Page 15 of Definitely Dead

And if an eternity of darkness was the price he had to pay to be with the Guardian, he would do so happily and without complaint.

In the three days since he had dropped into the village, Tyr hadn’t left his side. In fact, it had gotten to the point that even his semi-sentient apartment had decided the guy lived there now.

It had been little things at first, like extra space in the closet, beer in the fridge, and a second toothbrush on the bathroom vanity. Then the place itself had started to change. Everything from the cabinets to the chairs had been raised by at least three inches. The doorways had expanded, and splashes of cerulean had started creeping into the color palette.

Just that morning, he had awoken to find a heavy cedar chest beside the front door, the inside filled with swords, daggers, and other weapons he couldn’t name. He didn’t know why the shifter needed a whole arsenal at his disposal, but Tyr had seemed happy about it, so he hadn’t said anything.

“Hey,lelien, are you ready?”

He sighed through his nose, and his heart beat a little faster as a shivery feeling spread through him, just like it always did when Tyr called him by the endearment. The first time he had asked what it meant, his mate had deflected the question. Eventually, however, he had confessed that it came from an old magical dialect and loosely translated to “my soul.”

While he found the meaning beautiful and quite fitting given the circumstances, the word itself didn’t matter. He liked it because it made him feel special, because Tyr had chosen it for him and only him.

“I’m ready.”

Closing his book, he placed it on the window seat and stood, stretching his arms over his head to loosen the tight muscles in his back. It was little things like that—sore muscles, racing pulse, the occasional yawn—that still weirded him out. He had spent hours trying to identify something different about himself, but everything still functioned the way it always had. In short, he didn’t feel dead.

In fact, he had never felt more alive.

“Why are we going to the pier?” he asked as he pulled on a pair of fur-lined boots. Tyr kept assuring him he would get used to the cold, but so far, that hadn’t happened.

“It’s supply day.” Removing a black wool coat from a hook by the door, Tyr held it up for him to slip his arms into.

“Oh, cool. Who brings it?”

“Technically? No one. We don’t know where it comes from.” Tyr shrugged as he pulled the door open and ushered him across the threshold. “But every seven days, a new drop appears at the dock without fail.”

“Well, who places the order?” Surely that person had a contact or some idea where the materials came from.

His mate chuckled, the sound lighter and more natural than it had been when they’d first met. “There’s no order. No special requests. The shopkeepers just have to take what they can get.”

“Why?” Frankly, it sounded dumb. “My apartment supplies everything I want before I even know I want it.”

“I don’t know,lelien.”

Fair, but he must have a theory. “Best guess?”

“Do you have your key?”

Sunne patted his zippered coat pocket and nodded.

“My best guess is that souls aren’t meant to stay in the village,” Tyr answered as he pulled the door closed behind them. “It’s not supposed to be enjoyable.”

“Then they should probably rethink these units. They are ridiculously intuitive.”

“No, they’re not. Most of them aren’t like yours. For most of the souls here, these apartments are shelter and nothing more.”

Tyr had given him a lot of information, which elicited just as many emotions. Yet, his mind and instincts decided to latch onto just one of the ideas.

“Been in a lot of apartments, have you?”

“It’s not like that.” Laughing again, Tyr caught him by the wrist and whirled him around.

Sunne stared at the hollow between his collarbones, refusing to meet his gaze. Childish, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to care at the moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the fact that you apparently think I’m fucking half the building.” The hint of a growl threaded his words, adding emphasis without threat.

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