Son of Death by Stacey Willis

Author:Stacey Willis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stacey Willis

C H A P T E R 32

S Ø R E N

HIS SILVER EYES glittered. At first Søren wondered if he had heard correctly. He had played the words so often in his head that he could not seem to believe them now aloud. “Melchior…” he breathed.

“I’m sorry,” the blond Reaper said, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so selfish and so worried about me and how I felt, that I even stopped thinking about your feelings. And that is unforgivable. You don’t deserve to put up with me, so I don’t know why you do.”

Søren made a face. “Because for some stupid reason…I love you,” he answered. The capacity of that love though, felt undefined.

After that had slipped out, the Trainer tensed, unsure of how Melchior would respond. It was stupid —how terrible they were at this; how good they were at making each other feel pain. He did not want to do it anymore —not if it meant that the cycle would never end.

“You…love me?” Melchior murmured.

Søren suddenly could not say it as easily. Everything stilled. He could not concentrate on anything but the deep shimmering purple-red in Melchior’s eyes. He lost himself in that expanse.

“I do,” he whispered. …I think, he added internally.

Melchior inhaled sharply. “I can’t understand why,” he breathed. “For the life of me, I don’t get it. But thank you. You have no idea what that means to me, Sør. No idea.” Then he paused, and his happiness seemed to melt back into guilt. “…I wish I had never left. I miss you so fucking much.”

Søren bit down the words that were fighting to come out.

“I know now that hurting us —hurting you, will always haunt me,” the Reaper continued. “I don’t deserve you, but I want to be worthy of loving you. It kills me, it truly does —and I can’t take it anymore. Søren,” he said his name, and it sounded so perfect when he did. “…I don’t want to stay poles and titles apart.”

The Trainer stared at him, his gaze flickering back and forth in that sincere burning garnet, before cocking an eyebrow.

“…Then come nearer.”

Melchior’s eyes continued to pierce, set and unblinking. The blond Reaper was terrifying sometimes, but the idea of being without him ate away at Søren even more —he knew that, as he drew a shaky breath.

This was an invitation; a subtle one. He heard Melchior sigh as he hesitated. But Søren knew that he did not need to be convinced.

The blond took the Trainer’s face in his hands and brought his mouth to his own. A pleasant shiver ran down Søren’s spine at the patient touch —before Melchior parted his lips and delved for his tongue.

The kiss itself was not wild and sudden, though. The last time, they had been desperate. Clawing. This was floating. Søren was drifting on the surface of the ocean, not fighting it. It was a calm, peaceful variation.

Melchior pulled away slightly after a minute and rested his forehead against Søren’s, before running his thumb across the Trainer’s trembling bottom lip.

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