Page 7 of Talismaker

"You're not intruding, Millé. You could never intrude. I wish you'd come to see me as soon as you arrived. What was all that nonsense about me not remembering you?" He closed the book in his lap and set it aside before standing, beckoning Millé to come closer. "Why would you think that?"

Millé blinked at him. "Why would my rich, handsome, popular commanding officer remember one enlisted out of hundreds? There was nothing remarkable about me, unless you count my demon eyes."

Liste scowled the way he always had when someone brought up Millé's eyes: like he was about to commit a very slow, very painful murder. It was one of the first things that had drawn Millé to him. "There's nothing wrong with your eyes."

"I wish all the places I applied for work agreed with you, but it's a deeply entrenched superstition. Who knows, if I really am working for Lord Rediburgh now, maybe it will help lessen the stigma."

"You can use his name. You might have noticed we don't stand much on formality around here." His gaze dropped slightly, and Millé must be losing his mind, or what was left of it, because it seemed like Liste stared at his mouth before he jerked his eyes back up. "I was restricted by formalities in the military. I ignore them as much as possible now. You should have come to see me. I would have helped you."

"I don't want to be anyone's burden or obligation," Millé said softly, looking away. Least of all Liste's.

Liste made an indecipherable noise and gently pushed at Millé's cheek until they were locking gazes again. Instead of dropping away, he slid his hand back to curl around the back of Millé's neck. The one time Millé had been this close to him in the military, he'd done the very same thing, and for a single breathtaking, heart-stopping moment, he'd thought Liste was going to kiss him.

He shivered as Liste's thumb stroked his skin. "What…" A glint of gold caught his eye, and Millé stared wide-eyed at where it nestled in the hollow of Liste's throat.

A necklace. A gold crescent moon set in an oval of black enamel. It had taken him five paychecks to save up for that necklace, a farewell gift to his favorite commanding officer and the unrequited love of his life. A nod to all the nights they'd both been awake, on duty or unable to sleep, talking and talking while the world slept or dealt with the demons of war in their own way.

He reached out tentatively, amazed he hadn't seen it sooner. "You still have it. You'rewearingit."

Sighing ever so softly, Liste said, "You can't really have thought all this time that you were the only one looking, Millé. Do you really think I gave a single other person in the military a gift? That I would accepted jewelry like this from anyone else?"

Millé's face went hot as he jerked back, overwhelmed by surprise and embarrassment and sharp, painful hope. "It was— It was just gloves and a hat." His shoulders hunched. "I gave them away a couple of weeks ago to a little girl who needed them more."

"Of course, you did," Liste said, grabbing his arm and reeling him back in close. "Guess this just means I'll have to buy you a new set. Now hold still. I know it's not one of your finer skills, but do it anyway, Sergeant."

"Y-yes, Captain," Millé said, licking his lips.

Liste made a soft noise that sounded suspiciously like a strangled groan and then hewaskissing Millé. His lips were soft, so unbelievably soft, but his kiss was anything but. Firm. Commanding. Claiming. Millé gasped into it as Liste pulled their bodies flush, one hand in Millé's hair and the other around his waist. Millé's hand flailed briefly before he settled it on Liste's shoulder, clinging tightly to the smooth linen of his shirt.

"You—"

"Shush," Liste said before kissing him again. His mouth tasted of whiskey and chocolate, like he'd been nibbling on some right before Millé had come in. Millé moaned shamelessly into his mouth, eager for more, for whatever he could have before this fever dream came to an end. He was probably freezing to death in his hovel, or out on the street, keeping himself warm with daydreams of the hopelessly impossible

When Liste finally drew back, Millé scarcely dared to breath. He shivered again as Liste rubbed a thumb across his lips. "That was most certainly worth the wait."

Millé's face went hot. Again. He felt it was going to become a permanent affliction. "I can't believe you…"

"I can't believe you never realized howmuchI've wanted to do that since the day we met."

"When I… when I showed up covered in water and mud and blood to tell you that all your officers and NCOs were dead or missing and alcohol had something to do with it?" Millé asked, more bewildered than ever. "I looked exactly like the junkyard I came from. I certainly don't look better now."

Liste's face filled with fury. "If I hear you insult yourself one more time, I will shake you so hard your teeth fall out. Yes, I wanted you from that very moment, and I want you now, and anyone who makes you think you were anything but desired by more than half the platoon is a damned fool who doesn't deserve to keep breathing the same air as you."

Millé had absolutely no idea what to say in response to that tirade.

Making a frustrated noise, Liste dropped into his abandoned chair and drew Millé down to sit on his lap, kissing him again before Millé could figure out a response to such a brazen move.

Not that he had complaints. No, sitting on Liste's lap had just become his new favorite thing in the world. Well, second favorite, because the kissing was wonderful.

It had been a miserable day, that day they'd met. Someone had smuggled in a potent type of alcohol called Shatter, and it had wreaked havoc through camp. The bottle that landed amongst the officers and NCOs had been off, though, and killed half of them. The rest were passed out in the strangest places, and by the time they'd all been rounded up and sent to medical, the platoon had devolved into chaos. That had only been Liste's second day there, replacing a man who'd been thrown out of the army with severe and extremely personal prejudice after he'd done some things he shouldn't have with the general's youngest daughter.

Liste had risen to the challenge effortlessly, and by the end of the day, Millé wasn't the only already half in love with him. He was a force to be reckoned with, a presence that even chaos could not conquer.

When they finally drew apart again several kisses later, Millé said, "I never knew… I never even dared think… Why would you choose me? You clearly could have anyone."

"Yes, I hear that quite a bit," Liste said. "I could have any job I want, why would I settle for being a servant—a servant for a friend, no less, who must not think much of me to hire me as such and boss me around all day. I could have any spouse I wanted, marry into the upper class and obtain a title I've certainly earned. So on and so forth. I don'twantany of that. I want to live with my best friend. I want to run a household and smart off with that best friend every day. I want a simple, straightforward life, not endless teas and parties and clubs with fools more interested in drinking and fucking their mistresses than building happy homes.

"I was born the son of a butcher and a seamstress. I made friends with the local lord's son by sheer chance. He turned my tiny pile of money into a fortune. I bought myself a commission because I thought I could be something if I went into the military. Eventually I realized I didn't want to be anything but home with my friends and family. The only thing missing was the pretty little sergeant I had to leave behind because rank meant I couldn't say or do everything I wanted. But you're here now, and I'll be damned if I let you go a second time. I'm afraid you're stuck, Millé, and by much more than snow."

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