The Bone Orchard (9 page)

“Clever. Morbid, but clever nonetheless.” Ezra followed along without another word of complaint. His stomach roiled with excitement and nerves, and he was pleased that, even dead, he seemed to be able to feel those little joys of life.

It wasn’t until they reached the closed door to the room that Ezra saw the flaw in their plan. He rested his head against the wall and sighed heavily. “What now?”

“Turns out, you
can
teach an old dog a new trick or two,” Ambrose drawled. His eyes were still shining when he winked at Ezra. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and blew it out. Then he reached for the doorknob and gripped it, turning it until the latch popped and the door creaked open.

“You’ve learned how to move things?” Ezra blurted.

“I worked it out that if you think about something that makes you feel something, you don’t have to work so hard to move it.”

“Makes you feel what? Sad, angry?”

“Or happy.” Ambrose glanced at him, a blush rising on his cheeks. “Love works mighty good. I just thought about you, and I could do it.”

Ezra stepped closer without realizing he was moving, and wrapped his arms around Ambrose’s waist. He shoved Ambrose into the room, kicking out behind him. His boot caught the door and hit it solidly, slamming it closed.

Ambrose looked at it with wide eyes. “How’d you do that?”

“Lust works too, apparently,” Ezra said before delving into a demanding kiss.

Ambrose managed to fight his way free long enough to shout, “Am I the only ghost here doesn’t know how to ghost?”

Ezra cackled. He was pulling at Ambrose’s clothes, pleased when they came off and stayed off. He left them in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed, dust floating in the air above them. When he got to Ambrose’s belt buckle, he finally earned Ambrose’s attention; Ambrose gave up glaring at the door and turned his efforts toward Ezra’s attire instead. They kissed long and often, lingering over each touch and thriving on the ability to finally be able to do it.

“I feel as if dying should have been a sadder affair for me,” Ezra murmured against Ambrose’s warm lips. Ambrose’s mustache was a minor nuisance when his lips were as soft and talented as they were, and Ezra was willing to work past it.

Ambrose clutched at Ezra’s bare skin, pressing their bodies together. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he whispered. He kissed Ezra gently, and it felt like an apology. “I’m so sorry.”

“There are worse ways to go than in your arms,” Ezra insisted, and led Ambrose toward the bed. “And there are certainly worse places to end up than in your arms once more.”

Ambrose stopped long enough to help tug Ezra’s shirt over his head, then sat on the bed and tugged his boots off, letting them clop to the floor with loud thumps. Ezra wondered if the people below them heard it, if they wondered what the sounds were. It pulled a smile from him. It might be fun to be a ghost, as long as Ambrose was here by his side. The mischief they could cause . . .

He lifted one leg and Ambrose tugged his boot off for him, then the other. In a matter of moments, they were both down to nothing, able to gaze at each other in all their glory for the first time.

They did so without any reservations, without pause or self-consciousness. Ezra felt as if he’d spent his whole life with Ambrose, as if he already knew every scar on his body and every wound in his mind. When Ambrose reached for him, Ezra gladly climbed onto the bed and straddled him. He placed both hands on Ambrose’s shoulders, gazing down into his striking eyes. He missed the silver he’d grown familiar with, but the warmth and humor in them was still unmistakable.

He could think of nothing more enjoyable right now than a nice rough roll in the hay. He grasped Ambrose’s face in both hands, kissing him languidly as he rocked his hips. His lover moaned and grasped at his waist with one hand, the other sliding up to cup Ezra’s face as they moved against each other.

Ezra drew out the kiss as long as he was able, sucking on Ambrose’s bottom lip and licking at his tongue. When he finally pulled back, he was breathless and even more excited for what was to come. Both of them were hard and straining. Ambrose’s hand was on Ezra’s hip, slowly making its way across his belly so he could touch them both.

“I have a question,” Ezra whispered.

“Usually you’re the one with the answers,” Ambrose growled, and it sent shivers down Ezra’s spine.

“If we have no blood to pump through us, how—”

“Too thinky,” Ambrose grunted, gripping Ezra’s hips and using the leverage of his wiry body to topple them to the side. Before Ezra had even settled into the mattress, Ambrose was on top of him, sliding between his thighs, kissing him in the frantic manner of a man who was in desperate need of more.

Ambrose’s obvious desire for him made Ezra even more eager. He wrapped around Ambrose, squeezing him with his knees, holding on to his powerful shoulders and demanding longer and deeper kisses. Ambrose’s grip tightened, and he began shoving Ezra toward the middle of the bed.

The iron headboard banged against the wall. They both stopped and looked up at it, then met each other’s eyes, grinning.

“If we make enough noise in this room, they may never rent it out again for being haunted,” Ezra observed.

Ambrose growled deep in his throat. “You saying you want that headboard to bang that wall some more?”

“Yes,” Ezra whispered urgently.

Ambrose settled in against him, flexing his hips. Their cocks slid together and Ambrose closed his eyes. “You saying folks need to hear screams and wailing from this room at all hours?”

Ezra’s gut clenched. He lifted his hips. “I am indeed saying just that.”

Ambrose captured his mouth in a wet kiss and trapped Ezra under him, grinding their hips and thighs together. He caught one of Ezra’s wrists and pinned it to the bed.

Ezra spread his legs wider, wrapping them around Ambrose’s thighs as he met Ambrose’s growing fervor with his own. “I thought we’d never get to do this,” he gasped between the assault of kisses.

“I know.”

His groin throbbed and heat swept through him as Ambrose’s hard body pressed against his. He reached up with his one free hand and gripped Ambrose’s hair tightly. Ambrose’s eyes were wide and impossibly blue, and the fire of desire behind them was enough to make Ezra groan.

“I thought I’d never get the chance to feel your touch,” he whispered, and he pushed his hips up into Ambrose. “Now I want you all over me.”

The sound that came out of Ambrose was nearly a growl as he dragged his teeth along Ezra’s collarbone. Ezra shivered all over. Ambrose sucked hard at the soft patch of skin just at his neck, biting down for good measure. Ezra licked his hand and reached between them to grasp Ambrose’s cock.

Ambrose’s growls had grown almost continuous, like the sounds he’d made when he’d grumbled to himself as they’d walked through town, only pitched lower. It hit Ezra in the gut. Ambrose moved between his legs, stroking Ezra along the way, until the tip of his thumb pressed into Ezra’s ass.

Ezra groaned in frustration, raising his hips and tossing his head to the side. “We don’t need much, right?” He reached to stroke himself, and he spread his legs wide, opening up for Ambrose. “Nothing hurts us?” he asked hoarsely.

Ambrose grunted in disagreement, but Ezra pulled him closer and dragged his fingernails down Ambrose’s back to make his point.

Ambrose shivered, gasping and biting his lip. Ezra knew Ambrose felt the sting of his scratches, but it was nothing compared to what pain had been in life. It was certainly a benefit of being dead. Nothing hurt any longer. Ezra sure as hell could feel the brush of Ambrose’s touch, though.

“Bring yourself up here,” Ezra hissed into his ear. “I’ll wet you down so you can get to sparring, Marshal.”

Ambrose sought out Ezra’s mouth and kissed him hungrily, grunting when he finally had to tear himself away. He crawled up Ezra until he was straddling his chest, and braced one hand on the headboard when Ezra licked at him.

The sounds Ambrose made when Ezra’s tongue touched his cock made Ezra want to take it all into his mouth, to lick and suck until Ambrose screamed loud enough to scare away every guest in the hotel.

He’d save that adventure for another time, though. Ambrose’s hand tightened in his hair, and Ezra licked him up and down, sloppy and wet, moaning as he did so. It wasn’t a minute later that Ambrose was between Ezra’s legs again and working his way carefully into him. His hand gripped behind Ezra’s knee to hold him steady as he pulled back and thrust again, deeper, hissing as he worked his way in.

Ezra writhed and arched his hips, whimpering and groaning, trying desperately to find something to hold on to. Finally, he landed one hand in Ambrose’s hair and the other on his back, fingers digging into his warm skin, trying to draw him in closer and urge him to go faster and harder.

Ambrose gave Ezra just what he’d asked for; it was hot and hard and desperate as they both reveled in finally being able to touch, to
feel
. Ambrose’s hands teased and pinched and gripped at whim, until he licked his palm again and took Ezra’s cock in hand to work it in time with his thrusts. Ezra scrabbled for something steadier to grab on to, something that would hold him still through Ambrose’s pounding.

He stretched out to grip the iron bars of the headboard, making sure the room next door heard each time it slammed against the wall, cried out desperately as the angle of Ambrose’s thrusts changed. The pounding pressure and the hand on his cock and the simple smell of Ambrose, leather and sunshine and sweat—a sense he’d not been able to experience before—the sounds Ambrose made when he was aroused and breathing hard, all worked to overload Ezra’s senses.

He bucked his hips, every muscle tensing as he bowed his back and shouted Ambrose’s name, pleading, begging, crying out for more.

“Yeah, a little bit more,” Ambrose ground out as he worked Ezra’s cock and fucked him.

Ezra twisted as the pleasure overcame him, and Ambrose stroked him through his climax as he cried out his lover’s name. He was still shivering and moaning, gripping Ambrose for dear life—or death, he supposed—when Ambrose doubled down and sped his thrusts, grunting and moaning Ezra’s name in his ear. He called out wordlessly a few moments later, his breath warm against Ezra’s neck, his seed warm inside Ezra as it spilled from him.

Ambrose finally collapsed against him, breathing harshly into Ezra’s skin. They laughed quietly when they realized just how much noise they might have made. And the idea that they could and would do that many more times to come made Ezra downright giddy. He pulled Ambrose to him, appreciating the lithe muscles, the wiry strength in the man.

They curled against each other, faces pressed together, bodies calming as fatigue threatened. Ezra closed his eyes, feeling the inexorable pull of that exhaustion, that bone-deep tiredness that he was too tired to fight anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Ambrose said, and the pain in his voice broke Ezra’s heart. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

A moment later, the ground smacked Ezra in the back. He opened his eyes to find himself staring at the twilit sky, the stars just beginning to twinkle overhead.

He glanced around the busy streets, heard the incessant laughter from the gallows.

“Son of a bitch.”

Ambrose couldn’t stop laughing, even though Ezra looked genuinely upset. They were sitting at a dark corner table of the saloon, enjoying the music and the sounds of life around them.

“It gets easier to stay in one place, I promise,” Ambrose tried, but Ezra’s dubious look told him his attempts were for naught. He held up both hands in surrender, but then grinned, leaning closer to Ezra to nudge him. “If you’re that upset about it, next time we can do it in the middle of the road.”

Ezra shot him a scandalized glance, but then the merits of the idea apparently hit him because he pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. It wasn’t like anyone could see them anyway.

“On to more pressing matters,” Ambrose growled, or he knew they’d be doing more of the sparring they’d so enjoyed and then lose more time when Ezra went winging his way back to the road after.

“The laughing idiot at the gallows,” Ezra grumbled.

“That’s the one. I noticed, when I fought with him, that his shackles stay on him. He can’t seem to get them off his wrists. Which makes perfect sense, ’cause that’s their intended purpose.”

Ezra was nodding, frowning as he listened. “Okay. But he can still obviously cause damage with them on, so how does that help us?

“If we can get the key, we may be able to unlock them, and then reattach them
behind
him.”

Ezra’s eyes widened, and he nodded again. “Of course. Take away the use of his hands, then use his hanging rope to truss him up.”

Ambrose grinned as he watched the light of excitement in Ezra’s eyes. But then it dimmed, and Ezra said, “But no matter what we do to him, when he’s returned to the gallows, he’ll be returned the way he died, with his hands chained in front.”

“So we make sure he doesn’t leave the gallows,” Ambrose said, nearly snarling. He lowered his head closer to Ezra. “If he never leaves in the first place, he can never be returned good as new, and he can never get loose.”