50. Tempest #2
No. Silas was just a constellation of misfiring neurons. Lev’s hallucinations were growing stronger, turning tactile. Silas couldn’t hurt Asher, unless the storm had ripped a stitch in the veil between living and dead and Silas was the one growing stronger as the tide crept in.
The tide. He had to find Asher.
He shoved Silas against the wall with his forearm, and leveraged Silas’s chin, pushing him up the wall until his heels dangled, which didn’t take long. He wasn’t nearly as tall.
“Mm. I missed this,” Silas purred, black lashes falling against skin no longer pallid, peach suffusing his cheeks in real time like ink drops blooming in water, the first splotch of color on Silas’s skin since Lev had killed him.
Silas licked his lips, now cherry pink, drawing Lev’s eyes lower, not because he was tempted to kiss him, but with donning horror.
On the side of Silas’s neck, an artery fluttered like a moth trapped beneath silk.
The storm faded until the only sound was Lev’s heart beating in lockstep with the pulse in Silas’s neck.
What the fuck was happening? Lev loosened his grip.
Silas slid down the wall, landing on his feet with feline skill. “Why did you stop?” Silas whined, cocking his head to the side, teasing Lev with the column of the throat he’d once loved to bite.
Lev’s hand shook as he pressed his fingertips against the side of Silas’s neck. Warmth radiated back with proof of life. The last time Lev had checked his pulse, he’d been lifeless.
“I told you this would happen,” Silas said, sliding one hand under Lev’s shirt.
Lev felt him and his stomach nearly revolted. “Don’t touch me.”
Silas pouted. “That’s not very fair. You’re the one who touched me first.” He withdrew his hand, and cupped his chin, scanning Lev head to foot.
“I wasn’t sure before, but I quite like you like this—sexy in a vintage sort of way, softer around the middle, and the wrinkles are patina. You remind me a bit of Father.”
“Fuck you,” Lev spat .
“Oh, I’m afraid not. You’ll have to grovel for years before I let you fuck me again.” Silas stroked the scars he’d left on Lev’s forearm. “There’s simply so much to atone for.”
Instead of telling him to sod off, Lev lowered his voice and leaned closer. “Do you want to know what I think, Si ?”
“Not particularly,” Silas said, affecting a bored tone.
Too late. Lev had caught the way he’d winced at the long lost pet name. His mask had slipped. Interesting.
Silas yawned theatrically and checked a nonexistent watch. “Don’t you have a soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend to find?”
“Why play hide and seek when you know exactly where he is?”
Silas splayed a hand on his chest. “Me? I’m just a figment of your imagination. Or are you so far gone you think your hallucination is off mopping the floors or haunting the moors while you sleep?”
The cruel laugh that followed snapped what little remained of Lev’s control. He gripped Silas’s black jumper in both hands and slammed him against the wall. “Tell me where he is!”
“Careful, Levvy. You know how much I like it rough, but you don’t want to kill me again, do you?” Silas arched his back, pressing his lower half against Lev. “You were so very sad the first time.”
Lev dropped him. Silas only ever initiated sexual contact when he had an ulterior motive. What was it this time? He would never have come back from the dead just to fuck him.
Jesus fucking Christ, why was he wasting time on something so preposterous when the motive was stalling him.
Lev fled down the steps, one hand gripping the slippery stone railing, lest he fall to his death.
“Leviathan!” Silas shouted after him before the wind stole his voice.
Lev spiraled down the tower as wave after wave hammered the shore. The ocean would spill over. There was no stopping it.
What if Asher was out there?
He stopped at a window and leaned over the railing. Visibility was near zero, save for the scattered emergency floodlights he’d installed after Father had died.
Lichenmoor was under siege, the ocean battering the seawall, slamming wave after wave into the stone barricade, spitting walls of froth, moments away from turning Lichenmoor into an archipelago of gardens, guest houses, stables, and other outbuildings.
If Asher was out there, his chance of survival was fleeting. If Asher had strayed beyond the seawall and been caught by the tide, he’d most certainly already died.
Lev locked the thought inside a box, and descended as fast as he dared, promising the ocean he’d trade his soul for Asher’s.
At the end of the stairs, Lev sprinted through the downpour, relying on memory to take him to the stables. He spared no time to saddle Rebecca, pausing only long enough to bridle her and vault onto her back.
Outside, Lev urged her into a gallop, racing faster when the water started to spill over.
Asher was nowhere to be found.
Lev checked everywhere, and bellowed his name until his voice broke, and waves snapped at Rebecca’s knees, and he had no choice but to return her to the stables.
He only had enough time to open the barn door and lock her inside, then ran for the castle, sloshing through ankle-deep water, rip current threatening to knock him off his feet and drag him out to sea.
When he finally made it to the castle he slammed the door behind him and leaned his back against it, trying to catch his breath.
“Lev?”