Page 317 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘So tell me you don’t love me, and then I’ll go.’

Julian waits like he’s terrified, and he must be.

Lachlan stares at him, lashes wet, resigned to this love. Resigned to the inevitability of his own failure to protect Julian the way he swore to.

‘Say it, Bodyguard.’

The world is ending.

It comes soft and slow.

The incremental breaking of a thousand determined strands.

The world is ending.

It goes bright, not dark.

That one stunning moment when you see the flash before you hear it.

‘I don’t love you.’

Jules cries.

Keeps his hand where it is.

‘Again.’

Lachlan threads his one free hand into his sopping hair, gives him what he wants, this creature of chaos whose fire burns brightest underwater.

‘I don’t love you, Julian,’ he lies.

And Jules can feel the lie.

It’s all Lachlan has to give.

What a broken way to love.

Codes and deceptions and wraparounds and lies.

How he wishes that one day, he could stand in the sunshine with Jules and kiss him and not have to worry who saw, who heard. He wishes he could love Jules the way he deserves.

It won’t happen in this lifetime.

Lachlan knows that. He feels it. Something is wrong.

And he might not know what, but he’s a soldier through and through.

Containment first.

Jules’ hand tightens around his wrist, pushing up to slide their fingers together as warm water cascades around them.

‘Again.’

‘I don’t love you.’

They’re sharing breath, lips touching.

‘Again, Bodyguard.’