Page 4 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

Silas’s brow lifted. ‘Rubbing?’ His mind went a tad feral. ‘You’d like me to…rub you?’

‘My dear fellow, where are your thoughts taking you?’

‘Nowhere,’ Silas croaked.

‘And Jane thinksmea terrible liar.’ A gentle chuckle came from the daemon. ‘When I can roll over without heaving, you can show me exactly where you have a preference for rubbing me, but for now I was hoping you might just tend to my back. Like you did in the carriage, and when that man with his witch bottles vexed me.’

Silas nodded, face ablaze. ‘Of course. I wasn’t sure if it annoyed your or pleased you, to be honest.’

‘It does both.’ Pitch was more teasing than unkind.

‘Oh.’

‘But I don’t hate it either way.’

‘I suppose that’s as good a compliment as I’ll hear.’

‘Yes, so do get on with it.’

With a smile, and a trembling hand, Silas ran his fingertips over Pitch’s shoulder and down along one of the prongs on the pitchfork tattoo that had given the daemon his nickname.

He stayed well clear of the akaname as he went. There were not so many of them as to make it difficult, five of the creatures latched on to pale skin, their bruising marks fanning around them. Neither they nor the daemon moved as Silas traced his way over the hint of muscle and bone, keeping well clear of the section where he knew the halo’s scars to be. Pitch sighed every now and then but was otherwise silent.

Silas’s pulse thudded along as he worked, his chest tight with contentment. Bloody hell, the prince was heavenly to touch. Velvet skinned with the jut of hard muscle hinting right beneath, an exquisite mix of soft and hard that he wanted to drink in.

He had meant what he said to Pitch about having no expectations, that he would give the daemon all the distance he required as he recovered from what had happened to him at Gidleigh House. But how utterly wonderful it was to be allowed this close again. The nights on the couch had been lonely. And his worries great.

The task assigned to the daemon prince was a lofty one. Destroying a cursed halo sounded like anything but a walk in the park.

Silas would be by Pitch’s side, of course. A dozen Lalassu’s could not have stopped him, but he feared he may not be able to lessen the load upon the prince’s shoulders as well as he hoped. Silas may be Nephilim at his core, but he had much to learn…to remember…about what advantage that could give him.

‘Will you do something for me, Sickle?’ The daemon was drowsy, as close to content as he’d sounded in a while.

Anything,was what Silas wished to say.Anything at all.But it was far too soppy. He’d be laughed out of the room, and rightly so. ‘That depends what it is you ask for,’ he replied, drifting his fingertips down near the rise of Pitch’s arse beneath the sheet. Christ, it was difficult not to linger there too long.

The prince turned his head, looking at Silas. It took effort not to inhale too sharply. Certainly the daemon was pale, and his lips were stained blue by the foul Gu that had drenched them many times, but his gaze was precise, focused, and breathtaking.

‘When you’re done…and there is no hurry…take the watch with you when you leave.’ He gestured at Silas’s wardrobe. ‘I put it in the pocket of one of your coats so as to keep it away…but it still bothers me.’

‘Bothers you? How so?’

‘Will you just keep it for me? Keep it at a distance?’

There was a note there in his tone, one that warned Silas about asking any more. ‘I will.’

Pitch glanced at the table, where the tiny pile of rubble and fresh flowers lay. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’ He tilted his head so that his hair flopped forward, covering his eyes. ‘I’m sorry I broke the vase.’

‘I wasn’t particularly fond of it.’

‘It was hideous.’

‘I’ll not challenge that.’ Silas smiled, and the daemon relaxed beneath his fingertips. He traced a path between two of the akaname, slipping his finger over the nub of Pitch’s spine, crossing the dark line of the amuletum. ‘Will you tell me why you wish me to keep the watch? Surely it is important that you have it safe with you?’

Pitch sighed. ‘Promise me you won’t get all bothered and fearful if I tell you why?’

Silas struggled not to show just how bothered and fearful he’d become immediately. ‘Pitch, what is it?’

‘Gods, there it is. You have your wide-eyed-with-horror face on. You do adore that one.’