Page 151 of The Death Wish

Their melodies played them ever closer to the goddess.

Her tempo was relentless, but Silas was eternally grateful for her mercy. She had stayed her hand until all things were said, all things were done, and his soul mate found. Few had such blessings.

The notes quietened. Silas’s heavy heart slowed its beat.

Pitch smiled at him. He’d never seemed so unafraid.

The gleam in his eyes vanished. His hold on Silas’s hand slackened.

He exhaled.

His melody died.

The silence was endless.

Silas would breathe no air without him. He let go, setting himself adrift. There was nothing to tie him here anymore.

One shallow breath later, he followed his daemon.

The humans had been right, after all.

There was a light that still shone when life extinguished; a bright beacon to guide Death’s children home.

Izanami waited there in the glow, arms outstretched; a slender figure with eyes of viridian by her side.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

PITCH WASnot in the mood for being woken. Least of all by a ceaseless, irritating slap against his earlobe.

‘Get away,’ he mumbled. ‘Or I’ll turn you to cinder.’

He dug himself further beneath the bedcovers, drawing Silas’s arm over him more tightly, pressing back against the ankou who snored lightly behind him. ‘I told him he snores,’ he muttered. ‘Never believed me.’

He knew the ankou was too deeply asleep to have heard. Silas only snored when he was utterly exhausted, or had had too many ales.

Pitch frowned into the feather pillow, eyes firmly closed. Had they drunk last night? If so, it might account for why he could not recall a single moment of the evening. But his head was groggy with sleep, not a hangover. Aside from being fully unprepared to open his eyes just yet, Pitch felt rather good. Not a single ache to be had. Actually, that wasn’t so good.

His arsehole didn’t ache, which meant he’d not been ridden into the mattress by the amply endowed ankou any time recently. A terrible shame, to be rectified at once.

He shifted, pressing his arse against Silas’s groin, sighing contentedly to find a firm pillar of morning glory there. The ankou muttered, his hand drifting down Pitch’s front until it found another upstanding greeter of the morning. His fingersplayed at Pitch’s cock, teasing him for only a few moments before stilling. A short heartbeat later, Silas returned to snoring.

Pitch sighed, and something of the exhale gave him pause. His hand drifted up from beneath the bedclothes, a divine layering of satin and silk, to touch his fingers to the base of his throat.

He recalled a sense of breathlessness, a vague memory that refused to hold still long enough for him to grab onto.

Another pat, this time on the top of his head. One he tried to swipe at, only to find his hand plunged into a swathe of soft pillows.

He still hadn’t found the impetus to open his eyes, and realised then just how fucking tired he was.

‘Scarlet, do you not wish to live any longer?’ There was no reply. Which was odd for the wisp who always had far too much to say. ‘Frightened you off then, did I?’

Pitch resettled beneath the covers, deciding that perhaps he’d imagined the bloody thing after all.

Silas stirred at the sound of Pitch’s voice and nuzzled into his neck. His hand took up its caress once more, and Pitch tilted his head back with a soft groan.

‘Do you have trouble sleeping?’ Silas mumbled, leaving gentle kisses along the length of Pitch’s neck. ‘Shall I make you tired?’

‘I can’t imagine how you could do that.’