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He picked up another stick and turned it over between his fingers. The stick’s fate was in his hands. Drop it and it went on unchanged, but toss it into the fire and it wouldn’t last. Nikolas’s fate had rested in his hands too. Left alone, he’d have survived whatever the gods threw at him. But Vasili had tossed him into the fire. He flicked the stick into the fire. It twisted and bent before finally succumbing.
His shoulder sizzled from the ghost of Nikolas’s touch. Every brush, every skim felt like elf-blades reopening old wounds. They’d left him with many scars, but those in his mind were the worst.
garnering
His mouth—when not wrapped around a snarl—was soft and forgiving, and Niko knew exactly how those soft lips felt when skimmed across his.
Whatever was on his mind, he kept it sealed behind his lips.
He handed over the torch, and Yasir bolted, taking the bubble of light with him.
jostled
Long nails dug into his cheek. The elf holding him sneered, grunted words lost behind the heavy thumping of Vasili’s heart.
“Walla’s Heart is more than your ship, she’s your soul. You were never meant to be anchored. I know it, I’ve always known it. I’m grateful for any time I have with you before you’re gone again. I won’t keep you here. I’d never forgive myself if you thought me an anchor.”
Liam withdrew from the kiss and stroked his cheek. “It’s different, isn’t it? Us, I mean.” A painful knot choked him. “When I saw you bound by Alissand, I feared I’d lost you, and I hadn’t told you all the things I should have.” “Tell me now,” he whispered. “You’re my harbor. I’ll always come back to you. I love you, Liam.” Liam’s smile slowly grew. “Make love to me like we have all the time in the world, because soon I know you’ll be gone.”
