Page 70 of Nemesis Mine
“His choices are those of a fool.” Balthazar could not hide the heat in the words, though Cyrus could tell he was trying to. His voice trembled, giving him away. “He will doom himself. And you’re encouraging it. You should leave him alone.”
Those words stung more than Cyrus wanted to admit. But Balthazar was not giving them enough credit. Max was clever enough to make his own decisions, and Cyrus would never purposefully endanger him.
And he did understand Balthazar, in some strange way. As ever, he only ever wanted to protect Max.
“You care for him,” he stated.
“So do you,” Balthazar fired back.
Slowly, he nodded. Balthazar stared. Cyrus wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t an admission he made lightly.
As silence filled the space between them, Balthazar released a sudden breath. His shoulders sagged. “You don’t deserve him.” It wasn’t a jibe, nor an insult thrown out in anger. He spoke plainly.
“I know,” said Cyrus. Balthazar nodded.
A beat. Then Cyrus said, “But we have a lot in common all the same.”
“I know.”
They looked at each other for one long moment. Forthe first time, Cyrus thought that maybe Balthazar understood him too. Balthazar knew of Max’s choices, even if he thought them folly, and yet cared for him still. He was still here, which meant that despite everything, he cared forMax, not the façade of the hero.
Cyrus would not leave Max, but neither would Balthazar. They both had to learn to accept that.
The moment passed when Balthazar stepped through the door. “Don’t let yourself be seen,” he said, as though Cyrus needed reminding. Then the door thudded into place, and he was gone.
Cyrus sat quietly behind Max, cleaning a shallow cut on the side of the champion’s rib cage. They had allowed their paths to cross earlier that day. A quick clash on the passageway leading through the Bek mountains, framed as a chance encounter. They still wanted people to talk about the brave Maximillian, after all.
He hadn’t realised quite how much he missed their play fighting until he had Max pressed up against him again under the guise of enmity. It was a shame they’d had to beat a hasty retreat, but the Bek goblins had been particularly active lately. They’d come swarming out to make the most of the fight, and Cyrus wasnotabout to spend his evening dabbing ointment over goblin bites. They itched.
Dipping his cloth into the bowl of tepid water balanced precariously on the couch beside them, he wrung it out and touched it to Max’s skin, cleaning away the last of the dirtand congealed blood. A close call with his dagger—worth it for the gasps of their audience of startled travellers. The soft touch of the cloth smoothed out an apology.
Max shivered, pulling Cyrus from his thoughts. He seemed quiet tonight, pensive. “Done?” he asked.
“Nearly.” Cyrus leaned in closer, gently chasing a speck of gravel out of the cut. “Good job it wasn’t lower. Could’ve been nasty.”
Max hummed. “Should have got out of your way quicker.”
“Yeah, well. You champions, always a bit slow on your feet.”
He felt the huff of laughter in the warm body under his hands. “I’ll work on it.”
“Mm, see that you do.” Cyrus let the cloth pool in the bowl before pushing it away. His chin found a familiar shoulder. “All done.”
“Thanks.” Max turned his head, seeking out a kiss. Cyrus seized the opportunity and clung to it, pressing kisses to the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip, his cupid’s bow.
“Greedy,” Max murmured. It didn’t sound like a complaint.
“Wrongdoer,” Cyrus mumbled. With no further warning he clambered around to settle himself into Max’s lap, setting his hands on either side of his face to take all the kisses he wanted.
Max laughed quietly into his mouth. He was glad to hear it. Whatever Max been mulling over, he doubted it could hold his attention as well as Cyrus’s tongue against his.
He was right, to a point. For a couple of minutes there was only their uneven breathing between kisses. Then Max moved, dislodging Cyrus from his lap and pressing him back against the couch. Their fingers entwined. Max pinned his arms above his head as their mouths came together again, and Cyrus’s breath hitched around a gasp. The feeling of those strong hands holding him in place did something to him. Suddenly he was the one struggling to maintain any semblance of concentration.
The knowing expression on Max’s face said it all. He rocked his hips against Cyrus’s, because he was a dick who liked to be as distracting as possible, and swallowed the resulting groan with a smirk. Cyrus tugged at his wrists, testing Max’s strength and finding him immovable. His breath shuddered as Max’s mouth went to his neck, sucking tiny bruises into the crook of his throat.
“That—Max—better not show up above my collar,” Cyrus gasped.
Max hummed, undeterred. “They look good on you.”
