Page 94 of The Death Wish

She’d returned with simple linen for Pitch, and these sublimely cut black leather trousers for Silas. Pitch moved fromthe laces–where Silas’s cock was nicely pronounced beneath the material–and cupped his hand to the bulge. But he did not hunger. Instead, he sought to take each part of Silas and carve it into his memory, setting every curve in stone.

‘Are we going to sit here just discussing flowers, Silas?’

The ankou set his hand to Pitch’s cheek, his fingers touching the dampness of the hair framing Pitch’s face. It had been a welcome relief to see washbasins full of warm water, and thick washcloths. Pitch had scrubbed hard at the dirt on his cheeks and the scent of Lalassu on his hands.

‘Are you in the mood for firmer things?’ Silas said, his fingers splayed against Pitch’s thigh. ‘I am not sure how well I can oblige you, darling. My stomach is in knots.’

‘I don’t want us to fuck.’ Pitch tilted his head back, and his hair slipped in beneath the flat collar of his shirt, tickling at his skin. ‘I should be hung, drawn and quartered for such blasphemy, but desire is not upon me either.’

Silas chuckled. ‘Not now, perhaps. But what a fine day we’ll have when this is done.’

Pitch’s head snapped forward, and heat spread through his eyes. ‘That is what I wish to talk about. You should stay here, and I should go on alone.’

He’d hardly expected peaceful acquiescence, nor did he get it. Silas grabbed his waist, and swung them both about, setting his feet on the floor, holding Pitch firm against his knees, glaring at him.

‘There is no discussion to be had here,’ Silas said.

‘You’ve seen the state of Seraphiel. He’s fit for residency in an asylum, but if what he says is so, I will need to be just as mindless to see this done. The lake was already too dangerous for you, and now it is intolerably so.’

‘Utter rot. Don’t test me on this, Pitch. I am no weakling.’

‘No, but you are a handsome dead man, and I don’t fancy seeing you otherwise.’ Pitch put on his very best coy smile, whilst his ribs felt ready to shatter with rising desperation.

‘I will be there with you. You are wasting your breath.’

Pitch wriggled against the impudent fellow. ‘Let me go, Silas.’

‘You’re not going in there alone. End of discussion.’

Silas was more than handsome; with his belligerence brightening his cheeks, and the tight clench of his jaw causing muscles in his neck to work. Defiance made Silas breathtaking.

‘I meant, let me off your lap. Don’t hold so tight.’

The release was instant and the apology ready. ‘Sorry.’

‘Forgiven.’

‘Then this discussion is done with.’

Oh, good gods, the sternness was prick-stiffening. On any other occasion, Pitch would strip Silas’s trousers off and impale himself at once.

But this occasion did not lend itself to carnality.

‘Fine.’

Pitch turned away and walked to the sideboard, where a pottery pitcher and matching cups sat. The tang of cider was evident. He poured himself a serve of the warm liquid, another for Silas. All the while, his mind worked furiously, searching for a clear path to follow; anywhere the Berserker Prince must be was not a place he’d allow Silas Mercer to set foot.

They sat quietly, sipping on the cider. It was warm and sweet, and Pitch would have devoured the entire pitcher; again, on any other occasion.

The Sanctuary had stolen every appetite from him; overwhelming in its grandeur, its memories, and the threshold it signified.

After a time, the soft pad of footsteps came from beyond the double doors with their gold motifs and wheat-field handlesglowing. Jacquetta appeared, changed as well, into an ankle-length tunic, belted at the waist, with long draping sleeves. It was one-tone silver, a clear flouting of the obvious palace theme of gold.

‘Your Highness, they are ready for you. I will show you the way.’

When Silas rose with Pitch, she shook her head. ‘Just the prince, my lord. That is my instruction.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Silas set down his cup in a way that made his already obvious displeasure plainer still.