Page 271 of Eight of Swords, Part One

Lachlan watches him slowly try to trust it, sees the cracks.

‘You could be lying, though,’ Jules utters. ‘You could do that.’

‘I could, but I’m not.’

‘Why not?’

‘You’d know anyway, you always do.’

Jules’ free hand lifts to trace the scars Lachlan still has from the tungsten teeth in the vents. Lachlan’s skin is warped with lilac ripples, ugly and uneven. His back is a million times worse. Jules traces each one, hand staying firmly where it was put. He smells how aquamarine looks under moonlight.

He is too fucking much, and Lachlan can never get quite enough.

Beautiful, angry, moody, lovely, so lovely, so dangerous.

‘I don’t know if I would,’ Jules whispers, like it scares him. ‘Are you just… letting me do what I like because you want me to be happy?’

‘I wouldn’t do that.’ Lachlan pushes his hair back, heartstrings breaking one by one as love sinks in through the cracks to flood and drown and make a new world from watery death, that’s how it feels, like drowning. ‘I love you.’

Jules’ expression creases with painful hope. ‘You weren’t pretending?’

‘I was pretending not to be…’ Lachlan trails off, suddenly afraid.

Afraid of this one last thing that’ll tip everything over the edge.

‘To be what?’ Jules asks softly, a little nasal from all the crying.

How does water spiral?

How does it happen?

Does hot and cold make the vortex the way it makes tornados or is it always the moon? Lachlan doesn’t know.

He only knows how it feels to be in one.

To be so thoroughly caught in awe of what holds him, both afraid and brave, helpless and master of his own fate.

If he walks it back now, it’ll break Jules’ heart and maybe Lachlan’s too.

Water can’t break stone, but it wears it down like nothing else.

Lachlan Tanner wants to give all that he is wrapped in silk to make it seem prettier somehow because what he is… is a trained killer with a sharp mind for protection, but he wants to give himself in love, in supplication of loving and for the first time in his life, he understands all of what he never has.

‘I was pretending not to be in love with you,’ Lachlan tells him, throat tight. He presses Jules’ hand harder into his heart with his own, would push till it went through and let him feel it raw, take it.

‘You don’t even like me.’

‘I fucking love you, you brat, don’t even try to say I don’t. I’m yours, Jules. I tried so hard not to be, but I am. And it’s wrong. I’m older than you. You’re my charge. I’m supposed to keep you safe. I know all of that, but I can’t stop loving you anyway so I’m just yours now until you don’t want me anymore and even then, I won’t be able to let go, not really. I could leave but I won’t ever not be yours, Jules. Yours.’

Twin tears run down Lachlan’s face.

It feels so good.

It feels fucking awful.

Hurts. Heals. Breaks. Bonds. Bleeds.

Jules surges to kiss him.