12. 1942

CHAPTER TWELVE

1942

CYRIL

I wretch, sure the weight of nose is on my tongue and taste of blood is in my mouth, but there's nothing to spit out. My stomach burns, but I'm not bleeding. Nor am I gasping for breath. I'm very much alive, though in the same cave.

Did I fall asleep and dream of ancient deaths?

No. I'm crouched in the sand, the flashlight is on, and the golden cat in my hand.

If I didn't fall asleep, then what happened? Did I imagine the murder of the priest and the mutilation of his lover?

It felt as though I was dying. The pain and devastation of watching Ay be ripped away from me is so real, an anguished cry is half-formed on my lips before I swallow it. But it's not Ay I'm about to lose.

It's Teddy.

I stand, suddenly worried that something is wrong…but he's sitting by the fire writing his letter as if no time has passed.

Teddy looks up as though I did make a pained sound .

"What have you got?" Teddy calls. His voice is tight, like he's forcing good cheer.

The wound didn't look bad, but every soldier knows that can be a lie, and I'm no doctor.

"Gold." I try to sound bright, like I believe everything is fine and we'll be heading back to HQ in time for breakfast, but the memory of the blade between my ribs and Ay's bleeding face is too strong.

Memory? More like the fever dream of a man who's lost his nerve. The desert and the war have finally broken me.

I make my way back to Teddy to show him my finds. There's no more gold to be found in the cave; it was taken by the scribe and his soldiers. The only pieces left were the armband I was wearing and Bast hidden beneath me.

No, not me. Him. The priest.

His life and death are far too close. Clearer than some memories from my own life. And I envy what he had with Ay. I kneel next to Teddy to show him the cat and armband.

Teddy smiles at me, his skin gleaming with sweat, but doesn't seem interested in the artifacts. If he touched Bast, would he see the priest's life or Ay's? I shiver, already knowing the answer, while also refusing to believe that we have been trapped in this cave before.

Last time, only one of us made it out alive.

"Can you put some more net on the fire? It's getting quite cold," Teddy says.

It's not cold, but I do it anyway. "How's your side? Do you want me to check it?"

"I'm a bit sore and a bit chilly." He hands me a folded piece of map. "For my mother."

I take and force my lips to curve in what I hope is something jolly. "You'll be able to give it to her yourself."

"It's just in case. I haven't written home as often as I should." He hands me another piece of paper. "And this one is for you."

"For me?" My heartbeat quickens.

"Sometimes it's easier to write things down than say them. But I don't think I can bear to see you read it, so please save the letter for when you find a few minutes alone." He gives me another tight smile. "And then you can give me your answer."

I can guess what is in the letter. I slide the paper into my breast pocket over my heart. "Should I be worried?"

He laughs, but it turns into a gasp and a groan. "Can I have another drink?"

"Sure." I pass him the bottle and sit next to him. "If you want the pain shot..."

"Not yet. But I would like to be closer to the fire."

"We can lie next to it. I'll help keep you warm." I toss some more net on the fire and help Teddy lie on his good side. He's going to be fine . But the more times I repeat the words, the more I see through the threadbare lie.

I died in this cave, alone and abandoned by my lover, and I don't want Teddy to feel that heartbreak or pain even though we are not lovers.

I lie down behind him and let him use my arm as a pillow. My other arm is thrown around his chest to avoid hurting his wound. He holds my hand, his skin cold and slick.

"This is nice," he murmurs.

"It is." It's a pleasure I have denied myself since my wife's death. I want to kiss the back of his neck and press my hips close, but that isn't what this is.

"It's what I wanted that night when everyone was drinking and celebrating."

I remember the night. I'd been worried he was going to make an obvious move and draw attention to him and, by default, me. I'd put him to bed, telling him to sleep it off. The look on his face, the naked hunger. I don't think I could've resisted if he'd dragged me into bed with him. If he'd whispered his desire...

I give in and press my lips to the back of his neck. "It's much better when neither of us is slurring our words and stumbling to bed. When you can take your time instead of rushing and fearing getting caught."

"We're not going to be caught now."

"We aren't." I should end this little fantasy, as it's only going to hurt us both. But we are both so damaged already. What's another bruise? Another cut? Another open wound that will never heal?

I couldn't invite him to my bed at HQ. "We'll take some leave together. To Cairo." There are places where no one looks twice and places where being with a man will get you killed. The trick is knowing where to go. "We'll get a hotel room with one big bed, and we won't leave it for days.

Teddy makes a little noise. "We'll need to order room service."

"We will. And we'll spend the rest of the time making love until we're too exhausted to move."

"What's that like?" His grip on my hand loosens, so I hold his hand.

I'm not ready to let go, even though I know it's coming.

"There's nothing better than waking up naked, curled up against your lover." I kiss the back of his neck again, tasting the sweat and sand and skin. I wish I had not hidden my heart so well that even I forgot where I placed it. "Their skin warm and supple."

What else can I tell him? I only spent a handful of nights with James, and every other moment was stolen .

"Keep going." His voice is soft, almost drowned out by the hissing and crackling of the fire and the howling of the wind.

I know what he's asking, but finding the right words isn't easy. I haven't let myself think about finding pleasure in another's arms and now is the wrong time.

"What will we do?" Teddy presses. His breathing is too fast and shallow.

I swallow, but the lump in my throat doesn't go down. "Like this, I'd slide between your thighs. I'd touch every part of you I can reach until you're aching to spill. I'll kiss you until you can't breathe."

His fingers become limp in mine.

He doesn't ask for more.

"We'll meet in Cairo," I whisper, my voice breaking as I give into the grief. My body shakes as I hold him until he stops breathing.