Chapter 013
Life was good. Or at least, it was quiet.
Kaelen sat on the sofa in the cozy apartment he’d fought so hard to keep, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the distant traffic of the city. It had been weeks since the cemetery, and the silence still felt strange, like a held breath.
Voren was in the kitchen. He was healing, finally. The gunshot wound had closed up, and the sling was gone, but he wasn’t back to one hundred percent. He moved with a subtle stiffness that no one else would notice, guarding his left side when he thought Kaelen wasn’t looking. He never complained about the pain, but Kaelen knew him. He saw the way Voren’s jaw tightened when he reached for a high shelf, the minute pause before he lifted something heavy.
Kaelen wasn’t too worried about Voren’s recovery—his boyfriend was stubborn enough to heal out of spite. He was more worried about himself.
He stared at his phone, the browser tab open to a search for "real necromancy practitioners." It was useless. He’d spent hours scouring forums and dark web message boards, hoping to find someone, anyone, who understood what he had become. Instead, he found role-players, goths selling bone jewelry, and charlatans promising to speak to Grandma for fifty bucks. There was no manual for raising an army of the dead without touching them. There was no guide for how to put the genie back in the bottle.
That wasn’t the only loose end keeping him up at night.
When the authorities had finally descended on the wrecked cemetery, they’d found a disaster zone of cracked earth and open graves. They’d found the body of the Nullifier. But they hadn’t found Helena.
She was gone. No one could explain how she’d survived the swarm Kaelen had thrown at her—hundreds of pounds of bone and rot pressing down with lethal intent—but the lack of a body was an answer in itself. She was alive. She had crawled out of the dirt and vanished.
It meant she would come back. Maybe not today, maybe not next month, but eventually, she would pop back into their lives. And Kaelen needed to be ready when she did.
A dry clicking sound drew his attention to the window. Marrow was perched on the sill, sunning himself in a patch of afternoon light. The skeleton cat stretched, his vertebrae grinding softly, before settling back down. He was behaving normally again. The terrifying, jagged aggression that had plagued him for weeks was gone, smoothed over as the tension in the apartment dissipated.
Things were different now. Better. After the dust settled, Kaelen and Voren had talked. Really talked. They’d sat on this couch until their throats were dry, dissecting the lies and the omissions, and they’d made a pact. No more protecting each other with silence. If there was a problem, they spoke up. If one of them left the apartment, the other knew where they were going.
The Organization, at least, seemed to be losing its teeth. Elara had dug up some intel suggesting that without Helena’s ruthless efficiency, the remaining cells were struggling. Their hit squads were sloppy; their targets were fighting back and winning. Kaelen didn’t know if the Organization would ever truly die, but right now, it was bleeding. That was enough.
"I made you some tea," Voren said, walking into the living room.
He set two mugs on the coffee table, steam curling into the air. The room smelled like pine needles and cinnamon—a stark contrast to the antiseptic smell of antiseptic and old blood that had lingered for days after the fight.
They’d decorated for the holidays. Voren had grumbled the entire time, complaining about the tangled lights and the shedding needles, but Kaelen had caught him staring at the tree in the corner more than once. There was a softness in his eyes when he looked at the ornaments, a quiet wonder that broke Kaelen’s heart a little. Voren had told him once that he never celebrated. What was the point of marking the passage of time when you were alone?
Well, he wasn't alone anymore.
"Thanks," Kaelen said, taking the mug.
"Don't get used to it." Voren sat next to him, close enough that their thighs pressed together.
This year would be different. Kaelen usually spent the holidays just with his mom, a quiet affair of takeout and bad movies. This time, the apartment would be full. His mother was coming, of course. But so was Robbie, loud and chaotic. Russell had agreed immediately when Kaelen asked. Silas had scoffed but confirmed he’d be there, probably just for the free booze. Even Elara had nodded, a rare smile touching her lips, though she warned she had a few loose ends to tie up first.
It was a family. A strange, disjointed, dangerous family, but it was theirs.
Kaelen leaned into Voren’s side, and Voren’s arm came up automatically to wrap around his shoulders. The warmth of him was grounding. This—the tea, the tree, the weight of Voren’s arm—was what made the nightmare worth it. This was what Kaelen refused to lose.
He sipped his tea, his gaze drifting back to the blinking cursor on his phone screen. He would find a mentor. He would figure out how to control the cold, buzzing power in his veins. He had always been friendly with death, treating it like a colleague, but the relationship had changed. He was stepping into a dance he wasn’t leading yet.
But he would learn the steps. He didn't care what it cost or how dark he had to get. He would master this thing, and he would use it to keep Voren safe.
"You're thinking too loud," Voren murmured, tightening his grip.
"Just planning," Kaelen said softly.
"Plan later. Drink your tea."
Kaelen smiled, closing his eyes. "Yes, dear."
Helena was out there. The Organization was out there. But right now, in this room, they were untouchable.