Chapter Twelve

It was strange how in one moment, Macario was all I could see – the blade in his hand, the cruel scorn on his face, the way he was so close – and in the next, it was like he'd ceased to exist.

Because Jiron was here, my sweet, courageous giant racing towards me and wrapping me in his arms. He normally took a while to come out of whatever tormenting evil had held him in its foul grasp, but his eyes held none of the usual horrors: now, they were full of tender concern as they raked over my body, and he patted down my arms and legs and chest as if to assure himself that I was unhurt.

"I'm fine," I told him, although I couldn't stop the whimper that erupted from my mouth as I clung to him. It was only partly from fear of what had almost happened: the rest was the pure relief of getting to wrap my arms around his neck and breathe in his comforting scent. The solid muscle beneath my fingers was an enjoyable bonus.

"You," Jiron growled, pushing me behind him as he turned to face Macario. "Who the fuck are you?"

I peered out from behind Jiron's protective stance, my hands clutching at his waist. Mac's eyes darted between us and he sneered.

"The one who used up your little toy long before he came crawling to you. Has he bored you with all his whining and neediness yet?"

My giant snarled, taking a threatening step towards him. Mac, smartly enough, took one back. Jiron wasn't wearing the coat that marked him as a king's guard today, but it seemed even my ex-lover wasn't stupid enough to tangle with him, despite being armed, for with a final contemptuous look in my direction, he turned and fled into the trees. I expected him to pause on the edges of our earshot and yell a final, scathing retort – like he had that day when I'd ended things between us – but surprisingly he disappeared in silence.

"He took your sword," I said quietly, trying to keep any trace of a whine from my voice. "If you want to go after him and get it back, I could…"

Jiron twisted and dropped to his knees in front of me, cradling my face with his huge hands. They were warm and callused, and held me so tenderly. "I'm not leaving you alone, little one. Are you alright?"

Yes, I went to say, but when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a strangled kind of whimper.

"Shush, daddy's got you," Jiron murmured, peppering my forehead with gentle kisses. "It's okay. It's all okay, sweet boy."

"I'm sor-sorry," I sobbed, unable to stop the tears. "After everything you went through, and I can't handle..."

The words devolved into hiccoughs that he soothed away with a strong hand rubbing down my back.

"You did handle it," he told me. "You handled it so beautifully, little one. You were so brave."

"You don't have to placate me," I whispered, feeling the hysteria drain away as abruptly as it had arrived. I scrubbed angrily at my wet cheeks. "You probably think I'm pathetic. There's you, taking out fourteen armed rebels, and defeating enemies for years and years, and I bet the king never cried like that when people tried to hurt him. "

"You might be surprised at what makes our king cry," Jiron said, a subtle twist to his lips that I'd long since learned to read as amusement. "Wyatt, I'm not placating you. I think more of you than that."

He stood, bundling me into his arms in an effortless move.

"It takes courage to face an enemy," he continued, snuggling his face into my neck and making me snort out a laugh as his beard tickled the sensitive patch of skin under my ear. "But far more to face someone who was once a friend. He was…?"

"My ex-lover," I mumbled. "Macario Aiza. Things didn't end well between us."

"Your ex-lover," Jiron mused, but he didn't sound accusatory. Or even jealous. More…thoughtful. "To stand up to a man who once held your heart and yet has devolved to using threats and weapons against you. No, little one, you carry enough bravery for all of us. Do not think anything on your mind and body releasing all that emotion through tears: it is substantially healthier than how I process my own experiences."

"Which is how?"

He glanced down at me and sighed. "When I figure that out, I will tell you, Wyatt. For now, the memories still have their claws embedded in my flesh. I'm sorry I disappeared on you back there."

"And I'm sorry about your sword," I said. "I'll help you get it back. I can tell you where Mac can usually be found."

When Jiron nodded, slow and unbothered, I peered up into his eyes. The dark fury that had swirled in their depths before had gone, replaced by that fire-lit amber. "You're not…angry with me?"

Jiron's tone was incredulous. "Of course I'm not."

Then he paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he searched my face. "Do you want me to be angry?" he asked cautiously, his voice wavering into something I couldn't quite discern. "Is that something you need of me? Do you enjoy…being punished?"

"No!" I said quickly, flushing, and felt the tension instantly drain from him.

"Good," said Jiron. He gave me a grateful smile and hugged me closer. "Because I'm not sure I could ever hurt you, Wyatt, even in play."

I was absolutely with him on that. How anyone found screaming and crying to be sexy was beyond me, because the last thing I wanted when I'd stubbed my toe on the steps or cut myself with the garden shears was to jump into bed with someone. Or maybe I was missing the point. I squeezed Jiron's arm, thankful for his understanding with everything that had happened with Mac.

"I'm taking you home, little one," he murmured then. "Will you tell me where you live?"

" Calle Daluería ," I said into Jiron's shirt, reciting the name of my street. "The last building on the left, room nine."

Jiron's strides were long and sure, and he whisked me away without another word. The picnic items we left behind – perhaps they'd benefit a family who would otherwise have gone without tonight – and there was no sign of Macario as we returned to the park's main path. I closed my eyes and snuggled in closer, responding when Jiron spoke but falling asleep in my man's arms long before we arrived home.

*