Lina flew into place, cradling Benedict in her lap like he was the sacred and perfect treasure on Earth, something to be savored and protected at all costs.

“How could you do that, Antony? You bastard! If I hadn’t been scared that you’d kill him, I would have ripped your throat out!”

Antony moaned as Lina’s pain assaulted him. Her anger and fear were as real as his. He could feel how much she wished to hurt him and punish him for what he had just done. And that made his own pain so much worse. It felt tangible, like a hot blade in his heart.

Benedict began to stir.

Lina stroked his hair again.

Antony knew he needed to fix what he had done. He needed to apologize. He moved forward wanting to touch them.

Lina wrapped her arms around their mate and growled at him, a feral nasty sound that he truthfully deserved.

Antony stepped back in terror as the full weight of his actions settled on him. What have I done?

“Lina... I’m all right.” Benedict started struggling to sit up.

Lina helped him, propping him up a little when he would have fallen back.

Pain sliced across Antony’s chest as he realized how close to death’s door he’d brought his mate.

Benedict’s normal health and natural sense of vitality were gone. He was pale, his eyes almost devoid of all color and warmth. He looked terrible.

“It will take you a few days to regain your strength, but I’ll look after you until then,” Lina reassured their mate. You’re going to be fine; I promise.”

Benedict nodded while he took a deep breath. His eyes were unfocused, then they sharpened, looking directly at Antony.

He should be doing what Lina was doing, reassuring Benedict. Antony stepped a little closer, meeting Benedict’s gaze. “We’ll both look after you.”

Another feral growl ripped out of Lina’s throat in response to his declaration.

Antony fell back again. I need to make this better, but how? How do you make up for almost killing the person you love?

“Lina, stop. I want Antony too,” whispered Benedict.

Lina looked ready to murder one of her oldest friends.

The reality of his actions finally settled in Antony’s head. He had betrayed his mate. “It’s not all right, Benedict. I’m sorry.” His voice was thick with emotion, but he forced himself to continue. A part of him registered that Lina was no longer angry at him, but his own grief was drowning him now. Everything hurt. His head, his chest, even his legs felt weak and boneless.

“I should never have done...” His voice broke off again as he moved closer to the bed. What if Benedict didn’t forgive him? And left them both forever? Lina would never forgive him. And he couldn’t bear to be apart from Benedict, now.

“It’s fine Antony... I know...” said Benedict, his voice raspy and weak.

Antony shook his head and collapsed to his knees in front of them, tears pouring down his face. He had lost Malcolm because of his own stupidity. And yet Fate had blessed him over a hundred years later with his real mate and he had betrayed him.

“You don’t know... you can’t possibly...” He had to make Benedict understand, beg his forgiveness. But the pain was too much, and he was sobbing now. His head too heavy to hold up, he let it sink to the floor as his whole body hunched over in pain. He would do anything, anything to have Benedict’s forgiveness. He felt a cool body slip down beside him.

Benedict pulled Antony into his arms.

His head lay against Benedict’s weakened heart and the sound just made his pain worse somehow. Because it’s my fault. “You don’t... you don’t... I just feared and—” He sobbed and clung to Benedict’s form.

Rocking him like a baby, Benedict whispered, “Shhh, my lover, shhh.”

Antony kept crying, unable to stop. The pain was just so bad. His soul was being torn from his body, or at least it felt like it. He tried again to explain. “I need you, we both need you. I can’t lose you! If you die...”

Benedict laughed weakly at him, the sound reassuring in a strange way. “I’m not going anywhere, Antony. I want you both, too.”

He didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense. “I’ll kill myself if I lose you too, Benedict. I’ll walk into the sun... I just can’t do this anymore, live half a life...” Antony knew he wouldn’t survive losing Benedict like he lost Malcolm. He truly would rather die than live another single day with a huge gaping hole in his chest.