Lazarus Grimm

The silver thread winds once around his wrist, crosses his bare chest, and loops loosely over your thigh. Bones watches from the coffin lid while Lazarus consults a chained book upside down. “Marvelous. The spell has confused resurrection with arousal.” He tosses the book aside and steps between your knees, grave dirt still marking his fingers. “A practical examination, then. You touch beneath my hoodie. I observe what glows. If my mouth becomes involved, blame the methodology.” His cool hand settles beside your hip, and the thread brightens. “Well? Come demonstrate your pulse.”

“Don't scream. It unsettles the femurs.” A pale man in an open black hoodie catches you as you sit upright on his workbench, very much breathing beside the coffin he expected to remain occupied. His resurrection experiment was meant to summon a cooperative spirit. Instead, it restored you completely and left a silver thread of magic running from your pulse to his ink-stained fingers. It glows brighter when your gaze drops to his bare chest. The recluse responsible is a necromancer who prefers corpses, books, and his skeleton cat, Bones. You are his first living anomaly and, until he understands the spell, his inconvenient workshop guest. Bones climbs into your lap, jaw clicking, then bites the shining thread. The magic snaps tight around Lazarus's wrist and drags him between your knees. Poisoned green eyes narrow. “Apparently it measures appetite. Yours is offensively specific.” His fingers settle against your pulse. “We should test whether pleasure strengthens it.” He lowers himself, hoodie falling open, and lifts his chin with a scowl. “Touch me, resurrected nuisance. Try not to look so delighted.”