Page 255 of Eight of Swords, Part One

‘You have your whole life ahead of you.’

Oh, but it sounds hollow even as Lachlan says it.

He scoots closer, rises onto his knees and then steals Jules’ hand to press a single, long kiss to the back of it.

‘You deserve,’ he says, low and fervent, ‘so much better than what you got.’

Jules slowly uncurls from his little ball of despair, eyes wide, like a fearful animal but only for a moment. He throws himself into Lachlan’s arms.

Lachlan holds him tight, despite the awkward angle and the ceramic between them. Jules is wet and sad, crying quietly while Lachlan hugs him for the first time, eyes closed tight as what’s buried in the dark swells.

Against all his instincts, Lachlan drops his guard entirely and reaches for unnecessary honesty to give Jules as a gift on this awful night.

‘I love you,’ he whispers, ‘without condition.’

Jules gasps, clinging even harder. ‘Say it again.’

He shouldn’t.

Oh God, he shouldn’t.

‘I love you,’ he says, same tone, anchor to safety.

Jules cries in his arms. ‘Again.’

‘I love you,’ Lachlan says, has to swallow thick, sharp things to get the words out, face stoic, tone level, eyes wet, ‘so much.’

‘Please.’

‘I love you, Jules.’

The boy in his arms grips tighter until he unlocks entirely, goes lax, lets out a shaky sigh and finally begins to pull away, slowly at first like he’s worried Lachlan will leave and he couldn’t allow that.

Jules Penhalyx is trembling.

He pulls back but stays close, fingers curled around the fabric of Lachlan’s damp, white shirt. ‘Look at me and say it?’ he asks, unbearably fragile.

Lachlan’s dark grey eyes move between honey brown.

It’s inexorable, this thing between them.

No God, no sky, no magic, no light.

Inexorable.

Lachlan strokes Jules’ face with his fingers, thumb caressing his jaw, feels the rough grain of incoming stubble. Desire twists his interior, bittersweet and sharp, and the lure of setting down the weight of his restraint is so tempting it’s briefly overwhelming. There’s still discord between them.

But he thinks now that Jules is in love with him.

And that’s terrifying.

Lachlan doesn’t know if he feels the same, or if he does, he can’t admit it. He loves him wholeheartedly. He’d die for him without hesitation and the thought of losing Jules is unthinkable. But Lachlan Tanner doesn’t know how it feels to be in love. He’s sure it can’t be this.

Because this…

This is gravity and pain and guilt and sickness and sadness and obsession and devotion and anger and love, love, love running through it all like metal veins through heavy stones, glinting and warm. They carry the lightning.

Lachlan can’t offer romance, only caveman devotion through violence and basic decency where it’s been absent Jules’ whole life. He’s not romantic, he’s not charming. He can’t be like Jules is, has no magnetism or allure.