23. The Ghost of His Sigil
THE GHOST OF HIS SIGIL
LEV
“ O uch. That had to hurt,” Silas said from his seat on the newel post of the landing overhead.
“Where the hell were you?”
Silas pushed off the post and slid down the stair rail before landing beside him. “Why? Did you miss me?”
Lev didn’t answer, letting the silence simmer in hopes it would coax more information.
“Looks like you pushed Asher right into Theo’s capable arms,” Silas said instead of anything helpful.
“Oh, piss off.”
Catching Asher in the act—freshly showered and dressed in Theo’s clothes, no less—had infected Lev with a jealousy so visceral it would fester in his marrow until this was a distant memory.
“It’s for the best,” Lev added, more for his benefit than Silas’s.
Silas was an anchor chained to Lev’s ankle, plunging him back underwater every time his lips breached the surface. Asher wasn’t Lev’s second chance—he was another tragic death waiting to be claimed by Lichenmoor’s depths .
“How boring.” Silas yawned. “For Asher and me, if that wasn’t clear, but if that’s what you want…”
“It’s not about want,” Lev snapped.“Lichenmoor isn’t safe.”
He’d nearly lost the life of his most devoted disciple, the man he worshipped with equal, if not exceeding, fervor. He should have thanked Asher. Honored him. Not sent him to his death.
The worst of it was that he hadn’t even wanted to reject the lad.
The ghost of his sigil etched into Asher’s skin hadn’t upset him.
His superstition had. His stupid, childish fear that the magic clinging to Lichenmoor had somehow conjured up Asher Blakely, brought him to Lichenmoor, and reincarnated Silas in his image—the real Silas, not the doppelg?nger who haunted him.
Lev was a horrible person because he didn’t want Silas in any incarnation. He’d never wanted Silas to begin with. Silas had chosen him. Lev had loved him, but he hadn’t loved him enough to save him. He should have etched Silas’s poetry into his skin, rather than scratched it from his heart.
“I need to keep him safe,” Lev said.
“Keep him safe, or you?” Silas sailed up the stairs past him on nimble feet.
“Him.”
“Right…” The black hair on the back of Silas’s head bobbed as he nodded, no doubt smugly. “This has nothing to do with the fact that you’re afraid to love and lose again.”
“Not everything is about you, Silas.”
“Isn’t it?” Silas disappeared and reappeared on the third-story landing as if he’d wanted to use the extra elevation to look down his nose all the better. “Asher is practically wearing my skin. What better stand-in for me than him?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“What’s disgusting is killing me and never accepting responsibility. ”
Lev flinched. Silas’s arrow had found its mark. After Silas had died, Lev tried to turn himself in, but Father had erased all incriminating evidence, blotted out Silas’s very existence. Father wasn’t omnipotent, though. Lev could have confessed, and hadn’t.
“Stay here.” Lev reached the top step and navigated around him, clenching his hands so tightly his stiff knuckles ached as he stalked off toward his room, praying that whatever tenuous control he had over Silas held this time.
“Strike that,” Lev said as he neared his door. “Stay the fuck away from me, full stop. From here on out you don’t exist.”
“As you wish, sire,” Silas said, weaponizing the sarcastic quip he’d used when they were younger any time Lev had behaved petulantly or merely wanted some fucking space from the clingy kid brother he’d shared no kinship with.
“Oh, fuck off.” Lev gripped the doorknob and looked back.
“It’s only going to get worse, Snake ,” Silas sang from the landing at the end of the hall, a mutinous expression pasted on his skeletal face, pale eyes glinting unnaturally. “You can’t resist me forever. Then we’ll be together all the time.”
Lev wrenched his door open and slammed it shut, ignoring the unsettling laughter bouncing down the hallway like a ball rolled by a ghost.
He leaned against the door and allowed himself one exhale to compose himself, then peeled off his wet clothes. He needed to get back down to Asher. The lad had still looked so poorly, forehead clammy, the flush in his cheeks absent. What kind of man French-kissed someone in such a state?
Dressing quickly, Lev pulled on a cozy pair of cappuccino tweed trousers that hugged his arse and a royal blue jumper that paired well with his eyes. He was only human. And jealous. Wickedly, wickedly jealous.
Melody tapped his shoulder. “Can you pass the jus ?”
Lev blinked. “Sorry? Oh, of course.” The gravy boat clinked against the saucer as he handed it to her.
Across the table, Asher refused to lift his gaze from his scarcely touched plate despite Lev’s attempts to draw his attention via sexual innuendo and increasingly cryptic anecdotes, until Lev resorted to lobbing silent questions at his bowed head.
Are you well? Does your heart hurt like mine does? Have I ruined you the way you’ve ruined me? Did you think of me when you kissed him? Will you see him again after you leave? Will you wither and decay without me? Because I will.
Julian and Theo flanked Asher’s sides like guard dogs, and if Theo didn’t remove his hand from the back of Asher’s chair, Lev was going to rip his scarf from Asher’s neck and strangle him with it.
Most of the others had already finished or moved on to second servings, while Asher had neglected the roast beef and spinach. Was he so devastated that he couldn’t stomach eating? Or worse, was Silas right? Was Asher like him?
It took every ounce of strength Lev possessed not to dismiss the others, tie Asher to the chair, and force-feed him. What if he fainted and fell down one of Lichenmoor’s many deathtraps masquerading as stairs? Or did he want to keep his stomach empty for more lascivious reasons…
Lev scowled at Theo.
The din of silverware and conversation dimmed. Melody sagged against Daria’s shoulder and closed her eyes, fork still gripped loosely in her hand. Julian yawned his sixth yawn. Asher’s gaze remained on his plate .
“Is there something wrong with the food, Blakely?”
“The food is divine,” Asher answered, face still hidden by the fringe of nearly black hair falling over his face.
Asher speared a forkful of wilted spinach, and brought it to his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and chased the spinach gratin with a swig from the vacuum-sealed travel mug of herbal tea Lev had asked Luna to prepare before retiring to the room she kept when trapped by the tide.
“If the food is divine, why aren’t you eating?” Lev tried.
“Why do you care?”
Because you’re everything. Because you’re so bloody fragile and strong at the same time that I can’t decide if I should fear more for you or myself.
“Because you’re my guest,” he said lamely.
Asher lowered the mug to the table with a thunk, like a billiard ball dropped. “What a considerate host you are, Leviathan.”
Lev exhaled through clenched teeth. He’d catapulted himself so far out of Asher’s favor, he’d been demoted to the formality of his namesake.
Fuck the spectators. He reached across the table. Asher’s downcast lashes twitched toward Lev’s open hand, but didn’t lift.
“Asher, please,” Lev begged. “How can I let you leave when I can’t trust you to eat?”
Even the log in the fireplace gasped with a crack that spat sparks.
Asher lowered his fork to the napkin beside his plate and moved his hands to his lap. “Let?” Venom dripped from the three-letter word so potent, a bite would have killed him. “It’s not the food. It’s your company.”
An even deeper silence descended.
Melody’s fork dropped from her slackening hand and onto her plate with an almighty clatter.
Asher flinched and jerked his head up, hazel eyes darting to Lev with prey-like dread.
Lev hated himself for conditioning Asher to fear him almost as much as he hated whoever had left him with those shell-shocked reflexes.
“Sorry,” Melody slurred drowsily and scooped up the fork again.
Chuck snickered. “Are Mom and Dad fighting?”
“Mr. Boorman, if you insist on acting like a child, I will treat you as such,” Lev snapped without sparing him a glance. He cleared his throat. “Blakely, if the company is lacking, you may finish your meal in your room.”
“Thank you, sir.” Asher turned to Theo. “Want to come?”
“ Oui. ” Theo scooted his chair back.
“Guests are forbidden on my floor,” Lev said tightly, grasp on control slipping. He inhaled and counted to ten.
Asher lifted his chin. “That’s okay. We can eat in Theo’s room.”
“Wait…” Julian frowned at Asher. “You’re sleeping on the same floor as Lev?”
Daria laughed. “What floor did you think he was staying on? One all by himself?”
Chuck turned to his left, shielded his mouth, and stage whispered, “Not on the floor, I bet.”
Lars guffawed.
Asher’s gaze shuttered. His cheeks flushed. Asher should only blush with warmth, laughter, and lust. Anger at Lev, perhaps. Never shame.
Lev slammed his fist on the table, rattling the cutlery, sending ripples through drinks. “Everybody out.” He softened his tone and added. “Blakely, you will stay.”
“Lev…” Chuck protested.
Lev lifted his hand. “Leave us.”
Chuck dropped his napkin into a pool of shimmering au jus . Chairs scuffed. Lev hardly noticed the others scuttle out of the room. Theo hovered beside Asher’s chair, waiting for direction, apparently.
“You too, Theo.”
“But Lev…”
“Spare me the act, Laurenti. We both know you don’t care about Asher beyond getting inside him.”
Asher bolted out of his chair. “Don’t take this out on him. He has nothing to do with this.”
“My point exactly,” Lev agreed. “Theo, you may go now.”
Theo looked to Asher.
“I’ll be fine.” Asher rubbed between his brows as if Lev was giving him a headache, as if Asher hadn’t given Lev a headache first.
“You’re sure?” Theo asked.
“You heard the man,” Lev said. “Off you pop.”
Theo huffed and left, pushing past the boulder that was Julian lingering in front of the door.
“Lev, this is unprofessional,” Julian said.