Page 27 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6
‘If you say “our way through this,” I swear, Silas, I’ll fry your eyeballs with this ridiculous flame.’ He lifted his hand, bringing his flaming fingertip close to Silas’s face. The heat was immensely satisfying.
‘That is hardly ridiculous.’ Pitch’s midriff was hard beneath Silas’s hold, and though he certainly was not afire with heat, the prince’s body was warming him very nicely.
‘You can look at this mere sliver of fire and say that after what you’ve seen me do?’ Pitch said. ‘Shall we discuss your need for spectacles yet again?’
Silas touched his nose at the dampness behind Pitch’s ear, setting the amber earring swinging.
‘No. I see perfectly well. That blasted angel has never gotten the best of you, he shall not do so now. I am certain.’ Silas made sure he sounded utterly certain of it. There could be no room for any hesitancy, even if his throat ran dry at the thought of the prince’s flame being stolen from him. What in the name of all that was holy was truly going on?
The daemon believed himself a vessel.A part of a monstrous whole, he’d said, waking at the Crimson Bow in a pool of sweat after a dream of Seraphiel’s final moments. Now the angel, supposedly long dead, was to stifle not only the wildness but the daemon’s own flame too? What madness would possess the angel to make Pitch so vulnerable now? Was the wildness…the behemoth…so near to consuming him that there was no other choice?
‘Whatever the angel’s plan is here,’ Silas continued, ‘then we shall navigate it. If anyone thinks us a pair of lily-livered dolts, they shall be sadly disappointed.’
Pitch’s ribs flared with what might have been suppressed laughter. ‘By you, certainly. I know what it took for you to be in that water, Silas. It was idiotic, but brave.’
‘It was idiotic not to have attempted it long before now. And the bravery only came because I knew my purpose. I knew exactly who I was in that water for.’
He sealed the declaration with a kiss to the side of the prince’s neck. But Pitch tilted his head, jerking away from Silas’s touch.
‘Well, my dear oaf, you wasted your time in the end, for you are not going any further on this quest with me.’ He tried to slip free. ‘Damn it, let me go.’
‘Certainly not while you are talking utter nonsense. Of course I am going with you.’
‘So I might stand by with my pissy little finger flame and watch you get torn to shreds, before the Dullahan whisks me away to become a plaything for the UnSeelie Court?’ Silas’s mood darkened. Christ, he’d not stopped to think on that cursed debt the Erlking claimed. ‘It’s bad enough that you made me bloody senseless by that pond.’
The daemon fought to free himself, and Silas slackened his grip, aware of the perils of holding on too tight but not keen to allow the prince to run from him either. He did not wish the daemon to be paralysed by such fear again but couldn’t stifle some delight in knowing Pitch had been so concerned for him.
‘I dare the Dullahan to touch a hair upon your head,’ Silas said, with a boldness he usually found uncommon. ‘He’ll have an army of teratisms upon him before he can raise that infernal whip an inch.’ That slowed Pitch’s struggle to escape, and Silas took the opportunity to pull him closer. ‘You shall never be the UnSeelie Court’s plaything. And you will not speak again of continuing alone, do you hear me?’
Pitch’s inhale was slight and sharp. He returned to leaning against Silas, sinking back into the place he fit so well. ‘I hear you.’
‘Good.’ Silas laid another kiss to the back of his head. ‘Now shall we return to the house and get cleaned up? Have some breakfast?’
At once the prince pulled away, turning to face him. ‘I’m not hungry, and I don’t want to go back to the house. I don’t want to be near him.’
Pitch’s faded appetite was a concern, but Silas had hardly been ravenous himself. He put it down to the trials of the Fulbourn like much else.
‘You’d rather stay here? Among the cobwebs?’
‘Yes. I would.’
‘All right. Here we stay, then,’ Silas declared. ‘But we must get dry.’ He paused and decided to return to boldness. ‘We should likely get out of these wet clothes. I doubt they’d take long to dry by a fire. Perhaps you could just give it a try?’ He touched his fingers to the few remaining dirty buttons on his shirt, as though intending to undo them.
The prince lifted his head, emerald eyes sharp. ‘Are you trying to seduce me into starting a fire?’
Silas’s skin prickled as he feigned seriousness. ‘Mostly I’m trying to seduce you into taking your clothes off. You are beautiful in them but breathtaking without.’ Silas winced and turned away. ‘Oh god, that was terrible, I’m sorry.’ Suave master of seduction he was not. ‘And it’s hardly the time for such things.’
He felt the daemon move up behind him, and touch fingers to the small of his back.
Silas sucked in his breath, his hands twitching to reach for him. He waited.
‘It was not terrible,’ Pitch said softly, tracing the muscled lines on Silas’s back. ‘And I think now is exactly the time for such things. There is just one change I would request. If I can manage to light that fire, would you take my clothes off for me, Mr Mercer?’
Silas swallowed down every single worry he held– for the prince, for the sense of dread that would not leave him, for what lay beyond the comforts of the Sanctuary, and for what lay in store for those who sheltered within. Each concern grew pale and fine.
‘I would, Mr Astaroth. Most certainly.’
CHAPTER NINE