathlessly. Luke nodded and glanced at the other double bed. The blankets were untouched, which meant Foxe hadn’t bothered to go to bed. He’d probably waited only long enough for Luke to fall asleep before sneaking out.

They crept out of the motel, and Foxe led them to their car. Thankfully, Luke had filled the gas tank earlier. He’d earned a little money helping the elderly owner of the motel with odd jobs around the property but told Foxe about none of it. That allowed Luke to keep a little cash secret so they wouldn’t starve.

“What happened?” Luke asked, though he already knew the answer as they left the parking lot of the motel. He hated that the owner would wake up to find them gone. The man couldn’t afford to have non-paying guests, but there was no use explaining that to Foxe. Luke had tried countless times through the years to get through to his necromancer. It was futile.

“I was on a winning streak. I swear it, Luke. Things were going great. The odds were in my favor. I think that shitty casino decided I’d won too much. Next thing I know, my chips are gone.”

It wasn’t a new story. Foxe was always on a winning streak, and it was never his fault he’d lost everything. Luke wasn’t sure if he was that deluded or if it resulted from his privileged upbringing. From the stories Luke had heard, the Arwynns were ridiculously wealthy. But Foxe and his father had had a falling out.

Weston Arwynn had cut off his youngest son. Somehow, Foxe had eventually convinced his father to pay for a condo and give him a little money each month. That was the existence Luke had known for years. Then Weston had died. Unlike Luke’s inspirit self, necromancers were immortal. So, it had to have been foul play.

Unfortunately for Foxe, his eldest brother was given everything. Rowan Arwynn had sold the condo Luke called home and closed the bank account Weston had opened for Foxe. Irate, Foxe had gone to the Arwynn mansion but was barred from entering. Luke had sat in a car outside the massive house in Washington, DC, marveling at the impressive home and wondering how much it cost to keep the grounds so neat as Foxe screamed at his brother to let him in.

It hadn’t worked. No one inside had budged. Since that day, Foxe and Luke had slunk from city to city. Although Luke loved Foxe, he hated living with uncertainty.

“You believe me, right, Luke?”

Luke had been so lost in thought, he’d forgotten that he’d asked Foxe a question. “Yeah, of course. So, where are we headed?”

“Las Vegas.”

His dark brows flew up. “Vegas?” Although Foxe was a consummate gambler, he believed his odds were better in smaller establishments.

“Yeah, I think I have a solution for us.”

“Foxe, we don’t have any money.”

“I know, that’s why this is perfect,” Foxe said, his hazel gaze glued to the road as if he was afraid to make eye contact with Luke, which immediately raised his hackles. “I ran into this guy at the casino. A necro like me. He told me about this family. The Marwoods. It sounded familiar. Rowan probably knows them, but we aren’t going to let that bother us.”

“Okay, what about the Marwoods?”

“They own casinos and some other shit all over the world, but they’re currently based in Vegas.”

“I’m not saying you won’t run into some good luck, but if we have to run, it’ll be harder to get away from necromancers. You’re the one who told me that. They live forever and don’t involve human authorities. We could be really fucked.”

“It’s not like that, Luke. This is legit shit. Look, I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to tell you. The Marwoods are famous for more than their money and casinos. According to this dude, they also help inspirits. Like, they collect them. Give them jobs. Put roofs over their heads. All kinds of shit. They spread the word as best they can—since necros hate to communicate with each other—to let everyone know they’ll take care of any inspirits abandoned by their summoners.”

Luke frowned. “We don’t know any abandoned inspirits.”

Although Luke had heard tales of necromancers who’d resurrected inspirits and decided to cut them loose, he’d never met one. According to Foxe, the Arwynns cared for theirs—even Rowan, and he was an asshole.

“But if you went to them and claimed to be abandoned, they’d take care of you. With your job, we’d have income. You could give me your earnings, and I’d double or triple it. I don’t know what they’d be paying you, but it couldn’t be too long until we’d have enough to buy ourselves a place to live. Then you could quit, and we’d be swimming in cash.”

Luke raised his arm and clutched a handful of his dark waves. The hardest part of Foxe’s gambling disorder was his inability to comprehend how unrealistic his expectations for the future were. It didn’t matter that they were literally running away and committing a crime by not paying their bills; Foxe still believed his luck would change at any moment.

“I don’t want to be pessimistic about this plan, but you met this necro tonight, right? How do you know he’s even telling the truth?”

“He gave me a number to call. We’ll contact these Marwoods in the morning. If he’s wrong, we’ll scrounge up some cash in Vegas and hit the tables. But this could be good if it’s true, Luke. I’ll call you every couple of weeks to wire me some cash. We’ll have to wait for paydays and shit. Regular work schedules are such shit, but we’re forced to conform to society.”

“You aren’t staying in Vegas?” Luke asked, an unsettling feeling clawing through his belly. It was one thing to discuss being abandoned; it was quite another to be dropped off at some casino and expect complete strangers to provide for him.

“Can’t do that, Luke. Dipping all your cash into a single casino isn’t a winning strategy.”

“But there are tons of casinos in Vegas.”

“Are you going to let me do this my way?” Foxe asked belligerently. “You don’t gamble, you don’t understand how to win. I do. I gotta stay on the move.”

“But we lived in the same place for almost a decade.”

“Why are you arguing with me about this?” Foxe asked with a scowl. “That was different. We had options if things got sticky. But thanks to my insensitive asshole brother, I had to adjust my plans.”

“If I had a job, you could get a place nearby though. I’m not even sure I need to work for these Marwoods.”

“Luke, it’s safety. They’re necros. You don’t have to hide what you are. If humans find out about us, you fuck up things for everyone. Is that what you want? To ruin the lives of countless necros and inspirits because you’re being stubborn? I’m helping you out here. If this dude is legit, you literally have nothing to worry about.”

Luke swallowed the lump in his throat. It was apparent Foxe had put a great deal of thought into his plan despite his recent education about these Marwoods. How long had Foxe been planning on dumping him? How had this stranger initiated a conversation about abandoned inspirits unless Foxe was trying to unload Luke?

Had Luke grown into a liability somehow? He’d thought Foxe considered him his best friend and family. Was he wrong?

“I’m not sure, Foxe. I thought we were a team.”

“What’s fucking changed? We’re still a team. You’ll be working and earning some money so we can build our lives. I can’t work regular hours. When would I have time to be in the casino?”

Luke wanted to point out that if Foxe stayed away from casinos, he’d be able to keep the money he earned, but it was an old argument. Foxe didn’t want a traditional job and refused to consider one—even temporarily. To Foxe, gainful employment was beneath someone of his skill and intelligence. That arrogant side of Foxe raised Luke’s hackles, but he’d learned how futile it was to fight with him about it years ago.

However, as flawed as Foxe was, that didn’t mean Luke wanted him out of his life. Or that he was comfortable being dropped into the laps of strangers who’d supposedly provide everything for him.

“Foxe, what would they hire me to do? I don’t have any professional skills. I’ve done odd jobs, but that’s it. Why would they hand me anything if I can’t earn my pay?”

“The dude I met said they’ll train you. He’s got an inspirit working for the Marwoods. He saw the guy last year. Ran into him at a Marwood casino in Monte Carlo or some shit. Says the inspirit was happy. He’d met his soulmate too.”

Although Foxe had explained a little about the concept of soulmates to Luke, he had his doubts. Luke was an optimist by nature, but he couldn’t wrap his brain around the happy thought that someday he’d find someone perfect for him. And that he’d know they were meant to be together because some big sign would be given to him.

It was far too unbelievable a thought for Luke’s pragmatic mind. Would some giant arrow appear above their head if they were walking down the street? Luke hadn’t bothered to ask. It was foolishness brought on by the fantastical meandering of Foxe’s mind after a few too many drinks.

“Right.”

“Soulmates exist.”

“You don’t have one, how do you know?”

“My parents were soulmates.”

Luke wanted to demand proof, but he didn’t want to upset Foxe. The last time he’d brought up Weston, Foxe had cried for almost two days. Some dark part of Luke had wondered if Foxe was mourning the loss of his father or the steady income he’d provided. It was probably wrong of him, but Weston and Foxe hadn’t been in regular contact.

In fact, Foxe had had nothing kind to say about his father until the man mysteriously died. Foxe had gone from calling him names and complaining about his miserly ways to praising the man while wondering aloud if his own brother had murdered him.

“Luke, everything is going to be okay. These Marwoods will take care of you until we can figure out our future. But you can’t contact me constantly. If they find out you have a necro, you’ll get fired. And don’t forget the most important rule.”

Luke bit his lip as nerves dug deep into his bones. Foxe was his family and best friend. The thought of not being with him was difficult to grasp. The entire situation was a shock, and Luke hoped the necro Foxe had befriended was full of shit. Although Luke wanted to earn an honest paycheck and have some stability, he didn’t want to be abandoned.

“I know, I know. If there are any destiny-touched, run like hell.”

Many inspirits were given gifts from their necromancers, and Luke was no exception. But his had a weird twist. Destiny-touched necros were hunted, so Foxe had imbued Luke with the ability to detect them. However, it wasn’t to harm them.

Foxe knew danger surrounded the destiny-touched, and he wanted no part of it. So, Luke’s job was to alert Foxe if he detected one of the rare sorcerers—something Luke had only done once—so they could get the hell away. Foxe wanted to be far from anyone with murderous intentions, and he rightly worried about any immortal being willing to set aside morality.

If they were willing to end someone’s life for being born with special abilities, Foxe reasoned they could find any excuse to kill someone. He didn’t want to be their next victim. Neither did Luke.

“Good. We don’t want to get anywhere near a destiny-touched.”

“Foxe, I’m worried about these Marwoods. What if they aren’t as benevolent as your friend made out?”

“You’re smart. You’ll get a good measure of them. If you think it’s too good to be true, we’ll meet up and figure something else out. But I believe the guy. My instincts are excellent. This is going to be good for you. I know it.”

Sick to his stomach, Luke sank into his seat and didn’t bother to respond. Foxe’s mind was made up. Whether Luke liked it or not, he was being handed over to the Marwoods. Thankfully, it would be temporary. All Luke had to do was earn enough money to ensure he and Foxe could have some stability. Then he could get away from Vegas and maybe even convince Foxe to get some help with his addiction.