Page 69 of Beloved Sacrifice

Rose’s words made Marek’s chest hurt. These two were so broken, so wounded, and, he suspected, so utterly ignorant of how the other one felt.

He was going to fix it. Fix them.

He felt…loyal to them. As if they were his. Ridiculous though it may be, that was how he felt. Protect others—that was his life’s work. He’d always done that in the most literal sense. But these two—they needed protection not from external sources, but from their own demons, and in some ways, from each other. Staying close to Rose was a good excuse for coming upstairs rather than taking the downstairs bed Tristan had offered, but it wasn’t the only reason. He wanted to be close to them, wanted to be near them.

Rose’s words hung in the air, and Weston’s face crumpled with pain.

“No, Brown Eyes, don’t say that. I’m sorry he’s dead, but don’t—”

She bolted. Weston reached out to stop her, but Marek grabbed his arm, preventing him from touching her. Marek expected him to pull away, maybe even throw a punch. But instead Weston dropped his arm, his head slowly bowing forward—a man defeated. A man lost.

A man with a broken heart.

Marek was now sure that Rose and Weston were both operating with incorrect information. Maybe he was too much a romantic, seeing them as star-crossed lovers when they were really two damaged people whose pasts would drag them down and drown them.

Marek softened his hold on Weston’s arm and tugged the other man toward him, acting on instinct. The touch was light, an invitation more than a command.

To Marek’s surprise, Weston turned into him, grabbing Marek in a fierce—no, desperate—hug. Marek felt the roughness of the other man’s stubbled cheek against his jaw and neck. Weston’s hands fisted the thin fabric of the undershirt Marek wore, and he felt the warmth of tears against his shoulder.

Marek returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around Weston’s back, hugging him firmly, but not too tight. Marek’s heart thumped harder than it had a moment ago. Pain radiated off Weston, and in that moment, Marek wanted nothing more to comfort the other man, not just with words, but with his body.

“I’ve got you,” Marek whispered. “I’m here.”

Weston’s shaking subsided, his hands loosening their hold on Marek’s shirt. But he didn’t let go.

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