Page 448 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

Oh, the fucking relief he feels when Vasily Sorrenko scoops Riley up and switches their positions, so his back is against the tree and he carefully arranges Riley in his lap, chest to chest.

‘OK. Cuddle time. I keep watch.’

Riley doesn’t know what cuddle means anymore, he only knows that the man who won him put him in his lap, which is good, it means he wants him, so he buries his face in Vasily’s neck, finds where he smells best, and plasters himself against him.

Vasily pats his back. ‘What is your favourite book?’

‘What?’

‘I make small talk. Books are good, unless you don’t like to read.’

‘No, I-I love reading,’ Riley says, leaving the hiding place of his neck to study Vasily’s face again, can’t stop himself. This close, they’re sharing breath. ‘I, um.’ He wets his mouth. ‘I liked the Famous Five books.’

‘I have read those!’ Vasily says, smiling, so beautiful it hurts. ‘I loved the one where they went to the island with the tunnels.’

‘Kirrin Island Again.’

‘Yes!’

‘I never knew a-anyone who even… heard of them.’

‘I have.’ Vasily’s thumb makes gentle circles over Riley’s lower back through his shirt. His dark eyes are bright and gentle; no demand, no heat, but he’s warm and soothing all the same. ‘Want to know mine?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I like the Trixie Belden books.’

Riley, despite everything, gives a shaky smile. ‘I read those.’

Vasily tuts happily. ‘You did not.’

‘I did. Only two. My—Troy used to b-bring me books. I uh… I think I read the one wh-where it’s, like… Secret of the Mansion, is that… right?’

‘I cannot believe you read that.’

‘I can’t believe you… read the Famous Five.’

‘Books were my first friends,’ Vasily admits. ‘Cuddle is helping?’

‘Y-yes.’ It’s making it worse, but he can’t say that because this is all that’s keeping him sane. ‘Helping.’

‘You are burning up. How do you feel?’

Riley goes with the simplest answer he can find that’s even remotely accurate right now. ‘Bad.’

‘I do not want you to feel bad.’

Riley’s fingertips graze the side of his neck. ‘Why?’

‘I think I would not wish this on my worst enemy.’

‘You, um…’ Riley says, has to close his eyes briefly to focus on words. ‘You speak b-better English sometimes.’ Oh, great. What a thing to say. ‘Sorry, no… I mean…’

‘Is OK, I understand.’ Vasily reaches up, gently pulls Riley’s fingers away from his neck, lowers his hand but then threads their hands together to hold so the rejection doesn’t cut too deep. ‘I speak it very well, I always have, but being alone without Russian family… the temptation to think in English is strong, so I try to limit myself and think always in Russian. Plus,’ he adds, tone lighter, ‘sometimes is good to say less. Better.’

‘You have a nice voice.’

He tsks again, rolls his eyes. ‘Imagine Riley Harker saying that to me.’