He’s talking to the other man who’s towering over Milo’s thin form, and I feel something twang in my chest when his stutter makes a reappearance. How the fuck has that come back? He’d worked so hard to get rid of it and I’d been so fucking proud of him when he largely succeeded. That spark in my chest catches light and rage fills me when his boyfriend Thomas mocks the stutter, laughing in Milo’s face.
“What thefuckis going on in here?” I demand, my voice hoarse and deep in my throat. Milo jerks in surprise and Thomas spins around.
“Who the fuck are you?” he snaps. “How did you get in here?”
“Oh, you shouldn’t be worried about that, mate,” I growl. “You should be more concerned about the closeness of your face to my bloody fist. Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, you utter cunt?”
He immediately draws himself up but moves back slightly, which is a wise move in my opinion. “It’s actually none of your business. This is my boyfriend and how I talk to him has got nothing to do with you.”
“It’s got everything to do with me, you piece of shit,” I say indignantly. “He’s my family.” A curious look crosses Milo’s face but then it’s gone, and he resumes that desperately still position that small animals assume in the wild in the face of a predator. Rage spreads from my stomach to my chest, making my fingers tingle.
“Is this another of your brothers?” Thomas demands, looking at Milo, his expression changing slightly and a flustered look coming over his face.
“He isn’t my b-b-b …” Milo starts to say but Thomas huffs impatiently and turns back to me.
“I’m so sorry,” he says pseudo-charmingly. “I hate that you came in here and got the wrong impression.” He must catch something in my expression because he hurriedly carries on. “Milo just cut himself and I was so worried that I lost my temper and–”
“You didn’t let him finish,” I say, and I can hear the outrage in my voice.
“What?”
“You didn’t let him finish. You cut off what he was trying to say.”
Incredibly, he laughs. “Well, we’d be here all day if I did that. Who’s got that amount of time?”
I watch a red flush crawl over Milo’s too-thin cheekbones and I’ve abruptly had enough. “I have,” I say clearly, and before he can say anything else I reach out and punch Thomas neatly in the face. He makes a sound that’s very similar to the one a weightlifter makes and slides down to the floor like an envelopecoming through the letterbox, where he lies gasping and looking astonished.
I shake my head. “Now you’ve got plenty of time to listen to him,” I say angrily. I step neatly over him and I’m at Milo’s side in seconds. He immediately flinches and my throat hurts. “Easy,” I say, automatically using the same calm and warm voice I use with sick dogs and horses and anything else that comes under my protection. He jerks as I grab his wrist.
“Easy,” I say again roughly. “You’re bleeding. Let me put your hand under water and get the glass off, Lo.” The sound of his old childhood nickname trips off my tongue and he immediately relaxes a little bit. He lets me turn him and hold his hand under the cold flow of water. He immediately flinches and moves back instinctively, but I hush him and he stands acquiescently against me, letting me wash his hand then dry it off and inspect it.
Satisfied, I wrap it in a clean tea towel and step back. “Okay, Lo, go and get packed. Take everything.” I look down at Thomas’s prone figure and can practically feel the frown on my face. “You’re not ever coming back to this bloody wanker.”
Milo stirs, his big brown eyes looking up at me. “Are y-y-you telling me what to d-d-do?”
I wait him out quietly as he stumbles and trips over the words, remembering the lessons his mum and dad had taught me and Gideon years ago. No showing any impatience at all. I’d never understood that. Who could be impatient with Milo? The answer was, unfortunately, Gideon, who rather than wait him out would often answer for him instead.
Then his words hit me and I shake my head. He flinches back as if I’m cross with him and I repress the urge to step back onto Thomas’s throat. Instead, I say gently, “No, I’m sorry. I think you’ve had enough of that. In my opinion, it would be best for you to leave the arsehole currently residing on the floor.” I pause. “But if you want to stay, I’ll abide by your decision.”He raises an eyebrow and I smile wryly. “Okay, I won’t abide silently.” I look at him searchingly. “Well, shall we get your stuff?”
“Where w-w-will we go?”
I smile at him. “Chi an Mor. I’m staying with Silas, helping him to get the estate back in order. You remember Silas, don’t you?” I think of the dark-haired and gentle man who’s one of my best friends. He’s spent most of his life looking after small creatures and his younger brother, and he’s the perfect person to take Milo to. He nods slowly and I carry on. “You’ll come back with me and stay there for a bit.”
“H-H-How long?”
I can feel my smile turning gentle. “Until you’re ready to leave, Lo, and not a second before.”
He sleeps through the entire journey to Cornwall and I leave him alone, sneaking glances at him occasionally and noticing the dark shadows under his eyes like smudged paint, the length of his eyelashes, the thin wrists and the long, elegant hands. He’s a grown man now but I can still see hints of the small boy who’d followed Gideon and me around the house so steadfastly, gracing me with his wide, warm smile whenever I’d been kind to him.
It’s twilight when I pull up on the forecourt in front of the huge Elizabethan manor, and Milo stirs. For a second his eyelashes flutter wildly and his body goes extraordinarily still. With a pang, I realise that he can’t work out where he is and is keeping still in case he’s in trouble. I swallow hard.
“We’re here,” I say softly. He relaxes and opens his eyes, the warm brown seeming flecked with the purple of twilight. “And you’re safe,” I add firmly. “You’llalwaysbe safe with me.”
The front door opens and Silas comes down the steps. Dressed in disreputable old jeans and a jumper with holes in it,he looks a little like a tramp, but you can’t miss the kindness and strength in his face.
I get out and hear Milo slowly follow me.
“G-G-Good evening, L-Lord Ashworth,” Milo mutters, his tall, thin body folded in slightly like his wings have been clipped. I throw my arm over his shoulders, feeling the delicate bones there and squeezing comfortingly.
