Page 13 of Unholy

When the bottle was empty, he abandoned it, flinging a hand out to grab onto the nearest headstone.

“Oh God, oh God,” he said mindlessly. He couldn’t get free, and those mouths were just shy of his boots. Was this going to be how he died? Eaten in a cemetery on a regular patrol? Would there even be anything left of him? Would anyone at the guild know what happened to him?

He thought of his squad. Would he see them on the other side after the pain was gone? He hoped they weren’t angry with him for surviving when they had all perished. He’d tried so hard to save them, but he wasn’t fast enough. Strong enough.

A dark figure swooped toward him, forcibly jerking the sword from his grip. He gasped, certain he was dead without it, but then the figure turned toward the monster, slamming the sword right into the middle of its many twisted faces. The hands all released him at once, the twisted body jerking and rolling. Just as quickly, the black-clad figure returned to him, grabbing him under the arms and hauling him a safe distance away.

They fell backward together, and it took Luke a few moments to realize the legs framing his own were clad in black skinny jeans with a rip over one knee.

“Mal—Malachi,” he breathed, knowing with absolute certainty despite not seeing his face yet.

“Yeah,” the halfling said in his ear, panting. “I’ve got you.” Arms came around him, and Luke closed his eyes, sagging against Malachi’s sturdy warmth. His body shook—with adrenaline or shock or some combination of the two, he couldn’t say. Maybe it made him weak, but he’d thought for sure he was a goner. So he just held onto Malachi and waited for his breaths to return to normal.

Eventually, he said, “I t… I told you I didn’t need your help.” He swallowed hard, embarrassed that his voice had given out.

Malachi huffed out a laugh, his breath puffing against the curve of Luke’s neck. “And I toldyouthat when that stopped being true, I wouldn’t be far.”

Something fragile cracked in Luke’s chest, but he wasn’t ready to inspect it yet. “Have you been watching me all this time?”

“Every night. The crex demons. The dezrath pair you found. I watched, and you didn’t need me, so I stayed away. But you needed me this time.” His voice was soft, lips brushing the shell of Luke’s ear.

Luke squeezed his eyes closed, his breath shuddering out of him. One of Malachi’s hands was moving, pressing his knuckles into Luke’s palm, fitting their fingers together. He was wearing rings, and Luke told himself he didn’t wonder what they looked like. They clacked against his guild ring. He should pull away and stop thinking about how well theirhands fit together. Get up and tell Malachi thanks but he could take it from here.

The rain peppered their heads. It would be coming down in sheets soon, but neither of them made any move to extricate themselves. He felt safe here in the cradle of Malachi’s legs. When was the last time he’d felt truly safe?

“I won’t let any harm come to you, my human,” Malachi crooned softly. His lips brushed the hinge of Luke’s jaw, just shy of a kiss. “The only place I cannot protect you is your guild.”

Because it was the one place he couldn’t follow. Because he was a demon. “I have to get up,” he said, as much to himself as Malachi. “We can’t do this. I have to get up.”

“We can do whatever we want, sweetheart,” Malachi whispered.

No, that wasn’t true. The guild would banish him for even sitting here with Malachi like this. They wouldn’t care that he’d just saved Luke from a very painful death. All they would see was a traitor cavorting with a demon.

Reluctantly, he pried himself away from Malachi’s body, though it felt like he left some skin behind, leaving him raw in a way he’d never experienced. Hands on his back helped him find his balance, and when he turned around, there was no judgment or disappointment in Malachi’s eyes.

“It’s raining,” Malachi said. “You should call it a night. Maybe get something to eat. There’s a twenty-four-hour diner just up the road from here. I hear they have good cheeseburgers.”

“Right.” When was the last time he’d eaten more than power bars and protein shakes? He’d been pushing himself so hard to forget Malachi that he’d been neglecting everything else.

Turning toward the hole in the ground, he inched closer. There was nothing left of the monster now, only upturned earth and the scratches that throbbed on Luke’s legs to remind him of his close call. He hoped they wouldn’t scar. He had enough scars. When he quietly retrieved his sword, he paused to stare down at the empty hole. That would’ve been his shallow grave if Malachi hadn’t been there, and his stomach twisted with nausea at the thought.

When he turned away, Malachi fell into step with him. At Luke’s questioning look, he said, “I can walk with you, or I can follow where you can’t see. And I think you could use the company right now. You look a little off.”

Luke swallowed hard. He hadn’t had a trulyclose calllike that since he’d received the scars on his face. Some nerve damage and a dead squad later, he had a PTSD diagnosis from Doctor Maxwell and a prescription for antidepressants he stubbornly refused to take. The rest of his squad was dead. Taking medication to make their loss feel less painful seemed… disrespectful somehow. His refusal had been part of the reason Maxwell wanted to have regularly scheduled therapy sessions with him, so he could monitor his condition.

A hand closed around the back of his neck, drawing him from his thoughts.

“It’s rude to wander off,” Malachi said.

“What? I didn’t…” He glanced around. They were still walking in a straight line toward the cemetery parking lot. He hadn’t wandered anywhere.

Malachi tapped Luke’s temple. “You wandered up here.”

“How do you—” He cut himself off, certain he didn’t want to know.

“How do I what?”

Luke scowled. “How do you read me so well? Is it a demon thing?”

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