Chapter 008
Across the table, the warm, low lighting of the restaurant caught the sharp angle of Voren’s jaw and the tiny freckle just above his upper lip. Voren had gone all out tonight. He’d traded his usual tactical-adjacent casual wear for dark, perfectly fitted jeans and a button-down that strained just enough across the shoulders to be distracting. The jacket over it fit him like a second skin.
He looked good enough to eat. Honestly, it had been tempting to stay home and do exactly that—drag him back to the bedroom and peel those expensive clothes off him layer by layer. But Voren had insisted on "spoiling" him, and Kaelen had a hard time saying no when Voren looked at him like that.
So here they were. The restaurant was French, exclusive, and quiet in a way that made Kaelen nervous about clinking his silverware. They were tucked into a corner booth with leather seats that probably cost more than the entire contents of Kaelen’s apartment.
"Try this," Voren murmured, leaning across the pristine white tablecloth. He held out a spoonful of his dessert—some elaborate chocolate architecture that looked too pretty to destroy.
Kaelen opened his mouth, ignoring the heat climbing up his neck as Voren fed him. The chocolate was rich, dark, and melted instantly on his tongue. "God, that’s incredible."
"I thought you’d like it." Voren’s eyes crinkled at the corners.
Kaelen took a sip of his wine. He didn’t know much about wine, but considering Voren had ordered it without looking at the price list, it likely cost more than Kaelen’s monthly rent. It felt nice, being cherished. Being seen. Especially after the last few weeks.
The air between them had been thin, brittle. They’d spent days dancing around the elephant in the room—the secrets, the Organization, the body Kaelen had dug up in a panic. It had been a minefield of carefully chosen words and tentative touches. But they’d faced it. They’d aired it out.
They were good now.
Kaelen watched Voren take a sip of his own drink, feeling a surge of affection so strong it actually hurt. He was lucky. He had a partner who understood why trust was a foreign concept to him, someone who had forgiven him for assuming the worst. Voren might be a professional killer—or retired, as he insisted—but he was also the man who had tried to save Melissa Campbell. He was the man who was currently watching Kaelen with an expression that was entirely too soft for a public setting.
"I love you," Voren said, his voice low, cutting through the ambient clatter of the restaurant. He leaned in, his hand finding Kaelen’s on the table, thumb brushing over Kaelen’s knuckles. "I know things have been complicated. But I need you to know that."
"I love you, too." The words came out easy, automatic. "Even when I was scared. Even when I didn’t know what to believe. I never stopped."
Voren squeezed his hand. The tension that had been living in Kaelen’s shoulders for days finally began to dissolve.
If only the rest of his life would cooperate.
While his relationship was mending, everything else felt like it was fraying at the edges. Specifically, his ability. It was… glitching. There was no other word for it.
He thought about Marrow. The skeleton had always been weird—he was a reanimated pile of bones, after all—but lately, he was different. Stronger. Yesterday, Kaelen had come home to find the couch shoved three feet to the left because Marrow apparently wanted to sunbathe in the window patch. A collection of bones shouldn't have the leverage to move a sleeper sofa.
And then there were the dreams.
Kaelen suppressed a shiver, taking another bite of his own dessert to ground himself. The death dreams were becoming frequent. Vivid. It wasn’t just sensing death anymore; it was like being dropped into the final reel of a movie he didn’t want to see. He felt their fear. He felt the exact moment the lights went out. It made going to sleep terrifying. He never knew if he’d wake up in his own bed or gasping for air in a stranger’s dying body.
It felt like the ability didn’t belong to him anymore. It felt like some parasite had moved into his head and was renovating without a permit.
"You okay?" Voren asked, his thumb pausing on Kaelen’s hand.
Kaelen blinked, forcing a smile. "Yeah. Just… enjoying the wine. And the view."
He wasn’t going to ruin tonight. The Organization was still out there, Helena was still a threat, and his magic was mutating, but for the next hour, he was just a guy on a date with his boyfriend. He’d hold onto that. He’d enjoy the warmth of Voren’s hand and the taste of expensive chocolate while he could.
Voren drove them home with a sense of quiet victory.
He hadn’t been sure they would make it back from the brink. When Kaelen had looked at him with that hollow, suspicious expression days ago, Voren had braced himself for the end. He’d prepared to pack his bags. But Kaelen was still here. He was sitting in the passenger seat, humming along to the radio, looking relaxed for the first time in weeks.
Their lives were messy. They were being hunted by a shadow organization that didn’t know how to quit, and they had a necromantic skeleton for a pet. It wasn’t perfect. But Voren didn’t need perfect. He just needed Kaelen.
He pulled the car up to the curb outside their building. He killed the engine.
And the feeling vanished.
It was instantaneous. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, a primal warning system honed by fifteen years of keeping himself alive when people wanted him dead. The street looked normal. The streetlights were humming. There was no one on the sidewalk.
But the silence was wrong.
"What is it?" Kaelen asked, his hand freezing on the door handle. He’d picked up on Voren’s shift in demeanor instantly. "Is it the Organization?"
"I don’t know." Voren scanned the dark windows of their apartment building. "Stay in the car."
"Voren—"
"Stay in the car," Voren repeated, his voice dropping into the flat, command tone he used on jobs. "Take out your phone. If I’m not back in five minutes, call Russell. If anything happens—if you see anyone come out that door who isn't me—get in the driver’s seat and drive."
"I’m not abandoning you."
"If it comes to that, you are. Don’t stick around waiting to get hurt."
Kaelen opened his mouth to argue, his jaw set in that stubborn line Voren usually found endearing. Right now, it was just dangerous. Voren didn’t give him the chance. He leaned across the console, kissed Kaelen hard—a promise and an apology wrapped in one—and then bailed out of the car.
He didn’t look back. He couldn't.
As soon as he was out of Kaelen’s line of sight, the gun was in his hand. He moved through the shadows of the parking lot, checking the blind spots behind the dumpsters, the alley entrance. Nothing. No ambush team. No black vans.
He moved to the building entrance. The front door was locked, which meant nothing. He keyed in, moving up the stairs with silent, rolling steps, avoiding the third tread he knew creaked.
He reached their door. It was closed.
Voren stood to the side of the frame, listening. Silence. Not the quiet of an empty apartment, but the heavy, dead silence of a space that had been disturbed. He unlocked the door, turned the handle, and pushed it open.
He stepped in, gun sweeping the room.
"Fuck," he breathed.
They hadn’t been subtle. The apartment had been tossed. Not searched—tossed. The TV was face-down on the floor, the screen likely shattered. The couch cushions had been ripped out and slashed open, stuffing bleeding onto the rug. Books were pulled from the shelves, pages fluttering in the draft from the open window.
It wasn't a search for contraband. It was a tantrum.
Voren moved deeper, checking corners. Kitchen clear. Bathroom clear. He approached the bedroom, gun led.
A clicking sound came from the corner.
Marrow.
The skeleton was huddled near the closet. Usually, Marrow greeted Voren with a hiss or a menacing snap of his bone-tentacles. Tonight, the creature skittered across the floorboards, looking small. He reached Voren and immediately hooked his tentacles into Voren’s jeans, hauling himself up Voren’s leg like a frightened toddler.
Voren holstered his gun with one hand and scooped the skeleton up with the other, settling him onto his shoulder. "You okay, buddy? Yeah, I know."
A floorboard creaked near the front door.
Voren spun, weapon back in his hand in a blur, leveling it at the entry.
Russell stood in the doorway, hands half-raised. Behind him, Kaelen peered over his shoulder, eyes wide.
"I could have shot you," Voren snapped, lowering the muzzle but keeping the grip tight.
"You should ask before you aim," Russell said dryly. He lowered his own weapon.
Voren looked past him to Kaelen. "I told you to stay in the car."
"Russell’s here," Kaelen said, stepping fully into the room. His voice wavered as he took in the destruction. "He’ll protect me."
"That’s not the point. There’s a reason I gave you instructions."
But Kaelen wasn't listening. He was staring at the living room, at the slashed cushions and the broken electronics. This was Voren’s apartment on the lease, but it was Kaelen’s home. It was the first safe place he’d had in years. Seeing it violated like this… Voren saw the color drain from Kaelen’s face.
"No one’s here?" Russell asked, stepping over a pile of books.
"They’re long gone," Voren said. "Why are you here?"
"When you turned down Elara’s offer for the cameras, she had me install a silent alarm on the perimeter. It tripped ten minutes ago."
Voren let out a short, sharp breath. He should be annoyed at the overstep. Instead, he just felt tired. "Does she know anything?"
"I haven't talked to her yet. But since you don't have cameras inside, my guess is no."
"Maybe we should get them," Kaelen murmured. He walked over to the TV, nudging it with his toe, then looked up. His eyes were hard. "I know what I said about privacy. But I’d rather be sure no one is waiting in the kitchen."
Voren walked over to him, Marrow still clinging to his shoulder, and wrapped an arm around Kaelen’s waist. Kaelen leaned into him immediately, seeking the warmth.
"I’ll talk to Elara," Voren promised, kissing the top of his head.
"Why did they do this?" Kaelen asked, his voice quiet. "Were they looking for something?"
Voren surveyed the room. The destruction was performative. It was loud. "I don’t have anything they want. They want me dead, not robbed. This wasn't a search."
"Then what is it?"
"A message," Voren said grimly. "They wanted us to know they can get in. They wanted us to know nowhere is safe."
Kaelen looked up at him. The fear in his eyes had hardened into something else. Something angry.
"I hate them," Kaelen said.
"Get in line," Voren muttered.
He tightened his grip on Kaelen. He’d thought he was done with this life. He’d thought he could retire, fade away, maybe actually be happy. But the past didn’t just haunt you; sometimes it kicked in your front door and slashed your furniture.
If they wanted a war, they were going to get one. But first, he needed to clean up the living room.