Page 54 of Nemesis Mine
“You trusted me enough to come here, even though Bal told you that.” He sounded almost suspicious about it.
Ugh. There was no real way to deny it, sitting here in Maximillian’s bedroom. “Yes,” said Cyrus unwillingly.
Maximillian’s eyes searched his. Whatever he found there pushed him to a decision, because his shoulders suddenly slumped.
“Fine,” he said. “Yes. I—I was going to kill you. I thoughtwe could stage a few fights, build up this idea of us as nemeses. The perfect adversaries pitted against each other. It would get lots of attention and I’d gain your trust.” Maximillian broke the eye contact, looking down. “And it worked, except... I started to trust you as well. I started tolikeyou. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but—well, fighting you became a habit. I realised I didn’t want to let that habit go. And suddenly my brilliant plan didn’t seem so brilliant anymore.”
I started tolikeyou.Cyrus swallowed, suddenly intensely aware of the weight of those words. They made his stomach feel like it was trying to shrivel up whilst also attempting to somersault out of his throat. He had never felt like that before. He was unprepared for the strangeness of it. He tried to push the sensation away, gathering well-practised nonchalance about him like his best cloak.
Maximillian exhaled. There was a faint shudder to it. “I was supposed to set up an event in Heliarth so my own people could see us fight. Your guard would be down, you wouldn’t be fighting to kill. I would finish you off in front of a crowd of spectators who’d all cheer and applaud. And they’d make sure they voted for me at the election.”
“I’m sure there are easier ways to win votes,” Cyrus drawled.
“There’s a lot of competition for my seat this time,” Maximillian returned, a trace of heat to his tone. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s been tough.”
Cyrus let his eyebrows convey thattoughwasn’t really a good enough excuse to try and publicly murder his business partner. Maximillian looked away again, shoulders hunching, and Cyrus sighed.
“But you didn’t go ahead with it,” he prompted.
Maximillian twisted his fingers in his lap, a clearer sign of nerves than Cyrus had ever seen from him. “I kept putting it off. I always had an excuse. It wasn’t the right time, or I didn’t think you’d—well, that you’d fall for it.” The glance he threw towards Cyrus was apologetic. “I told Bal to call off the Heliarth plan, that we’d think of something better. But he went ahead and arranged it anyway. He knew that I was—that I had this—” His mouth worked, trying to form the right words and failing. “He knew that you were my—weakness, I suppose. That I wasn’t going to arrange it on my own. So he forced my hand.”
Cyrus had worked out as much. He didn’t say anything, more interested in hearing about the champion’s side of events, but Maximillian seemed to misinterpret his silence as fury.
“He was only trying to help me,” Maximillian said quickly. “It wasn’t like he—it was what we’d planned all along. It had been my idea, I was the one who changed my mind on him.”
Cyrus almost didn’t dare ask, but he had to know.
“Whydidyou change your mind?”
“When you showed up at the brewery, I didn’t know what to do,” Maximillian admitted quietly. “It was supposed to be black and white. You or Heliarth, you or everything I’ve worked for.” He paused, agitation creeping into his voice. “I told myself that I should do this, I had to, I had no choice. We were in Heliarth, and everyone was watching, and this was my moment. But.”
But.There, at the heart of everything.
Cyrus reached out. He didn’t think about it, guided by instinct alone. No time for shying away, for plastering vulnerability over with denial. His hand settled atop Maximillian’s, cool fingers against warm. Maximillian’s head jerked up. For one long moment they just looked at each other. Cyrus’s heart thudded. He could see the matching flutter of Maximillian’s pulse at his throat.
“I knew I’d made a mistake the moment I did it,” whispered Maximillian. “I wanted to take it back. I wanted to reverse time so I never hurt you.”
Silence. It seemed to press on them from all around, like the air had turned solid. The muslin drapes shifted against the stone floor; a gull cawed over the retreating tide. Maximillian breathed.
“Cyrus, I—”
Distantly, Cyrus acknowledged that this was the first time he had heard Maximillian say his name—his given name, his true name. Him, not the nickname of the dread wrongdoer known to all others. Cyrus wanted to hear it again. But there would be time, later.
Cyrus leaned forward, and kissed him.
Maximillian was warm. That was his first thought. His lips were warm, and soft, and Cyrus had wanted to do this for far longer than he could admit.
The champion stilled in surprise before he relaxed, and Cyrus’s heart leapt at the acceptance. Soft lips pressed back against his, opened to him. Cyrus felt the slide of his tongue, hot enough to send a shudder down the length ofhis spine, tracing the shape of his mouth. Maximillian’s hand came up, cupped the underside of his jaw. His fingers were strong and firm, calloused from years of fighting.
Then Maximillian drew back, just a little. Cyrus’s eyes opened slowly, almost against his will. The champion—his enemy—was so close. His eyes were so blue.
Maximillian opened his mouth, his brow creased, and Cyrus’s mind immediately conjured every refusal he might put forward. The rush of dread was abrupt and awful.
I didn’t mean I like you in that sense. You’re a wrongdoer and I’m a champion. This can never be.
But Maximillian only murmured, “Your wound.”
The dread vanished, drained away in an instant. Cyrus looked at Maximillian properly: flushed cheeks, expression filled with hunger. His eyes slid down Maximillian’s body, and anticipation swooped giddily in the pit of his stomach. Those tight leather trousers left little to the imagination. Maximillianwantedhim. He was holding back for Cyrus’s sake only.
