Page 147 of Warlord's Plaything

"I want you to stop acting like the only way to win is to sacrifice yourself!"

I shove him.

He doesn’t move.

I shove him again.

Nothing.

Frustration rises in my throat like bile.

"Why do you care?!"

His eyes burn.

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t answer.

Then he moves.

His hands find my face, rough, steady, unyielding.

His mouth is on mine.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not soft.

It’s not careful.

It’s desperate.

It’s a war of its own.

His fingers are in my hair, gripping, holding, pulling me closer.

My hands clutch at his coat, my breath stolen, my mind blank.

This is real.

This is the only real thing I have left.

He is the only real thing I have left.

I kiss him back.

I pour everything into it.

The anger, the grief, the fucking exhaustion that I can’t carry anymore.

He takes it all.

Consumes it.

Devours it.

And then?—

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