The Necromancer's Reckoning (The Beacon Hill Sorcerer Book 3) Read online

  Maybe—but “maybes” were never enough.

  Angel’s own experience and knowledge beat down his pain, and he could see clearer than Isaac.

  The Salvatore Massacre may have been hastened by Isaac’s childish tampering of the wards, but Isaac did not kill their family. Their deaths were not on his hands. The wards were antiquated, and though routinely tended, they were not maintained often enough, nor improved upon. The wards were laid down centuries before by their forefather when he built the Mansion, and his family had the bad habit of thinking everything done by the illustrious founder of the American branch of Salvatores was perfect. In short, the wards were old, and they collapsed under the magical weight of over a hundred, frenzied vampires, many of whom were exceptionally powerful—and rendered mindless by the coercion spell, which meant they flung themselves at the wards repeatedly, heedless of the damage and injuries to themselves. The entire Bloodclan, but for one, had descended upon the Mansion, from city master to fledgling. The vampire army sent for their family broke through the wards and swarmed the house, all in a matter of minutes.

  It would have happened. It was inevitable. And Isaac having spent the last ten years trapped in a cycle of guilt and pain broke Angel's heart. He raised Isaac—how could he not see the injuries guilt and grief branded into Isaac’s very soul? He knew even his own guilt was pointless, but he carried it nonetheless.

  Simeon carried an unconscious Isaac up the rear stairs of their apartment building, Isaac big enough that it was a tight fit going around the landings at each floor. Angel wearily plodded up the stairs behind them, thinking hard about what he should do. He knew what he wanted to do—lock Isaac away and force him to see a therapist, but that wasn’t logical and would only make things worse.

  Angel raised Isaac after their family’s death, and aside from the late Greg Doyle’s wretched influence, Angel never really needed to be the disciplinarian in their relationship. Isaac went to public school with non-magical human children, did his homework, sullenly but dutifully took lessons from Angel in sorcery, and in general, didn’t act up…except for drinking binges.

  Isaac, from about the age of sixteen on, would get horribly drunk about every three to five months, catching up on months’ worth of drinking in one night. Isaac rarely drank casually. Angel only ever saw him drunk when he was fishing Isaac out of a bar somewhere. After the first few times of unsuccessfully trying to keep Isaac from his boyfriend Greg—who always supplied the alcohol and led them into mischief—Angel resorted to magically tracking Isaac. That didn’t last long either. Isaac may not actively use his gifts to the degree Angel did, but he was still a capable and knowledgeable sorcerer, and the spells and charms Angel put on his little brother rarely lasted. Of course, once Isaac turned eighteen, Angel stopped trying to track Isaac’s every move.

  Angel refused to let Greg Doyle in his apartment after he caught the man stealing some family antiques, and it took Isaac screaming at him for Angel to back down from eviscerating the loser on the spot after the night he was forced to bail them both out of jail for public intoxication. Greg Doyle was a thief, a drunkard, a belligerent asshole, and the worst thing to happen to Isaac, but the man had loved his little brother. At least, Angel hoped he had, for Isaac’s sake. Angel feared Doyle loved Isaac as much for himself as he did the depths of the Salvatore trust funds. He knew better than to say it to Isaac though—he learned early on trying to force Isaac and Greg Doyle apart was asking for more rebellion.

  Sorry the man was dead, but glad he was gone from Isaac’s life, Angel opened the door to his apartment and held it wide, letting Simeon enter with his snoring bundle.

  “Is he okay,” a tentative voice asked.

  The young blond man anxiously hovering in the archway to the kitchen stirred Angel’s protective instincts. He held back the urge to offer some comfort and told the truth. “Isaac’s drunker than shit and passed out on the way home. Dive bar, full of humans eager for Simeon to beat them up.”

  Daniel bit his lush lower lip, dark eyes sparkling with concern as he watched Simeon carry Isaac into the hall bathroom. “Should I help?”

  Angel shrugged, leaving it up to Daniel. He tapped the wall, the wards revving all the way up, as he had no intention of leaving again until it was time for work. “Simeon can handle Isaac. You and Isaac are about the same size and manhandling a drunk, cranky sorcerer is hard enough. Besides, Simeon has no problem with taking a cold shower.”

  A sharp yelp and a slew of expletives came down the hall from the bathroom, Isaac obviously awake, the shower running. Isaac shouted at Simeon, who responded with a low grumble that brook no argument. Angel slowly made his way into the kitchen, slumping onto a stool at the island in the center of the room. He leaned over, stretching out his back and dropping his head on his forearms.

  A gentle hand landed in his hair, the longer locks parting as Daniel offered him quiet support and comfort. The boy—the young man—was far gentler than either Salvatore brother or Simeon, and Angel would not take such casual touching from just anyone. His apprentice wasn’t just anyone though. Daniel managed to calm Angel simply by his presence, much like Simeon could. Where Simeon let Angel relax because his mate could take his burdens on his wide shoulders, Daniel reminded Angel that not everything was a burden—some things could be joyous. Daniel was shy and sweet, a gentle soul.

  “It’s worse this time, isn’t it?” Daniel’s words were soft, and Angel gave a short nod with his face still buried in his arms. “What will you do?”

  “I don’t know if there is anything I can do.” A sharp, short tug to his hair made him swear, before the tender carding resumed.

  “You never give up, Angel. Don’t start now.”

  Angel lifted his head and gave his apprentice a wry smile before groaning and sitting upright on the stool. “There’s a place I want to send him.”

  “Rehab?” Daniel wasn’t slow or stupid—he knew Angel well enough now to guess. Angel nodded, and Daniel left his hair alone and went around the island, sitting on the stool opposite.

  “It’s a specialized rehab and recovery center for practitioners. They specialize in hardcore addictions, like fairy dust or blood magic.” Daniel blanched, and Angel huffed out a short chuckle. “Somehow, alcohol abuse and binge drinking qualify under conditions they treat, along with the more mortal addictions like advanced alcoholism and heroin addiction, things like that.”

  “What is this place? I didn’t know it was possible to treat things like blood magic addiction.”

  Angel dug for a red apple from the glass bowl in the center of the island, taking a bite before he answered. “Actually, saving a human practitioner from blood magic addiction has a small success rate—less than ten percent—but this place has the highest success rate of all the clinics I researched. Their recovery rate averages around twenty percent. Local, too. Nevermore Clinic and Rehabilitation Center.”

  Daniel blinked at him, surprised. “Twenty percent recovery rate? That’s better than the zero I always assumed. If they can treat blood magic addiction, Isaac’s drinking shouldn’t be an issue for them.”

  A shout and a solid thump interrupted them then the bathroom door opened with a bang against the wall. Angel sighed and rubbed his forehead as he listened to Isaac storm out of the bathroom and down the hall. A bedroom door slammed shut, and silence descended over the apartment. Daniel gave him a weak smile and shrug, fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Get some rest, kiddo. Goodnight,” Angel reached across the island and squeezed Daniel’s hands in thanks then dragged his weary self from the stool. He took a one more bite from his apple and tossed the core into the trash as he left the kitchen.

  “Goodnight, Angel.” Daniel’s parting following him into the junction where hallway met living room.

  The hallway bathroom was empty, the light out. Angel leaned a bit and could see there was no light coming from under Isaac’s door. Maybe his little brother would go to sleep and wake up sober.

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nbsp; Angel made for his bedroom, sneaking through his own door before shutting and locking it behind him. The shower was running in the en suite bathroom, and Angel stripped as he headed that way. Placing his bespelled sweater on top of the armoire, the rest of his clothes ended up littering the floor and his athame on a chair beside the bathroom door. He was naked by the time he opened the shower stall and joined Simeon under the hot spray.

  Simeon’s auburn hair was darkened by the water, the longish strands brushed back by fingers to curl down his neck, obscuring the dark blue-green lines of the tattoos branching upwards in random patterns from his collarbone and shoulder blades. Angel pressed himself to Simeon’s front, water crashing down over his head, and he closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his full weight on Simeon’s warmed chest. He blinked them open, giving Simeon a small smile and a tiny kiss to the underside of his chin.

  Simeon absorbed and reflected heat, like animated metal, and the chill to be found in the surrounding tiles was banished by his lover’s inherent magic. Angel licked a thick, pink scar that ran in a jagged line through one of the ancient designs above Simeon’s heart, the healed wound older than the city in which they lived. Simeon was perfectly frozen at the peak of his mortal life, the tattoos and scars the remnants of his brutal and violent human past. They were layered over smooth, pale skin and chiseled muscles that drew the eye and sped the heart.

  Hands cupped Angel’s hips, pulling him closer. A hard, thick cock pressed against Angel’s abs, and Angel hummed in appreciation as he nipped and nibbled his way down Simeon’s chest. A quiet murmur in Irish Gaelic was barely audible over the rushing of the shower, but the lust turning Simeon’s emerald eyes to fiery gems told Angel his ministrations were welcome.

  Angel knelt on the tiles, water eddying around his knees. He blinked away water until Simeon moved himself to block most of the spray. Leaning forward, he licked the broad head of Simeon’s hard cock. The thick length rose from a neatly trimmed thatch of dark red curls; the skin flushed a deep pink, and the foreskin pulled back from the head. A clear drop of precum beaded on the slit, and Angel licked it away, humming in delight at the salty taste. Simeon hissed, and Angel welcomed the hands carding through his hair, urging him forward. He slowly, and with great care, swallowed down his lover’s thick cock until he had the whole of it buried in his mouth and encroaching down his throat.

  Simeon swore softly, his fingers tightening in Angel’s hair. Angel hummed, making Simeon growl, the sound blending with the cascading water. He tried pulling back, but Simeon held him frozen, unable to breathe, his eyes watering. Angel waited, lungs complaining until Simeon released him. Angel paid him back, sliding the thick cock in and out of his mouth in long, deep motions, working his tongue along the underside. Simeon filled his mouth with thick, salty precum, and Angel worked the slit, wanting more. He wrapped his hand around Simeon’s full, heavy balls and slid a lone finger behind them, pushing up, massaging the sensitive flesh as he continued to suck and lick, alternating deep-throating and humming on the hard cock filling his mouth.

  It didn’t take long before Simeon was hissing through clenched fangs and clawed fingers scored the tiled walls, Angel more than satisfied at making Simeon lose his cool. Angel worked his own dick as he swallowed down Simeon’s release, and he soon joined his lover in post-orgasmic bliss, panting loudly as he leaned on a solidly muscled thigh. Their joined release washed away in the cooling spray.

  Angel tilted his head back and gave Simeon a wavering smile, breathing hard. Simeon ran his fingers over Angel’s lips, the touch delicate and somehow conveying how thankful he was, his pale skin flushed with pink, fangs glinting in the overhead shower light.

  “Adhair mé tú,” Simeon whispered.

  I adore you.

  2

  Can I Dragon Today?

  Angel rubbed a towel over his familiar, the emerald scales shining and polished. “I bought that oh-so-expensive salon shampoo as a birthday present for Simeon, and you go ahead and use the whole bottle in a bubble bath. In the bathroom sink, no less. You smell like pine trees and peppermint candy.”

  Eroch rolled on his back, long tail curling around Angel’s forearm as he rubbed the little dragon’s belly. The size of a small house cat, Eroch was both adorable and annoying. And dangerous, though the wee beastie was doing his best to be cute and harmless as he slow-blinked dandelion yellow eyes and rumbled in a chirring purr that would shame real cats. Angel chuckled, tickling the lighter green of the scales along Eroch’s belly, making sure to get every bit of water, as Eroch had a bad habit of shaking the excess in all directions.

  Morning light filled the room, the day breaking warmer than the one before. Sunlight danced over his bed, the bedding in disarray and half on the floor. The shower still ran, Simeon rinsing off the excess soap an excited Eroch decided to drip all over the vampire after his own morning bath. They might have showered the night before, but after hours of sweating and coming, they both needed to clean up.

  Angel grinned and wrangled Eroch back onto his feet so he could run the towel over the wee beastie’s leathery wings. Eroch chirped and held them out, fully stretched, one at a time, catching the light and reflecting like gemstones. The little beast held a special place in Angel’s heart, and it was times like this he realized how surreal his life was—far as he knew, Eroch was the only dragon left in this universe. Eroch had been summoned from a different dimension, and when Angel freed him from the geas that bound him as a demonic slave, Eroch chose to remain instead of returning to his home dimension.

  Angel tossed the damp towel at the hamper and scratched the top of Eroch’s head, the dragon pushing up into his hand. Eyes closed, miniscule bursts of smoke escaping as he made an endearing combination of a chirp and purr, Eroch soaked up the loving. “Do you miss home, wee beastie? You’ve been here a long while now.”

  Eroch opened one brilliant yellow eye, tilting his head back as if to get a better view of Angel’s face. Angel stilled his scratching, and Eroch butted his hand, making him continue. “Is that a yes or no?”

  Eroch sighed, as only a dragon could, exasperation expressing as smoke. Angel chuckled and pushed himself to his feet from where he had been kneeling beside the bed. Eroch leapt, not even needing to flap his wings before he landed on Angel’s shoulder. Angel’s chuckle turned to a laugh, and he let his familiar settle himself in his customary position about Angel’s neck, for all the world looking like an ancient wizard’s oversized torc.

  “I guess that’s a no. Or maybe you’re home already?” Angel mused as he left his bedroom and headed for the kitchen. Eroch vibrated around his neck, tail tickling under his chin. Angel was glad someone in this apartment was happy with how things were going.

  “Danny, man, do you have to be so loud?” Isaac grumbled, head in his hands and an untouched steaming cup of tea sitting in front of him on the kitchen island. Daniel fussed at the stove, scrambling eggs while bacon sizzled. Daniel gave Angel a wary glance when he entered, grabbing plates from the cupboard and setting the island up for breakfast. Isaac groaned but held his tongue when he saw Angel was in the room.

  “I’d ask how your head was, but I can see you’re in marvelous form,” Angel declared, nudging Isaac’s stool over so he could have room. The screech of the wooden legs across the floor made Isaac moan louder and turn a novel shade of green. “If you’re gonna puke, hold it until you get to the bathroom.”

  “Gross,” Daniel whispered, looking green himself as Isaac shot up from his seat and staggered for the bathroom. The door shut, and the muted sounds of retching made it past Daniel’s groans of dismay. His apprentice was a sympathetic puker.

  Angel sat, gleefully rubbing his hands together as Daniel piled his plate high with cheesy scrambled eggs and slices of bacon. Eroch slipped from around his neck and sat primly beside Angel’s plate, expectantly eyeing the bacon. “That’s my bacon, mister mooch. Get your own.”

  Eroch sniffed at him, dandelion-yellow eyes wide and suddenly sad, and
Daniel giggled. Angel maintained his glare, trying not to break. “No, not falling for it. Go eat some pigeons.”

  There was more sad sniffing. A tiny head tilt then a pathetic, patented wee beastie whimper came forth, and Angel caved. “Fine! By Hecate, you’re spoiled rotten.” Angel grabbed a whole slice of bacon goodness and handed it to Eroch, who promptly went from pathetic to smug. “Damn beastie.”

  Angel dug into his eggs, ignoring Daniel’s laughter from across the island. Daniel turned off the stove, setting a plate with about half the food on it at Isaac’s seat before sitting himself and eating.

  “What set him off?” Angel asked Daniel, eyes on Eroch as he ate the bacon with contented chirps. “I got the call from him while we were at the Tower.”

  Daniel stirred his tea, biting his lip and looking anywhere but at Angel. He ate, willing to wait. Daniel responded best to patience.

  “I asked Isaac what was wrong,” Daniel replied, one eye on the entrance to the kitchen. He spoke quietly, perhaps wary of Isaac’s temper. “It’s been a while now since the serial killings with the fae and then the weird case with the graverobbers and the zombies. Isaac has been acting chaotic since then, and I just couldn’t take anymore of seeing him act…so…so wounded.”

  “Did he tell you?” Angel crunched on his last piece of bacon, the apartment quiet. Angel couldn’t hear anything, but it didn’t mean Isaac wasn’t listening, or Simeon wasn’t nearby. The only soundproofing spells were on the bedrooms.

  Daniel nodded, his beautiful dark eyes full of worry. “I feel so bad.”

  “For Isaac? He carries the guilt on his own. More than he deserves. I carry guilt too, but he feels it more keenly.”