Page 14 of Ghosts of the Dead

I adjust him higher on my thigh so he’s more secure. My fingers slide into his thick black hair, which is somehow even darker than his pitch-black eyes, and I push damp strands from his face. It’s softer than I thought it would be. Softer than he appears. Without thinking, I trace the line of his jaw. There’s something magnetic about this man, even now when he’s unconscious and vulnerable. Something that makes my heart stutter in ways that have nothing to do with worry.

His eyes flutter open. They’re dark, glassy, and unfocused, but they land on me. Like he searched me out. He blinks as though he’s seeing a memory, not a person. Or maybe he’s trying to decide which I am. His gaze slips shut again and lashes brush his cheeks, but his hand moves.

His fingers are slow and shaky when they reach up and curl behind my neck. His palm is warm against my skin, and the touch sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.

I tense, but let him pull me closer.

“Mars,” I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper in an attempt to soothe him. “Hey, I’m right here. You’re okay. We’re safe now.”

His lips brush mine before I finish speaking. It’s a feather-light kiss full of warmth and heat and sleep andvulnerability. It’s not desperate, more like he’s dreaming this and isn’t ready to wake himself up.

“Purple,” he whispers against my lips.

For a second, I don’t move.

For a second, I let myself feel it. Let my lips move against his.

Only once, though.

His lips are warm, and his breath catches against mine. Something flutters in my chest. Something foolish and reckless that doesn’t belong in a world where the dead walk and my sister is still missing. But God, it feels good to be touched gently, to be wanted, even in his fevered delirium.

Then reality crashes back in.

I jerk away with a sharp gasp. His head drops onto the makeshift pillow, made of a bundle of old, dirty clothing we’d arranged for him earlier. I cringe at the impact. “Oh, shit. Sorry,” I say.

He doesn’t stir. He sinks deeper into sleep like nothing happened.

I sit frozen with my breath shallow and eyes locked on him. My fingers hover over my mouth where his kiss still lingers. Gentle. Soft. Everything I didn’t expect from someone so bold and confident when awake.

My stomach swoops, and I hate that it does. Now isn’t the time for this. Not when Summer is still out there, waiting for me to rescue her. Not when I need to keep my focus.

“Glad to know you’re not dead,” Jace says behind me. His voice is dry as the concrete floor we sit on. “But if she gave you a concussion, you probably deserve it.”

I whip around to see Jace standing a few feet away. One shoulder is propped against a cracked beam with his arms folded across his broad chest and sleeves pushed up over strong forearms with bulging veins. The firelight carves shadows into the lines of his face, but there’s no mistakingthe smug smirk playing on his lips. Even teasing me, he’s unfairly handsome.

“Shit. Do you really think I gave him a concussion?”

Jace’s expression shifts. His gaze moves from Mars to me, and that teasing edge softens. “No, I don’t. He’ll be fine. Pillow’s doing its job.”

A flush creeps up my neck that has nothing to do with the nearby fire. “It wasn’t…he didn’t…I mean, he didn’t know what he was doing. He was asleep.”

Jace lifts both hands, palms outward. “Hey,” he says. “Not judging. No explanation needed.”

He walks past us and drops into a crouch beside the fire, poking at the embers with a stick before feeding it to the flames. They crackle higher, and he flinches back before settling into a seated position an extra foot away from the heat.

The firelight flickers along his jawline, illuminating the stubble there, the slope of his nose, the furrow that forms when he’s focused. I swear his smirk deepens when he adds, “That’ll be fun to sort out when he wakes up, though. Well, if he remembers.”

I plant both palms on my thighs and let out a slow exhale. My heart still pounds. Heat travels down my spine, nerves sparking like I’ve been thrown into the fire. I glance down at Mars. He’s breathing easier now. His hand curls against his chest, and there’s something almost peaceful about him that calms my racing pulse.

But it’s more than that. It’s the way Jace watches over us all with those intense dark eyes. The way Mars risked himself to save me, more than once. The way even broken Caspian tried to protect us in that alley. All things no one else has ever bothered to do for me. These men are dangerous in more ways than one. Dangerous to rotters. Dangerous to anyone who threatens what they care about. And dangerous to my carefully guarded heart.

For the first time, I wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

7

JACE

The fire still burns strong behind me, but I can’t look at it anymore. Too much heat. Too many memories coiled in the flames, whispering things I don’t want to remember. I need to move, to busy my hands with something else. Something that could help us rather than destroy.

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