Chapter Ten

I was pretty sure I was in heaven.

Not only had Jiron not laughed in my face when desperation had overtaken my senses and I'd thrown myself at him in a do-or-die moment, but he'd held and fed me so tenderly, and was now offering up that same carefulness with his touch as his fingers roamed across my ass and pushed inside. Tentative, explorative strokes made me writhe against his legs with both the sensation and anticipation, and the fabric rubbing against my sensitive cock only emphasised my nakedness. Next time I'd strip my giant bare and take my time appreciating and learning his body, but I was enjoying how weirdly erotic this felt, being all exposed out here in a public space while he remained covered up.

For Jiron was a gift for me to unwrap later in private where no one else was allowed to lay eyes on the scrumptious, edible mountain of a man.

"Does that hurt?" he murmured, and I was shaking my head when I felt his whole body stiffen beneath me.

"Daddy?" I asked.

He didn't respond.

I frowned, twisting my neck to peer up at him. "Jiron?"

His amber eyes were glazed over as he stared past me. A single tear rolled silently down his cheek, and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

Shit. I pushed his hands away and sat up, cradling his face in my hands.

"Jiron," I begged. "Can you hear me? Come back to me, please?"

I'd seen him like this before, but it never got easier to bear. And we'd always been in the palace grounds before, surrounded by other people who could help...although help wasn't really the right word. Nothing could draw Jiron's mind out of wherever it went when he sank into one of his episodes, not until it had inflicted its cruel torment on him and left him gasping and shaking and shivering.

Still, at least in the palace he'd be with his friends, and have the healer nearby. I cursed again and scrambled off his lap, dragging my trousers and boots on. I hated to leave him alone but if I ran, if I really pushed myself, I could be back within the quarter hour, and-

"Wyatt, you little fucker."

I froze, my head turning impossibly slowly towards the familiar voice as though my mind stupidly thought that if I didn't move, he wouldn't see me. As if a shirtless Lukian could possibly camouflage himself in this perfectly serene grove that had lost all its lustre the moment Jiron fell prey to his past once more.

Macario was leaning against a tree, arms folded and one hip cocked in that effortlessly sexy pose that had once had me drooling over him. His biceps bulged impressively under his shirt. My ex-lover was a stonemason – or at least he had been, before he turned up drunk too many times and was let go by his master – and while not as large as Jiron, had the same broad shoulders and thick muscles. I had a fucking type, alright?

"Mac," I said in relief, not daring to dwell on how he'd found me or the horrible thought that he'd followed us. All I could see was his huge arms, large enough to maybe even bear Jiron's weight, if I helped him. "I need to get da...Jiron back to the palace. Do you think you can carry him?"

Macario's shoulders lifted and dipped in a careless shrug. "Probably."

The word was thrown out boastfully and was dripping with ego and disdain. I held back my sigh, willing to overlook it if he'd just help , but the man didn't move.

I swallowed. "You're not going to, are you?"

"Got it in one."

"Don't be an asshole, Mac," I hissed, my hands dropping to my hips, and he snickered like he always did when I tried to stand up to him. Adorable , he'd called me once, patting me on the head like I was a Blessed puppy yipping at his heels, and then held me in a headlock to remind me of our size difference when I'd attempted to bat him away.

"Speaking of assholes," he drawled, "don't think I didn't see you draping yourself over him like a little whore. If you're that desperate to get fucked, Wyatt, all you have to do is apologise and I'll come home."

Oh, there were so many things I wanted to say to that, starting with I have nothing to apologise for and it's not your home , but...

"I don't have time for this," I said wearily. "If you're not going to help, get lost. I'll handle it myself."

I took a step towards the undergrowth that led back to the main path, only for Macario to peel himself away from the tree and move to block me.

"Except," he said in a low tone that sent a shiver through me – and not the good kind that I felt with Jiron – "you owe me something, Wyatt. Don't tell me that pretty, empty head of yours has forgotten what we agreed just this morning."

"I don't..." I faltered, glancing back at Jiron who was still sitting on the blanket, unmoving. I could take off running and Mac wouldn't be able to catch me, not in the thicker brush surrounding the clearing, but it would mean Jiron being alone with him. Somehow that felt worse than leaving him on his own.

"What do you want?"

Macario gave an irritated sigh. "For fuck's sake, Wyatt, this shit is what made me need to clear my head the first time."

"Clear your head?" I repeated hollowly. "You mean cheat on me?"

"You're just..." Mac gestured at me with a short, sharp flick of his hand. "A lot, okay? Needy. Time-consuming. Always wanting attention but not willing to give it in turn."

I swallowed. That wasn't true.

Was it?

"We can talk about this another time."

"No, Wyatt." He took a step closer, not seeming to care when I flinched backwards. "You promised me this morning that you'd get me my money. Enough for me not to have to ever see you again."

That was what he'd been demanding while he'd been pulling my hair hard enough to make me cry? Damn him.

"Lunchtime, I said," Macario continued, letting out a disappointed sigh. "You'd come to me at lunchtime with gold or jewellery or whatever the fuck else you happened to find in the king's palace. And what did you bring me instead?"

Mac paused from where he was closing in on me to peer down into our discarded picnic basket.

"Fucking grapes," he said with disgust. "And a near comatose old man. Are you incapable of following even the simplest of instructions, Wyatt?"

"I'll get you mone-"

"You sure will. Especially when I leave you with a little reminder."

I nodded eagerly. "Yep, a reminder would be good. Maybe you can write me a note, or a-"

"Not a note. Something you can't forget," Macario said in a low tone, and then he crouched, his fingers curling around the hilt of Jiron's sword where it lay in the grass.

"Mac..."

I continued to back up, watching fearfully as he unsheathed the blade and held it steady at chest height. It looked heavy; the thing was the size of my entire leg, and I knew Jiron kept it nothing less than impossibly sharp.

"Give me your arm," Macario said.

"What? My arm? No, I don't-"

"Fucking hell, Wyatt, I'm not going to cut it off. I'm just going to give you something to remember your promises so we don't have to have this conversation again, sí? "

He was going to cut me? Or worse?

"I'll remember!" I pleaded, trying to put distance between me and that blade but he stalked closer, the sword's point aimed directly at my bare chest. "I'll remember to get you the money, Mac, please!"

But the man shook his head, unmoved. "I know you too well to believe that, Wyatt. Now, stay still."

*