Death enraptured necroma.., p.1
Death Enraptured (Necromancer Rising Book 2), page 1
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Also by Richard Amos
About the Author
Copyright © 2023 Richard Amos
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Cover by Vanesa Garkova
Chapter 1
A rogue necromancer killed my kissing time.
Wanker.
I broke away from Death, tears still leaking down my cheeks as the man came running toward us.
Death emitted a growl beside me.
I aimed my gun at the rogue’s head. “Freeze!”
The man froze, pointing a gun of his own right back at me. “Aw, this is no fun. Let’s reset, turn, and draw. See who gets who first.” He giggled manically, waving the gun around.
Having a license to kill rogues, and a clean shot, I put a bullet between his eyes. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, his ghost climbing out of the corpse.
The translucent-ish man looked down at his dead self, no hint of a giggle now. “That’s not fair.”
Rogues were broken necromancers. Because of Death not actually performing his duties for the past twenty years, necrotic magic kept changing, increasing in power. The minds and bodies of a necro aren’t really built for it, so we have to take Necrotic Neurological Assistance Formula, commonly known as Necro Juice, a concoction of liquidized Chaga mushrooms and powdered Hematite. A substance to be injected directly into a vein every seventy-two hours, sometimes more frequently than that, to keep a necromancer nice and stable. But for some, Necro Juice wasn’t enough. The necrotic magic was just too much. When the nasty liquid mushrooms failed to protect a necro, it resulted in a complete breakdown of the mind with often violent and difficult consequences.
“Not fucking fair!” the rogue ghost screamed.
Green energy lit up my fingertips. I grabbed him with the binding thread of my power. Three green rings pulsed up and down his ghostly body, his head tilted back, commanded to keep his mouth shut.
“I need a second necro to release him,” I said to Death, my hands shaking a tad.
“Call someone,” he said.
He could easily send the ghost to Sanctuary, but that would only result in questions and lies, more of me spinning bullshit to my teammates. I was already keeping Death a secret from everyone.
I pulled out my oval-shaped e-scroll, still shaking.
So much to deal with—the whole revelation of Death and me, and the appearance of my two new threads of power, bringing my five skills up to seven. The power to summon up a graveyard and the power of resurgence. Those two threads sat within me as strange aliens making my head spin. I had to take my Necro Juice once a day now, on my boss Emma’s orders. The High Necromance of Westminster was now filling the empty role here in Oakthorne, seeing as Nicholas West was a lich and complete piece of shit.
“It’s okay,” Death whispered to me, his voice a soothing balm that didn’t quite reach my soul.
I dialed a necro-on-call.
Peter picked up on the second ring. “Is everything okay?”
“I need some help with a sending.” I explained the details.
“Bloody hell. We’re heading over right now. See you soon.”
“Thanks.”
“All good?” Death asked as I hung up.
I pocketed my e-scroll. “Yep. I… What are you doing now?” My heart ached simply looking at him.
Tears wanted to break free again.
“I’ll wait here,” he replied.
“What? Why?”
“Because we’re not done.”
“But…”
“But what?”
“What if someone sees you?”
Up went an eyebrow. “They can’t, remember?”
He could do that, keep himself hidden. This rogue didn’t know he was here, which also meant it sounded like I was talking to myself.
Great.
Death smiled, reaching for me, then pulled his hand back.
Your touch…
How I want your touch every second of the day…
I released an almighty sigh, closing my eyes against the night’s bitter wind. Drifting into memories of cities burning, me dying again and again, the rest of the world paying the price of our love.
Damn. Just damn. What was I supposed to do with it?
Death…
Me…
Love…
A love through the ages…
“No!” a man cried. “Not my bro!”
My eyes shot open, my gun ready for action at the sound.
Another rogue charged from the shadows, brandishing a gun. He fired the weapon several times into the air, then aimed it at me. I hit the ground, bullets striking the concrete inches from my head.
Shit!
I jumped to my feet.
“Are you shot?” my lover asked.
“No. I’m…”
Death pulled his scythe from nowhere, the curved blade white with a hint of green, its handle comprised of what looked like white woven leather. His eyes were twin fires of gold as he darted forward, swinging the scythe with some seriously sexy grace.
“…fine,” I muttered.
The scythe took the rogue’s head off, his body engulfed by an inferno of green and white magic. Sparks like a dozen Catherine Wheels going off at once spat into the air, then the body was gone, no ghost left behind.
My heart leaped into my mouth. “What—”
Death ran at me so fast I barely had time to blink or breathe. A finger pressed to my lips, his face moving closer to mine.
“Don’t say a word, Marcel. Our ghostly friend over there saw and heard nothing.”
I glanced at the rogue locked in the green rings, my power still holding despite the drama.
“He’s at Sanctuary,” Death added.
Oh, good. A nice, unexplained surprise for them. We necros were supposed to do that, not him.
“And the body?” I whispered.
“Gone.”
A ghost mysteriously turning up at Sanctuary with no body. And I had to act as shocked as everyone else.
Great.
In all our years together, I’d never seen him use his scythe or move a ghost on—when he used to give the dead the afterlife. Even when he was with me, he was everywhere else. Across the world, doing his job, kissing me at the same time.
I never really understood that, and I guess I wasn’t really meant to do anything but accept the global presence of his power.
The rogue trapped in the rings would’ve heard the gunshot, the call from his bro—be that an actual brother or a friend. Being bound didn’t muffle his hearing.
“Everything will be okay,” Death said, his breath wafting over my lips, his sandalwood scent arousing every nerve ending.
Kiss me…
I shook my rising horniness off, pushing everything down as deep as it would go. I was a professional necromancer with a rogue ghost bound and in need of sending. No room for anything else right now.
A car roared nearby. Moments later, it hurtled up the one-way road leading out of the carpark of my building. The car came to a stop, Peter and Trish jumping out.
Necros had to work in pairs when on duty, a rule to be obeyed at all times.
Trish came to join me, Death backing off to watch from a distance.
“Okay?” she asked, offering me a friendly smile.
When I first met my teammates, they never offered me anything but a negative attitude. But times had changed, and now Trish’s light brown complexion shone with a warmth I needed to see.
I nodded. “I’m okay.”
“These rogues are such a headache,” she complained. “Ready?”
Together, we said the words to send the ghost on.
“This spirit we hold must be released,
The rogue ghost vanished.
“All good?” Peter asked, patting me on the back.
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Thanks.”
His fair face turned an angry red. “Getting dangerous with these poxy rogues. What the friggin’ hell is wrong with this town?”
“It’s crazy,” I replied, my mouth becoming sandpaper.
“Want us to take you somewhere?” Peter asked.
“I’ll be fine inside,” I replied. “I should go to bed, really. Just came out for some fresh air.”
“It’s even dangerous to do that nowadays,” Trish said.
“I’ll say,” Peter agreed.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Trish checked with a bucketload of concern in her voice.
I nodded, smiled. “All good.”
“We’ll see you inside, mate,” Peter said.
Mate? We’d moved on from him despising me to mate? After Charlotte and Mario were killed by Nick, I thought the hate for me would intensify. I was wrong. These two now had my back.
I felt so bad for Charlotte and Mario, caught in a nasty crossfire. They still patrolled, despite having zero necro power now, the only ghosts allowed on the streets at night under the curfew. At least for now.
I led them into my building.
Should I still knit them something like I’d planned to do in order to win them over? Maybe there wasn’t any point now.
Peter patted me on the back again outside my door. “Checking you’re good one more time.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“If anything else happens, call us straight away.”
“I will. Thank you.”
They left, and my shoulders sagged with relief as I closed the door.
God, I was tired but hours away from sleep.
A knock on my door. I spun, pressing my eye to the peephole.
“Oh.” I opened the door for Death, though he didn’t really need me to. So polite.
“Did you forget me, Marcel?”
“Sorry about that.”
“Not a problem.” He strode past me, giving me another dose of his incredible scent.
I closed the door, resting my forehead against it for a second. “Damn.”
“Do you want some tea?” he asked.
I pushed off the door, turning to face him. “Tea won’t cut it. Let’s crack into the wine.”
His grin always melted my heart. “I’m glad you said it first.”
“I just need…” My body was still covered in the traces of him from our sexy time before the ruby fell.
It glinted against his chest, the red nestled against his bronze skin in that open V of his shirt, hanging on a gold chain.
“What do you need?” he asked, giving his words naughty connotations without even trying.
I rubbed at my throat, heat flushing in every corner of my body. “I need a shower.”
An Arctic one…
“I’ll wait.”
Come with me… “Okay. I won’t be long.”
We held a stare a little too long, my feet twitching to spring me forward into arms.
I went to the bathroom alone.
Not wanting to freeze my bollocks off, I cleaned the night off me under a hot spray. Drifting through memories of my past lives again, the terrible destruction, the anguish and the heartbreak.
Once again, I broke down, my tears joining the hot water running down my face.
Chapter 2
Done with sobbing in the shower, I hurried into my bedroom and threw on a pair of gray sweatpants and a baby blue jumper knitted by me. Faced myself in the mirror, combing back my damp silver hair.
There. Comfy mode activated.
I felt anything but comfortable.
With a deep breath, I joined Death in my little kitchen.
“Thirsty?” he asked.
“Absolutely.” Why did I sound so damn husky?
He smiled, corkscrew ready.
Thank God for red wine.
Death popped the cork of a bottle of merlot and got to pouring, watching me with his magnificent molten gold eyes. They were smoldering, disarming weapons against my reason. One look enough to get me naked.
“Is that one of your creations?” he asked. “The jumper, I mean.”
I tugged at it gently. “Yes. You like it?”
“You’re a talented knitter, Marcel.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you okay?”
Nope. “I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
I was shaking. Still. Doomed love revelations would do that.
All of those past lives I’d lived, finding Death in each one with a terrible ending, they stung like a scorpion with a serious anger problem. Our love was forbidden, and I never knew why. But I did know we had to break the cycle this time, stop before we took the town of Oakthorne down because of our hearts.
God, I loved him so much. More than George—my ex-fiancé who’d dumped me for another guy. He paled in comparison to Death. Big time.
Everyone did.
I sighed, running my hand through my hair, watching the rich burgundy liquid fill the wine glasses.
“Even this is wrong,” I said.
“Wine?” He sniffed the top of the bottle. “This is a good merlot. I bought this.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at him. “You’re a plum.”
He offered me a glass. “If you say so, Marcel.” His deep voice dripped with honey-dipped sex. “I consider myself more of a cherry.”
“Cherry?”
“I prefer them to plums.”
I shook my head, taking the glass. “Thanks.”
We shared a love of red wine—a new addition for this cycle, along with my penchant for knitting.
Cycle! For God’s sake! My life wasn’t a cycle, some trivial thing. It was full of things that made me Marcel, like my family back in London, my ambitions, everything. But now it felt so confusing.
“I know what you meant,” Death said. “About the wrongness. Even me being here in your kitchen is dangerous. But the ruby makes it different this time. It really does.”
“How? Where did you get it from?” I eyed the red stone warily.
“My contact. A mage.”
“The one you mentioned before? The one helping us with the Death Sheen?”
“Yes.”
Within a cave system on the outskirts of town, the deepest one known as Marigold, was a pond covered in Death Sheen—a deadly substance made by the lich to protect his phylactery. One drop of the stuff would cook anyone alive, no antidote to stop it. We were all trying to get it cleared without much progress.
Destroy the phylactery, destroy the lich.
“She made me the ruby based on what I wanted,” Death continued. “To keep you safe. It took her six months to make, many roses consumed.”
“Roses?”
“Of all colors.”
Mage magic used herbology and power drawn from what mages called a sphere, which was connected to the earth. Lots of potions and stuff made from flowers, herbs and plants, dirt, petals, and those sorts of things. Not anything I really understood completely because I wasn’t a mage. Only mages had the full scoop on how their magic worked. The same as us necros, really, though we shared a loose connection with mages in the liquid mushrooms—an energy linked to the earth.
“You trust her?” I responded.
“I do.”
“That’s good.” I sipped my wine. “Can I ask you something I always seem to ask you?”
“Ask me whatever you want.”
“Why does this happen?”
“Forbidden love,” he answered, his finger tapping on the stem of his wine glass. One of his gold rings chimed on the glass like a bell.
“Always the answer.” I shook my head. “But why? Why is it forbidden?”
“Because I am not supposed to love a mortal.”
God, that pissed me off. “And you accept that?”
