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Julien gently takes Whisper’s arm again. “If you got a papercut, it would be too much for me.”
“That’s not the worst part,” Julien says. “The worst part is that even though I’ve put you in danger, even though I’ve failed you already, I still don’t want to let go of you.” His hands are still so gentle, despite the pain in his voice. “Is that selfish of me?”
Desire seizes Whisper, controlling him more completely than blood magic ever could. He breathes, “Then be selfish, Your Highness,” and drags Julien into a kiss.
Will slumps down in the chair by the window to unlace his boots. Julien sits on the side of the bed, intending to unlace his own, but he’s too distracted by the way the brightening morning illuminates Will’s dishevelment. The awful bruises in contrast to the sweet kiss-pink of his lips.
“I tried to resist you,” Julien says, his voice penetrating into Whisper’s soul. “I’ve wanted you since the day I first saw you, and the more I know you, the more I want you.
I wanted the marks. The proof that my failure had happened. The proof that the punishment had happened. “Will,” Julien says, hoping he’s not right about whatever’s twisted up inside Will’s head. “I don’t know what this is about, but I’m not going to punish you like this.”
Julien thought he would be relieved to hear that, but he isn’t. Not because he doesn’t believe Whisper, but because he does. Moments from the past few months flash through Julien’s heart, each one darker than the last under the shadow of Whisper’s confession. Every hesitation. Every ebb and flow of reluctance and desire. The way he begged Julien to hurt him. To leave scars. If Whisper truly fell for him, knowing all along their days were numbered in blood…
Whisper shudders. “If you apologize for me trying to kill you, I’m going to start crying.”
“Hey, kitten,” Julien says, and angles down to offer a kiss. He feels the moment Whisper’s reserve shatters, and the kiss in return is desperately sweet. Iron and earth. Salt and sky. Finally, Julien’s heart settles behind his ribs.
“What token of mine were you planning on taking?” Julien asks. Another wave of guilt crashes cold through Whisper’s lungs. “Nothing.” Each word hurts. “Nothing was good enough, and I couldn’t forget you anyway.” “Fuck.” Julien reaches towards him. “And they call me a romantic.”
“You still don’t get it.” Julien stares into his eyes, intense and searching. “You don’t have to deserve me.”
Whisper melts into the living heat of Julien’s kiss. The kiss that always makes him feel more alive than he ever has, binding him with love instead of blood to a man he’s honored to serve.
