Page 71 of The Death Wish

‘I’ll see to him,’ he said. And he’d enjoy a few more moments land-bound. ‘Pitch, get on board.’

Silas gathered up the fallen king, surprised by how heavy the lithe man was. He had to brace himself before pushing to his knees, and could not stop the grunt that came with lifting such weight.

‘Can you manage?’ Pitch was already in the boat. As far from the ferryman as he could make himself, standing between the last bench and the stern. But the boat was small. If they had both leaned in, across the four rows of seats, Pitch and Charlie could have touched hands.

‘Of course I can manage it. But help me with loading him into the boat.’

Silas waded into the water, inhaling at the crispness of the water when it engulfed his boots and hit his shins. There barely seemed enough depth to the water here for the boat to float at all. Perhaps it was hitting the bottom, and not a preternatural stillness that meant the boat did not so much as tilt when Silas lifted Lucifer over the side, and Pitch changed his position so he might assist. The king did not move, nor utter a sound, despite the man-handling.

They placed the daemon in the near centre of the craft, where the gap between the benches was slightly wider. Silas hauled himself aboard as soon as Pitch had a decent hold. The prince placed Lucifer on his side, and perhaps was not as careful as he could have been, for there was a thump of the king’s head against the wood.

‘Careful, daemon.’ The ferryman’s command resonated from behind their visor. They looked to Edward, as though expecting the lieutenant to add to the reprimand. But he and Charlie sat close, locked in whispered conversation. ‘Be seated. Now.’

Pitch was already seated, and he grabbed Silas’s hand, encouraging him down. They sat close, and Silas was grateful that the prince made no comment about how tightly his hand was held by a nervy ankou.

The ferryman reset their foot upon the bow–a position either favoured, or necessary, it wasn’t clear–and wrapped their gauntlet around the staff. The boat swung about, a gentle move that nevertheless had Silas grabbing at the lip of the bench,holding fast. Scarlet hopped from Pitch’s shoulder to his own, climbing the curve of his neck to pat at his earlobe.

‘Dreadfully annoying, aren’t they, Silas?’ Pitch rolled his eyes.

Scarlet chittered at him, and their indignation needed no interpretation.

‘I’m happy to have Scarlet with me.’ There was something soothing in how determined the little creature was, how unperturbed by all they faced. He’d borrow what he could of Scarlet’s resolve. For all the changes Silas had undergone, this mass of water still managed to fill his belly with unwelcome butterflies.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE BOATglided over water that grew greater in depth. The Ferryman used no visible means of propulsion–no oars or pole–and stood utterly silent with their lantern, which did not sway on its hook as they moved.

The light it cast did not reach the quartz in the water as before. The depths grew in their fathoms. Pitch watched Silas’s observance of it with an ache that helped draw his thoughts from the pains of Lalassu.

‘Silas, stop looking over the edge.’

The ankou was trying awfully hard to be stalwart, but the brave man had a limit to his courage. Pitch could not blame him for that; endlessly dying through drowning must wear down a fellow.

‘I thought I saw a fish, that’s all.’

Scarlet’s answering snort said exactly what Pitch had been thinking. ‘Bloody rot. Now look at me, and forget all else. I know you adore staring at me. Come on now.’ He pressed at Silas’s cheek, urging the ankou to turn away from the water. ‘Look at these lips, how plump they are, how ripe for biting at. You do so love to bite them, don’t you?’

Silas took a breath too long to answer. ‘I do. I do. But you’d tell me if I do too much?’

‘Don’t ruin the mood, lover. Now, what else of mine do you like in your mouth?’

Pitch took his hand; their thighs pressed, their ankles touching, Pitch practically buried into his side. But Silas, damn him, still seemed distracted; blinking too fast, as though he fought an impulse to gaze once more at his nemesis.

‘Shall I give you a clue?’ Pitch asked.

He took Silas’s free hand, where it gripped the edge of the seat for dear life, and made a great show of dragging it slowly up his own thigh, taking it all the way up to where a slip to the right would land it upon the soft bulge between Pitch’s. He considered asking again if he should use his enchantment to smooth out Silas’s distress.

‘I’m fine,’ Silas said, quietly, resisting Pitch’s efforts. ‘And though your cock is quite possibly my favourite thing in all the world, I truly am fine. I don’t need a distraction.’

Which was such a terrible lie even Scarlet’s motionless eyes seemed to roll.

‘Who said anything about you?’ Pitch would not give up without a fight. ‘Perhaps I am feeling unsettled and wish you to tend to my needs.’

‘Here, and now?’ Silas spluttered, and his ridiculous blinking ceased. ‘Are you mad?’

‘Perhaps. Highly likely. Now, come on. I am feeling very rejected right now.’

He tugged hard and managed to land Silas’s hand right where he wanted it. Finally the distraction was enough. Silas jerked with laughter; a low rumble, not unlike distant thunder. ‘You are utterly ridiculous.’