And I’m still his captain, so I’ll offer what little I can.
I’ve checked everywhere but his bedchamber, and on approach, the flickering light down the dark corridor reveals his presence in advance.
It’s so much worse to do it here. In a group, I could have addressed them all. Pretended he was just another one of them.
Like you did today in the box when you could barely keep your hands off him?
I need to make it fast, so I quicken my pace, round the corner, and find him laid out long on the bottom bunk, arms stretched behind his head, staring at nothing.
I wonder how many hours he’s spent like that, reliving the mess of this morning.
“Robin?”
His head turns sharply, but rather than the flaming eyes and curses I’m expecting, his lips part, taking in a fast breath, then he’s bolt upright, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t get up, only stares at me from those tempestuous eyes, which I imagine barely hint at the storm within.
“Cas will be okay,” I begin. “Sorry we had to send you away. He’s sedated now. Evander’s fixing his arm.”
He gives me a tight nod, his fingers threading together.
“I was…” What am I even supposed to say?
This is the man who, only yesterday, slammed me against the wall and used me like a plaything. Who made me come harder than I ever have in my entire life. And now I’m supposed to be the one in charge?
He glances down at the spot on the bed next to him, his head dropping as if he’s inviting me to sit. It’s furtive, fast.
Surely he doesn’t want me near him.
“I’m talking to all the men,” I explain. “To see how they’re holding up. It wasn’t a small thing—”
“Marco.” It’s a quiet word, and his gaze meets mine head on. It speaks depths I can’t fathom.
Even though it’s probably the last thing he wants right now, I make my way over to him and settle onto the bed, one knee up so I can face him.
He turns toward me hastily, our legs touching, his fingers knit together.
I want to tell him he can talk to me. I want to tell him I’m the one person he can trust in this place. I want to tell him I’m sorry for what I did.
But before I can figure a way to say any of that, he cuts me off with one word: “Verus.”
It’s like he reached inside me and stopped my heart with one blow. It’s my name. Why shouldn’t he know my name? But it’s the way he said it. He said it like heknowsit. Like I should know he knows it.
The air turns thick, time and the candlelight and the dust in the atmosphere, all of it stilling as he reaches a shaking hand to my cheek, his face, his eyes hazy, so close.
“Marco Verus. Hijo de Tomás y Lydia. Hermano de Lucas. ¿Vienes de la isla del sol y el mar?”Marco Verus. Son of Thomas and Lydia. Brother of Lucas. Do you come from the land of the sun and the sea?
I slam my hand over his lips, throw him down on the bed, scrambling on top of him. “Shut your mouth. Shut your fucking mouth.” My hands are shaking, my voice ravaged and broken.
He knows.He knows.
His hand snakes around my neck, pulling me down, chest to chest, my fingers clasped over his lips, the only separation between us as my forehead drops to his.
Home.
I’m home.
“Get the fuck away from me,” I hiss.
His other arm glides across my shoulder blades, holding me fast to him.
