Page 236 of Golden Eagle

Dante said, “Yes.”

“Don’t feed me that bull–”

“Lex.” Dante touched his face. Cupped his cheek with great gentleness, his own face full of emotion. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I won’t ask for it. I did deceive you, selfishly, to win my freedom…But once I met you…Once I got toknowyou–”

“You think youknowme?”

“I think I do.” Soft, but sure. His thumb swept down Alexei’s cheek until it rested at the point of his chin; he had long hands. “Which is why I was surprised, earlier, when you didn’t have Lanny toss me out on the street. I expected more of…this.”

Alexei bristled – but he didn’t pull away from that warm touch, the way it grounded him.

“I hurt you, and I’ll regret that for the rest of my days.”

This conversation had been a terrible idea. Across the course of it, Dante had regained his footing; no longer the supplicant, but now the comforting, “adult” presence he’d provided for Alexei all along. He’d be patting him on the head and offering him a piece of candy next.

It was much easier to classify it that way, rather than acknowledge the tenderness shining in Dante’s eyes. Things had shifted irrevocably, and that hadn’t mattered so much when Alexei was playing tsar…but now he was too fatigued to keep his head on straight, and he couldn’t let things get out of hand.

(Had to guard his heart, he wouldn’t say, even to himself.)

He brushed Dante’s touch away, and scrambled around so he was sitting with his feet on the floor, coiled and ready to stand. “You didn’t hurt me,” he snarled. “That would imply that I gave a shit.”

He didn’t get to stand; Dante beat him to the punch, unfolding elegantly. “Yes, of course, your majesty.” He turned away, but not before Alexei caught the very visible signs of hurt onhisface. He at least wasn’t pretending – not anymore. Hurt, and resignation, and shame. He gathered himself to walk away. “I’m sorry that–”

Alexei grabbed his wrist and tugged him backward. Dante fell back to the cushions with a startledoof, gaze shocked just before Alexei put both arms around him, and hugged him fiercely. He buried his nose in the soft waves of Dante’s hair, and took an unsteady breath that was full of the scent of floral shampoo. “I hate you,” he whispered, voice cracking.

Dante held still a moment, and then returned the embrace, rubbing little circles between Alexei’s shoulder blades. “I know. I hate me, too.”

“Why didn’t you justtell me? We could have helped you.”

Dante carded fingers through his hair. “We?”

“My pack,” he said, impatient, pulling back. “That’s what the rest of those idiots do; they’ve got hero complexes.”

Amusement touched Dante’s face, plucking at his mouth. “I thought you didn’t have friends?”

“Well, I don’t, but I have apack,” he huffed, and he did. He had for a long time, though there had been resistance on both sides.

“And maybe some friends, too?” Dante teased.

“Don’t try to be cute, it won’t work.”

His expression went immediately somber. “Sorry.”

“And stop apologizing. Just don’t be a fucking liar anymore.”

“I won’t. I swear to you, Lex, Iwon’t.”

Alexei caught his narrow, oh-so-pretty face between both hands, reeled him in, and kissed him.

A kiss that Dante didn’t return at all.

Alexei pulled back, horror dawning, hands falling away, limp. “Was that another lie?” he asked, heart starting to pound, shame building. Oh, God, if Dante had only touched him as part of a ploy…

Realization flickered through Dante’s gaze. “No. Alexei.” He laid a hand on his thigh, intimate, automatic, unhesitating. “Lex. Love.” He leaned in close, head tilting, voice soft, imploring. “All along, that was the part that was true. Believe me. It’s only…” His gaze cut sideways, toward the arm chairs opposite them. “We have an audience.”

Somehow, Alexei had forgotten about Severin. A glance proved that the mage was still seated in the wingback chair Dante had invited him to occupy when they first arrived at the apartment, hands loosely gripping its arms, feet planted flat on the floor, as stiff and upright as a prisoner strapped to an electric chair, his gaze pinned to the two of them with the rapt attention of an anthropologist observing foreign customs. It was debatable whether he’d blinked.

Alexei hadn’t wanted to bring him along, but the boy still seemed unwilling to trust Nikita – doubtlessly a mutual sentiment – and he’d attached himself to Alexei, anyway, shadowing him like a baby animal who’d imprinted.

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