Page 32 of The Necromancer's Prisoner

Fleeting encounters…just like tonight.

Iggie shoved the thought aside, annoyed at himself. They’d both known this was a one-time deal—no sense pretending otherwise. In the morning, he’d return to being the fugitive necromancer while Alistair resumed his duties as a Knight of the Order. This was never going to be anything more than a fleeting encounter. The least he could do was enjoy it.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he grasped Alistair’s hand and dragged it lower, determined to pick up where they’d left off. To his surprise, Alistair stopped him with a small frown and a hand on his chest.

“Are you sure? I would never force you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Iggie smiled, his lingering tension easing. “I know. I trust you. You’d never hurt me.”

Alistair froze, his entire body going rigid. Iggie had time to wonder if he’d said something wrong when the paladin burst back to life, hugging Iggie hard enough to crush the air from his lungs. “Never,” he whispered.

There was little time for talking after that.

Iggie lost himself to the delicious slide of flesh on flesh. His hands combing through Alistair’s silky hair and running along his pebbled skin. Alistair’s hot breath as he panted into Iggie’s neck while his firm grip tightened around Iggie’s waist. The muscled ridges of Alistair’s abs tensing and relaxing as Iggie caressed them with his lips and tongue. Alistair’s contented groan when his back arched with pleasure, followed quickly by Iggie’s own ecstatic moan as his mind, heart, and body all thrummed as one.

Afterward, Iggie lay nestled against Alistair’s side, resting his head on the paladin’s shoulder while Alistair absently stroked his hair. Tucked beneath piled blankets beside the still-burning dawnflame, Iggie felt his eyes drooping, the ordeals of the last day catching up to him.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable?” Alistair asked for the hundredth time, his voice laced with worry. “You still feel colder than I’d like.”

Iggie burrowed his face into Alistair’s neck, inhaling his intoxicating scent. “Never better. We can’t all have the holy Light warming our insides.”

Alistair snorted a laugh. “All the more reason to worry about your safety.”

Iggie was fading fast, only half-awake. “Then, I guess you’d better keep me close,” he murmured dreamily, snuggling against Alistair’s side. That’s how he fell asleep—with Alistair’s arm wrapped protectively over his back, listening to the smooth rhythm of the paladin’s breathing while contentment flooded him for the first time he could remember.

fourteen

Alistair

Alistairawokewithhisarm draped over Iggie’s stomach and his face practically buried in the necromancer’s neck. Hard stone pressed against his side, broken only by a stretched pile of blankets beneath them. Memories of last night returned to him—the attack on the tower. The flight through the snow. Taking refuge in a cave, and then in each other’s hands and lips…

Warmth flooded him despite the chill hanging in the air. Last night had been incredible, his connection with Iggie unparalleled by anyone else he’d ever met. He grinned as Iggie shifted and grumbled sleepily in front of him, the necromancer’s crimson hair an adorable mess. Lying here together, he felt more at peace than he had since his father’s passing.

Iggie snuggled back into his chest, gyrating his hips, and answering heat thrummed through Alistair. He pressed forward, struggling to keep his growing excitement under control as he nuzzled his lips into the crook of Iggie’s neck, reveling in the now-familiar scent of him. Merciful Light, he didn’t want this moment to end.

Maybe it doesn’t have to.

The thought took him by surprise, as did the intense knot of emotions it conjured. He’d be lying if he claimed he hadn’t enjoyed every second he’d spent with Iggie in his arms. But last night was supposed to be a fluke—a one-off occurrence.

Holding the dozing necromancer now, he found that he never wanted to let him go, and that revelation terrified him. How could he already feel so strongly about someone he’d just met? This wasn’t at all how he’d envisioned his first mission for the Order transpiring.

Heart hammering in his chest, he carefully extricated his arms from around the necromancer’s torso. The instant he had his limbs free, he scuttled back, a slight pang reverberating through him when Iggie mumbled something unintelligible and shifted in a vain attempt to keep them pressed together.

Alistair found his underclothes in a pile nearby and hurriedly tugged them on, then eyed his gleaming armor. Though he longed for its comforting weight, there was no way he’d able to don it quietly, and he didn’t want to wake Iggie. Not until he had a chance to get his head on straight.

Perhaps some fresh air would help clear his mind, even if it came with an accompanying blizzard. He scooped up the pieces of his discarded armor and started to turn away, then hesitated before leaning over to check that Iggie remained nestled under a thick layer of blankets. The last thing he wanted was for the necromancer to catch a cold in his absence.

Merciful Light, I’m being ridiculous.

His thoughts still jumbled, he headed for the passage that snaked to the cavern’s entrance. Once he’d gone far enough that he shouldn’t have to worry about disturbing Iggie, he determinedly donned his armor. With his golden breastplate in place and his sword secured once more at his hip, he should look every bit the radiant paladin. It was time to resume his role as a Knight of the Order, and that meant dressing the part.

Ignoring the uncertain lump clogging his throat, he strode the rest of the way to the cave’s entrance, coming up short when he found Iggie’s undead clustered about it. This must have been where the necromancer had sent them last night to appease Alistair’s sensibilities.

A flush rose in his neck at the memory of what had happened next, and he forced the tantalizing images aside. There’d be time enough to reflect on what he and Iggie had shared later. For now, it was best not to dwell on what he couldn’t have. Shoving past the skeletons, he stepped out of the tunnel into the thick-packed snow and froze, shielding his eyes.

Lazy flurries of snow continued to fall, but the sun now peeked through the clouds overhead, illuminating the snowscape with dazzling brightness. The week-long blizzard had ended, which meant there was nothing to deter him now from returning to Singer’s Rest. He could finally resume his mission for the Order and save the village. He should be thrilled.

But then, why did the storm’s passing fill him with such melancholy?