31 || A Moth to a Funeral Pyre
"Your wound doesn't look as bad as it did." Damian's voice floated through the murkiness of sleep, piercing through the veil of darkness. "It's as if you have the fast healing of a High Fae."
The necromancer cracked her eyes open so she could get a glimpse of his face.
White hair brushed across his forehead, the unruly strands curled more from the storm they had waded through now that they were dry.
He leaned on the side of the bed with his arms crossed into an uncomfortable, makeshift pillow to rest his head on.
A blanket had been pulled over her legs, the frayed fabric just out of reach of the start of her abdomen, that hadn't been there when she had dozed off.
"Have you been watching me the whole time? You creep," she teased. The Fireborn was correct. Her wound no longer weeped with questionable liquids and her insides no longer felt as if they had been set ablaze. It was still a raw red that tarnished her skin, but it was healing.
"There's nowhere else I would rather look."
Morana's eyes widened and she turned away from his gaze, heat settling on her face. "How long was I asleep for?"
"Another day, from what I can tell. I haven't left the room, so I haven't had a chance to look at the sky.
" There wasn't a window to look out onto the streets of the Lost Abyss either.
When she only nodded in reply, Damian continued.
"Itros came back to talk to you, but he left soon after he realised you were resting. "
"Did he bother you?" Her eyes narrowed.
"Not at all. He brought some food by as a peace offering." He motioned to the bedside table. "There's still some left if you want it. Though, it's not warm anymore."
An assorted plate of roasted beef soaked in gravy, buttered bread where the rich spread had melted into the air pockets, and slices of cheese sat beside them, half of which had been eaten by the Fireborn.
While it indeed lacked its warmth and the wafting smell that came from the steam, it still made her mouth water.
"I would love some." She didn't realise hunger gnawed at her stomach until the mention of food was brought up. When was the last time she had eaten? Dying and coming back to life was ravenous work. Morana pushed herself to sit up with Damian's assistance.
The necromancer still needed to tell Itros a secret of Silas'.
She had the potential to cause some serious damage to his plans, and she was so very tempted to let everything he had built burn to the ground.
But she had to be careful. Morana needed to word her information in a certain way, reveal only selected pieces, so it wouldn't circle back to her as the source.
She was already on her boss' radar and she didn't need to drag Damian down with her.
There was a chance he still didn't know the Fireborn was involved in her escape from his clutches and she wasn't going to risk exposing him.
However, there was something else that Itros could do for her, information that he could spread if he was willing.
Morana shovelled a mouthful of bread topped with cheese onto her tongue while she turned the plan over in her head.
"I've been thinking and-"
"Oh no."
"And I don't know exactly where we stand." Damian cleared his throat. "What are we?"
Beef that oozed with rich flavour found its way into her mouth to give her an excuse not to talk for a moment longer.
What were they?
Morana liked Damian. She liked him a lot and she hoped more than anything that he felt the same. It wasn't often that she managed to get attached to someone. In her line of work, anyone she met often found their death to one of her bone shards or daggers — and the Fireborn was different.
Yet, that made it all the more dangerous. She cared about him and the people who had suffered the same curse of her love always came ot hate her, one way or another. "I don't know."
Damian's expression faltered. "Well, I like you."
"There are a lot of connotations on that word." She watched him rise from the floor and sit next to her on the bed, the mattress dipping under the extra weight.
"That kiss couldn't have meant nothing." His fingers curled into fists. "I know you were weak and on the verge of death, but the drive had to have come from somewhere in your heart."
"It didn't mean nothing. The kiss meant a lot to me," she confirmed, putting the plate to the side. "I just... don't know where to take it from here." Morana couldn't stop her voice from shaking.
"You sound like you're scared." His words were a mixture of question and comfort. Damian held out his hand for her to claim and she couldn't resist locking her fingers around his palm — like a moth to a funeral pyre.
"You're not the only one who has accidentally killed someone, fire boy.
" Morana took her necklace in her other hand and squeezed the purple crystal tight.
"You've already come close to being my next victim and I don't want it to happen.
" She eyed the faint cut the Dyonite had left on his neck when they travelled to the sorcerer.
"We don't have to rush into this. All we need to do is take it one day at a time. We have all the time in the world."
"I wish that were true." Morana scoffed.
With the Necromancer's Curse berating them with every step they took, there was no telling how long they had — until it would claim his life too.
"I like you too, Damian. We can stand wherever we want to stand.
Between blackmailed help to friends to something more. "
The Fireborn brought their linked hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of her palm. His lips left a trail of tingling embers, sealing the promise. "I'm okay with that."
She turned her head to the side, hiding the sole tear that escaped and slid down her cheek. Her first victim had been her mother. The second, a lover who despised her more than anything. She couldn't have her fire boy be her third accidental kill.
"We need to get the Necromancer's Tome to try and end this for good." The necromancer changed the topic, yet she still kept her hand locked in his.
"Right. Do you have any idea where it is?"
"I know exactly where it is and it's in Silas' godsdamned office." Morana rolled her eyes. "He never leaves that room, always getting other people to do his work. We'd need to get him out somehow if we want to try this."
"So we need a distraction that nobody could deal with but him." Damian hummed in thought, tapping a booted foot to a phantom rhythm.
"He would usually get me to do everything," she grumbled.
From a threat from another Lost Abyss underlord, to a noise nuisance that had appeared in the building opposite his base of action, she was always dispatched to end their lives.
Morana was skilled, talented at what she did, the best assassin that Silas had working under him — at least, those were the praises he fed her to keep her loyal.
In hindsight, the necromancer was merely convenient and the only one who didn't put up a fight when asked to do a job.
"Now that I'm not at his side, we just need something he can't trust with anyone else.
Like the Necromancer's Curse," she mused with a sigh.
"I should get some more bone shards before we figure something out.
" Her other pouch had been discarded in the castle when she had been reunited with her sister.
It had only been a few days, and yet her magic yearned to see a shard soar into someone's heart.
A knock sounded at the door, pulling Morana away from her power's insatiable stupor. Her fingers inched towards the sheathed sword Damian had removed from his belt, ready to pounce on the intruder. The handle turned without approval and a woman stepped into the room.
Framing and sinching her body was a laced corset with blood staining the dark material.
A cloak of deep emerald was clasped onto her shoulders and dusted the floor with each step she took.
Her black hair was pulled into a ponytail with braids adorning either side of her head.
If her appearance didn't make Morana clench her jaw, her breath would have been taken away by her beauty.
Lillith was here to bring them back to Silas. That was the only reason why she would seek her after what she had done. And Itros — who stepped out from behind the Vampire to join them — was the bastard who had ratted them out.
Morana readied herself for an attack, bracing to drive the blade through her heart. It wouldn't finish the job completely, but it would buy them enough time to escape. "What the fuck are you doing here?" She wasn't as good with a sword as she was with a dagger or bones, but it would do.
"Put the sword down, Mor. I'm here to talk. Not fight." Lillith crossed her arms, revealing bottles of blood tucked into the pockets of her cloak. "I heard what happened."
"And now you're here to do Silas' bidding?
Yeah, I don't trust your talks one bit.
" The necromancer stood her ground. The only exit was the door before them and the chances of both of them getting through it were slim.
Vampires were fast and, even if they managed to get out of the room, they would be pinned down in no time.
"I called her over, not Silas," Itros explained. "If that makes a difference. We could all head downstairs and talk over a drink or two. Civilly."
Morana paid no notice to the bartender. "Why are you here, Lil?"
Lillith's crimson eyes flicked to Damian. "I'm surprised you're still around."
The necromancer stepped in front of the Fireborn, using herself as a shield. If she went through her first, perhaps her next death would grant him some time to get as far as he could. "I will kill you both."
Itros pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hurry up and tell her before I have to break up your squabble like the drunkards I serve."
"I heard what happened in the castle and on the beach," she began. "I want to know if you'd like to join us."
"In what?"
"In taking down Silas."