The Necromancer's Smile

by Lisa Oliver

  Reduced to grunting, Dakar strove to hang on even as his hips took on a life of their own and his balls tightened. This primal act between them was long overdue. He’d been patient; he’d waited even when his animal half didn’t understand why they should. Now the moment was here. Sy arched his graceful neck and any ounce of control Dakar had snapped at his submission. His neck bent, and his teeth were embedded in Sy’s skin before he knew what was happening. Sy’s body shuddered as he let out a long moan, and as the splash of blood coated Dakar’s tongue, his balls unloaded. With his wolf howls bouncing around his head, Dakar’s soul reached out and found his mate’s; the two of them entwined in a bond that would last for eternity.

  Pulling back, Dakar gently licked the large wound gracing Sy’s neck. There was no doubt it would scar. As he panted through the afterglow, unwilling to move even though his arms were trembling with his weight, Dakar became aware of Sy muttering in a language he didn’t understand. Sy’s hand heated, almost like a brand on his neck, but as Sy’s voice rose to a crescendo, Dakar howled out loud; his wolf taking over his throat as he felt something snap inside. Sy slumped back on the bed, his breathing heavy and for the first time Dakar realized his abs were coated in spunk and Sy’s face was bright red.

  “Sweet one, mate, are you all right?”

  “I hope you like tattoos,” Sy chuckled as he waved his hand in front of his face, fanning himself. “Just hot, and I’m not sure my heart has worked out how to slow down yet.” Sy glanced at him, his expression suddenly shy. “Was it okay? Was I okay?”

  “Fucking amazing.” Dakar bent down for a brief kiss before trailing his lips over Sy’s jaw. “Next time though, let me show you the manual prep side of things. I think you’ll like it.”

  Dakar expected blushes, smiles or even a quick nod, but Sy’s mouth dropped open and he laughed. “Next time,” Sy said, once he could speak again, “Next time, I’ll be topping you.”

  Waiting for his wolf’s growl, which always appeared when anyone suggested that sort of thing in the past, Dakar was surprised yet again. It seemed he and Sy were perfect together as his wolf barely blinked. He was too busy mentally strutting at claiming his mate. It was in that moment Dakar missed his pack; people who would appreciate his wolf’s understandable pride. But then his stomach rumbled loud enough for anyone to hear and Sy was all business.

  “Shower,” he said, pushing at Dakar’s shoulder. “You go and shower or bathe, or whatever you want to do, and I’ll get Brock to serve us some food in the small sitting room where we shared our first dinner.”

  “Stay there my sweet,” Dakar said, wincing as his cock left Sy’s warmth. “I’ll get a cloth to clean you up. Don’t move.” Going in for one last kiss, Dakar got up and padded to the well-appointed bathroom. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he stopped long enough to admire his new artwork. Sy’s mating mark was of his staff, complete with skull, but the eyes of the skull shined as if jeweled and Dakar recognized his own wolf form curled around the skull. The tattoo was bigger than Dakar expected, but then this has been the day for surprises, he thought. Nothing could stop his smile as he hunted for a washcloth in the many cupboards under the bathroom counter. No one would ever be able to doubt who he was mated to and Dakar couldn’t be happier.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sy seriously needed some alone time; not that that was going to happen anytime soon. His first experiences with sex shocked and thrilled him, making him feel more alive than he’d ever been. The urge to claim, the words that fell from his lips automatically as he branded Dakar as his own; it was all wonderful and exciting, not to mention slightly scary, but he needed time to process everything. Unfortunately, Dakar and Brock conspired against him.

  “Sirs, I must speak with you both.” Brock was back to his unflappable self, immaculate in his suit and not a hair out of place. He’d been a lifesaver during Dakar’s unconscious state, ensuring Sy ate and slept. His congratulations on their mating was just as Sy anticipated – calm, measured, but with the degree of warmth only Sy would notice. The food prepared for Dakar was nothing short of a feast and while Sy still wasn’t hungry, he picked enough food off his plate to please his lifelong companion. But now Sy’s appetite was ruined completely and he put down his fork and gave up any pretense at eating.

  “Please tell me you’re not leaving now I’m mated, Brock? My life wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  Brock swallowed. “I have no intention of leaving and I never will. Please put that out of your mind immediately. But what I have to say, in part, has to do with the current threat against you and I apologize for doing this on your mating day, but it honestly can’t wait.”

  “Why don’t you sit down, Brock,” Dakar suggested, putting aside his napkin and pushing his plate away. “Has this got something to do with the serial killer you did away with? I thought he was the threat.”

  “He was, at least to those young people and indirectly to you because of what he was doing.” Brock perched uneasily on the nearest chair. “However, what I gleaned from his mind before he died has me in a quandary. He told me quite clearly that he was a tool for someone else and what I saw in his mind confirms that.”

  “Were you able to tell who was behind this?” Sy asked, already knowing the answer before Brock shook his head.

  “The killer’s mind was like swiss cheese; full of holes, as though any thought he might have had for the one he called master was simply plucked from his head with no thought of the consequences for any of his other memories.”

  “But he does know who’s behind this.” Sy was starting to see what was bothering Brock, but before he could put it into words, Dakar interrupted.

  “What is the threat, exactly? What can kill a Necromancer? What is this guy trying to do?”

  And isn’t that the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question? Sy listened with half an ear as Brock explained.

  “Necromancers don’t die. By extension, now you’re mated, neither will you nor I although we still can’t travel beyond the veil without extensive preparations,” Brock said. “However, a necromancer can be weakened or cut off from his body while he is on the other side of the veil, making it virtually impossible to return. If something were to happen to Sir’s body while he’s on the other side; if someone cut his throat or something on this side, then he wouldn’t be able to return until his body healed, leaving him susceptible to attack beyond the veil. Not a death as such, more like a living hell, if you can understand my meaning.”

  “What does that have to do with the hearts we found?” Dakar asked. “Why thirteen deaths and not five, ten, or twenty? What’s this guy trying to achieve?”

  “That’s a different part of his objective,” Sy said quietly as various random puzzle pieces fell into place. “Whoever this is, is in one respect trying to be me; he wants to wield the power I have beyond the veil. Many have tried before, usually because they want to bring tortured or evil souls back from the dead. True Necromancers understand how impossible something like that is. You can bring back a soul, but there is no way to house that soul in a workable body. Like all paranormals and magic users there are checks and balances for what I do, but as our lore is steeped in secrecy others presume we are more powerful than we are. However, we are the only beings who can wield magical power beyond the veil although the uses for it, beyond basic protections is limited.”

  “Your power keeps you safe beyond the veil.” Dakar nodded. “That makes sense if you visit there frequently. But what’s the significance of the number thirteen? How does that fit with this?”

  “The ancient Egyptians believed the number thirteen symbolized immortality and that there were thirteen stairs on the ladder to eternity. If this person used thirteen hearts, thirteen innocent deaths to symbolically take his place on each step on that ladder, then it’s likely he believes he’ll become immortal. If this is what he’s trying to do, and if he’d asked, I would have told him it wouldn’t work, there is still one thing that puzzles me.
” Sy warmed to his theme. “When I spoke to the victims they’d said they’d seen the Master on the other side of the veil and he didn’t look human. Yet his victims were all human.”

  “The man I killed was definitely human. There’s no way he could have set the wards that protected his so-called sanctuary and the magic spells he used against me were all in vials rather than his power or natural talent,” Brock said.

  “Hang on a minute,” Dakar rubbed his head. Sy could understand his frustration. Shifters lived far simpler lives than their magical counterparts. “Did we get the serial killer?”

  “Did we dispose of the man who took those innocent lives?” Brock nodded. “We did. Justice, sparse comfort that it is for those young men who died, has been done. However, that was only part of the puzzle and the serial killer’s death now serves another purpose.”

  “He holds the name of the man who wants me disposed of,” Sy explained when Dakar still looked confused. “His master expects me to try and speak to the serial killer now he’s dead.”

  “Because he knows, I know and therefore you know, that he knows who that person is,” Brock agreed. “And now you can see where my quandary lies.”

  “Well, that’s simple,” Dakar said firmly. “If the serial killer is a trap set for you in a place where I can’t save you, you won’t go beyond the veil until this being is caught.”

  Sy couldn’t believe the audacity of what he was hearing. To think he’d entertained warm and fuzzy feelings for the detective. “Going beyond the veil to find answers is my job, my duty, and my calling. There are still over twenty missing person files I need to find answers for and that’s without the countless ones you passed over because the names didn’t have a reference to Peter. It’s not possible to do any of that without slipping through the veil.”

  “Wait, wait.” Brock held up his hand, forestalling what would be an epic argument. Determination was etched over Dakar’s face but Sy was just as adamant. No one was going to stop him doing his job. “The name Peter. That must be another clue. Maybe there is a deceased someone connected to the one they call the Master with that name. Maybe he wants the power of necromancy to bring this person back to life.”

  “The name Peter was more likely a reference to you, Brock,” Sy said, breaking his glare with his new mate and looking at his companion instead. “I’ve often said, in the company of others, you are my rock. That is what the name Peter means. Jesus spoke in the bible about how Peter felt as though he was nothing more than a pebble tossed about by the sea, yet Jesus claimed he would become the rock the Christian church was founded on. Whoever this person is tried to separate us with the wards in Warren’s home and you said yourself, the serial killer expressed amazement when you couldn’t die. Whoever is doing this, clearly believes that without you, I’ll lose my powers or at least be considerably weaker. Maybe he believes our powers are tied together in some way, given how I am rarely seen out without you.”

  “Our mystery man is well-read then,” Dakar observed coolly. “We have references to ancient Egypt and the bible, but none of that tells us who this person is.”

  “And we need to know because there’s no telling what this person will do next. Which leaves us two choices,” Sy stood and eyed both men. They were equally protective in their own way but Sy knew his duty. One thing his father had done for him, was ensure he didn’t raise a quitter. “We can either wait until the matter escalates and more innocent people are killed, which I will not live with. Or I can do what I was born to do and go and speak to our dead serial killer on the other side of the veil.”

  “Wait. Maybe there is another way,” Dakar said quickly. “Are the tales about Necromancers true? Can you reanimate a corpse without going through the veil?”

  “For a short while, yes.” Sy wanted to slap himself. Clearly having sex limited his brain power. “Of course.”

  “And,” Brock added, also standing, “the distasteful man’s brain isn’t going to be full of holes this time. If he won’t speak verbally, then perhaps I can glean more from his soul. Good work, Detective. I’ll go and bring the car around.”

  “Fancy a trip to the morgue?” Dakar winked at Sy and despite his earlier anger, Sy couldn’t help but smile.

  “I can see you’re going to be taking me to the most romantic of places,” he chuckled.

  “It won’t be as private as I’d like. I’ll call Brad and let him know to meet us there. He can fill us in on what happened to the rescued youngsters.” Dakar was there, by his side, filling his senses with his larger than life personality. The big hand resting on his lower back gave Sy a sense of permanence he didn’t know he was missing. “I didn’t mean to boss you about regarding your job. That was wrong of me,” the big alpha said quietly.

  Compromise, Sy thought, because Dakar had been bossy but from all Sy had read and learned about shifters over the years, Alpha types didn’t apologize often which meant Dakar was seriously trying to make amends. “I’ll try not to jump down your throat next time you do it,” he promised, lifting his face for a kiss. Dakar didn’t disappoint and Sy was well on the way to scratching table sex off his sexual bucket list when Brock’s overly loud cough sounded at the door and broke them apart.

  “There are reporters at the gate, sirs. It appears someone tipped them off that Detective Rhodes is responsible for taking out the serial killer and they want a statement.”

  “You killed the serial killer, Brock,” Dakar said, a deep furrow developing above his eyes. “You took out the wards as well, otherwise we’d never have gained access to where the victims were. Sy was the one who found their hiding place in the first place. All I did was get myself gassed from some shit-tasting magic puff. I’m hardly going to discuss that with any reporters.”

  “You need to take responsibility for the killing,” Sy said with an urgency that caught Dakar’s attention. “It was a righteous kill. The man was evil, and you caught him in the act of trying to take the life of a sixth young innocent. You won’t get into any trouble for it. You’ll probably be labeled a hero. You have to say you did it.”

  “But I didn’t do it. There’s no way I’m taking credit for something I didn’t do,” Dakar insisted and while Sy hated how confused his mate was, he had to think about Brock as well.

  “No one knows Brock’s origins,” he said. Taking a chance, Sy reached up and palmed his mate’s face, forcing their eyes to meet. “Brock has to stay out of the limelight and you can bet your detective’s badge that if they think the Necromancer and his bodyguard had anything to do with this case then any credit for all the wonderful work the police department has done would be lost in the furor.”

  “We wouldn’t have had a case without you two.”

  Suppressing his impatience, because Dakar was new to his and Brock’s life and unquestionably honest, Sy tried a different tact. “No one ever says anything nice about Necromancers in the popular press,” he said. “If the papers catch wind of me and Brock having anything to do with this, then within a week the tabloids would be claiming we only knew about the serial killings because we were connected to them in some way. The headlines would scream, ‘Serial Killer and Necromancer in Weird Heart Exchange Pact,’ or something equally sordid. People fear things they don’t understand, and necromancy ranks right up there with things that scare them.”

  “But if I explained, if I told them about all the good things you do….”

  “Your career would be over in a heartbeat, Detective,” Brock said gravely. “Sir is right about this. I know it’s not in your nature to lie, but this time I must insist.”

  “You can make some spiel about the hard work of the police department and how it was a team effort, which it was,” Sy tried one last time. “Please, mate, for me. If journalists start investigating Brock’s origins too closely there’s no telling what they’ll print when they can’t find anything. You’d be protecting him and I by doing this.”

  Invoking the concept of protection was clearly the right thing to
say, and while Sy hated manipulating his relationship with Dakar so early on, he had a duty to them both. Dakar was exactly the type of man humans and paranormals alike wanted to see on the front pages of their papers in the morning. Handsome, strong, and ready to protect the innocent at a moment’s notice. It would be better for all concerned, if he and Brock stayed in the shadows. Sy shivered as if someone walked over his grave. They weren’t the only ones who stuck to the shadows.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dakar was no stranger to fronting before the press. In his previous department, he was often called upon when questions got too difficult for his Captain to answer especially in relation to cases he worked on personally. News of the Pedace Captain’s arrest was still under wraps and there was a good chance the story would never make the papers. All that would be reported was the appointment of a new Captain when one was assigned.

  But standing in front of Sy’s limousine now at the gates of the mansion, with cameras flashing and microphones shoved in his face, Dakar was struggling to keep his temper. Once he’d delivered the news that the serial killer had been taken out during a raid involving the entire department, as far as he was concerned that was the end of the matter. The press had other ideas.

  “Detective Rhodes,” a pushy ass by the name of Clive shoved his microphone in Dakar’s face. “What’s the reason you’re here at the home of the Necromancer this morning? Does he have ties to the killer? Can we expect more arrests?”

  “Prince Sebastian York has nothing to do with the killings. It’s public knowledge he’s contracted as the only consultant the Pedace police department has. Where do you get your inane ideas?”

  “Informed sources, Detective.” Clive tapped the side of his nose. “Got to protect my informants just like you do. Tell us, what links does the Necromancer have with this case. Did he know the serial killer?”