Page 76 of Darkness

Beside Farren, Morrisey groaned. “I know him. He was a rookie cop.”

“Come with me.” Farren pulled Morrisey with him. Time to get away from here.

Morrisey jogged to keep up, an unusual turn of events given his longer legs. “We lost several law enforcement officers right before I joined the task force. My captain suggested the killer might be looking for someone in particular. Someone who looks like you. This latest vic fits the profile.”

Farren stopped, whipping around to meet Morrisey’s eyes. Morrisey continued, “Someone must think you can stop them, so they’re after you. The asshole got a good look at me at the last scene. My time in Atlanta PD is public record. Easy to trace me. He might be sending us both a message.”

“I’ve never let anyone intimidate me. What about you?” Hopefully, Morrisey felt the same.

Morrisey lifted his chin to a stubborn angle. “This motherfucker declared war. He’s started this shitstorm, and by God, I plan to finish it. Demons are the reason I lost my last partner. I won’t lose you too. And for the record, I don’t consider you a demon. I’ve decided to call these demons because of what they do, not because they come from your former world, Doormouse.”

“Domus,” Farren corrected. Former world. How thoughtful of Morrisey to make that clear.

“I think I’m in over my head,” Morrisey groused. "I'm not sure what's happening. Too much new. I can’t stop thinking about you, what I saw when you entered my mind.”

“Saw? You shouldn’t have seen anything but your own thoughts.” What the hell had Farren let Morrisey see?

“I feel you. You appear in my dreams, and I don't know what it means. I have to push it away, concentrate on our cases. You’re too distracting.”

There it was. The bond didn’t intend to listen to petty human minds. It knew what it wanted. Fighting wouldn’t help. Farren glanced right and left, ensuring no one watched, then did something he’d been longing to do since looking into Morrisey’s mind, feeling his isolation and wanting to make him feel less alone.

Farren took Morrisey into his arms, the way humans sought comfort from each other.

Like the day they first shook hands, electricity tingled between them, a feeling Farren hadn’t experienced in years and should only with his own kind. Yet, Morrisey, for all his prickles, felt warm and solid against Farren’s chest, the scent of tobacco and booze on Morrisey’s breath a familiar mix, driving away the stench of the alley.

How long since anyone held Farren? Just like emotions or food, he needed contact and just now realized he’d been starved for it.

Morrisey lifted his head from Farren’s shoulder, staring down with intense, burning eyes. “There’s no stopping it, is there?”

“I’m afraid not.”

An unspoken agreement passed between them, and then they pressed their lips together. The kiss wasn’t passionate but tasted of desperation and loneliness and taking a moment to seek comfort in another.

Like the day in the infirmary, something reached out from them both, intertwining in a way that scared and thrilled Farren in equal measure.

As Magestra, Farren was duty bound to surrender his life for others and had taken similar vows many times. Nobody had ever made him the same promise.

Yet Morrisey did, the promise clear in his suddenly possessive kiss. This prickly, alcohol and nicotine-addicted man who doubted his own worth promised to guard Farren. The speaker may or may not have actually spoken the words, but anyone with even a kernel of insight could discern the message.

Even Kele would never have imagined saying those words.

All too soon, the kiss ended, and with it the wonderful connected feeling.

Morrisey straightened. “Thank you. I think I'll be fine now."

He strode back toward the carnage, leaving Farren to caress his lips, wonder what just happened, and feel like he might’ve died without that kiss.

He pressed himself close to the wall, catching his breath and willing his spinning thoughts to calm. He sent out his senses, searching, searching. No portal. The perpetrators either came from a distant portal or had been here a while.

They were still no closer to finding answers. Especially when a killer could be anyone.

When Farren came back to the dumpster, Morrisey stood in triumph, holding aloft what appeared to be an ordinary butcher’s knife.

Chapter Twenty-five

Morrisey had needed that hug so badly. Will dead. A rookie dead. If Morrisey believed in such things, he’d think death stalked the halls of the precinct, waiting for victims. He bolted from the car the moment he and Farren arrived at the facility, lighting a cigarette. In a daze, he trudged toward his RAV4, trailing smoke in his wake. Footsteps sounded behind him.

Apparently, Farren wanted to tag along. That might be a good thing.

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