Page 148 of Warlord's Plaything

Then he softens.

His lips slow.

His hands steady.

His mouth lingers, tracing over mine like an apology, like a promise.

His forehead rests against mine.

I break.

I don’t mean to.

I don’t want to.

But I do.

I can’t hold it in anymore.

Because for all my strength, for all my fire, for all my fucking will?—

I am tired.

So fucking tired.

I feel my body give out.

I feel his arms catch me.

I feel my chest rise and fall in sharp, uneven breaths, the weight in my ribs too heavy to hold.

And I let go.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for him to hold me up.

Just long enough to remember I don’t have to fight alone.

"We’re going to burn them for this."

His voice is low.

Dangerous.

Deadly.

And I don’t doubt it.

Not for a second.

This war isn’t over.

I am not done.

He will burn for me.

And I will let him.

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