Page 10 of Red

He turned to walk away. Then paused at the kitchen door. Looked back at me, watching him go. And said, “I could sleep on the other couch. If that’d help.”

I glanced at the other couch. Then back at him. Felt like a fucking idiot, wavering between wanting everyone as far away from me as possible but knowing he was the only reason I was safe right now. Even if he was unhinged.

I nodded.

I dozed on and off, one time waking up shivering, another waking to Jack tending the fire, and then again shivering. It was just enough sleep to be tantalizing—the cold in my bones wouldn’t let me rest. I dreamed of Wulfric sitting on my chest, and all the frost from inside him draining into me, pooling in my marrow and refusing to leave. Of magic and darkness and running through the woods for my life.

Honestly, better than dreaming about my father murdering my mother. Sad but true.

I shuddered awake just as gray was seeping through the cracks between the curtains, my mind on fire, my body frigid. I sat up and Jack started awake, throwing off his own fur. His hair was loose now, falling just below his shoulders, shiny in the firelight; he was shirtless, and his chest was smooth and broad, with two pale scars just below his pecs, and no nipples. For some reason, this evidence of surgery, of something so very human, comforted me.

All this talk of magic and murder, but he was a regular mortal after all. Not just that, but likely queer. Thank fuck.

“Alright, Red?” he said, voice rough and groggy.

I nodded. Swallowed hard and tried to work out what to say.

“You’re still shivering.” He frowned.

“I…” My head spun with exhaustion. My side ached. My whole body felt as if it would come apart at the joints. I almost wished it would, just to make it stop.

He slipped off his couch and came to mine. Again, I watched him move and thought how smooth it was, like watching a ballet dancer make the most awkward thing look elegant. He put a hand against my forehead, hummed, and then said, “No fever. Not right now, anyhow.”

I shuddered.

He gave me a long, measuring look. I returned it, my face tilted slightly upward, feeling like I was asking for something I didn’t deserve.

I didn’t deserve any of this kindness. If I hadn’t been an idiot, none of this would’ve happened.

My heart in my throat, I moved aside and lifted my furry blanket, inviting.

The small dimple appeared in his cheek as he accepted, moving slowly, careful not to touch me. “Make yourself comfortable,” he whispered.

My eyes burned. I didn’t know if it was humiliation or gratitude. I stretched out on my good side, and he wedged himself between me and the back of the couch; there was plenty of room, but as if by silent agreement, we came together, me as the little spoon. He didn’t put his arm around me, just let his head rest on the pillow I was using, his breathing slow and measured.

I shivered once more, and he settled a soothing hand on my hip. When I pulled my head under the fur, I could smell the forest on him, like evergreens and salty air. My stomach clenched with something like hunger but deeper, more vicious. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed it away.

Within moments, his warmth had spread through my entire body. And I fell asleep for real.

Part II: Jack

Chapter 4: The Boy

Ithought I’d stay awake to keep watch over Red, but instead I fell asleep to the sound of his gentle, even breathing. When I woke a few hours later, I desperately needed to stretch my hips and back, and my prick was standing up. The thing was a wonder, in general, but in this particular and very singular situation, potentially embarrassing. I made sure to keep distance between Red’s backside and my hips, though.

All night, before he’d invited me onto the sofa, I’d kept an eye on him; and most of the time he’d been awake, looking back with those huge, frightened doll’s eyes of his.

When I carried him through the forest, I’d thought him a small, fragile thing. But he felt bigger, more solid, more real now he was pressed against my chest for warmth.

Or maybe I’d forgotten how it felt to have another person so near for so long. It must’ve been years. Decades? Time in the forest, in all the magical little worlds connected to it, moved in its own way. It invited forgetfulness. Just one of the many things I loved about it.

But eventually I had to piss, so I pushed myself up on one half-asleep arm, tucked the fur around Red’s sleeping form, and tried to get out from behind him without knocking him onto the floor. He gave a little groan when I bumped his leg but didn’t stir beyond that.

My front was vaguely sticky with sweat, which I took for a good sign. I paused before I walked away, looked at him huddled under the furs, his dark curls against the pillow. When he didn’t stir, I told myself I should be on my way; standing here looking at him wouldn’t help him recover, after all.

But he was, in a word, beautiful. Maybe I’d also forgotten what it was like to see another person up close like this, but Red’s face seemed especially fine. Now he was warm, his skin glowed in the firelight, dark brown with a sheen of bronze that seemed just as magical as anything in the forest. His thick, black eyebrows and twitching eyelids hid his dark eyes, like pools of water on a starry night, but the look of those heavy lashes against his cheekbones was nearly as captivating.

Ah, hell, was I lonely? Was that why I wanted to watch him sleep like some kind of—