Ture was appalled by what he described. “They would really kill someone for that?”
Maris nodded. “By the time I arrived, my little brother was barely alive from their vicious assault. The fury inside me was terrifying. And I unleashed every ounce of it onto the three hulking men who were standing over him. I didn’t even realize what I’d done until they were in pieces on the ground and I was vomiting against the wall.”
Ture took his hand into his and held it tight. “I am so sorry. I can’t believe anyone would do such a thing for such a stupid reason. Who sent them after you?”
My father. Maris tightened his hand around Ture’s as the answer echoed in his head. To this day, he couldn’t bring himself to say that out loud. It was something he’d never told a single soul.
Not even Darling.
The saddest part? His father had bragged about it to Maris when he’d returned home, carrying an almost dead Safir in his arms.
A smile had spread across his father’s face as he saw them. “I’ve never been prouder of you, boy. Here we all thought we’d be burying a defective woman in an unmarked grave tonight. Instead, you’ve come home redeemed and wearing the blood of three of my best soldiers. Good job, Maris. You’ve restored our honor.”
It was the only time in his life his father had praised him. But what had sickened him even more was the fact that his father hadn’t cared that he put Safir in danger. Barely more than a child, Safir was considered collateral damage to their father and family.
Just like him.
Sighing, he did his best to bury that memory. “It doesn’t matter. Three men were dead over something ridiculous.”
Ture pulled him into his arms and held him. “I’m sorry, Mari. But I’m glad you’re still here.”
Maris patted him on the back. “Some days, I am, too.” Closing his eyes, he breathed in the scent of Ture’s warm body. He might have gone soft on the female whore who’d ratted him out to his father, but that was definitely not his problem right now.
Ture set him on fire.
And all that did was remind him why his body was rife with such demanding need. He hadn’t been with anyone in over two years. First had been his need to find Darling after the Caronese Resistance had taken him captive. Nothing else had mattered during the months they’d searched. And sex had been the last thing on his mind. Then, Darling had been found in a condition that made both Ture’s and Zarya’s combined look like a picnic. The torture and humiliation Darling had suffered at the hands of people who’d been his allies had left him psychotic.
Maris had been so occupied with saving Darling’s life and sanity that he’d forgone any other need. Besides, it didn’t matter. He was in love with Darling and while he might have relationships with other men, they always left him feeling hollow.
Those men weren’t Darling.
Yet as he held Ture, that old need to be in love with someone who could physically love him back surged. Just once in his life, he wanted to go to bed with someone whose happiness meant more to him than his own. He would give anything if he could feel toward a lover one tenth of what he felt for Darling.
Just for one heartbeat.
But it wasn’t meant to be.
He’d accepted that a long time ago. Darling would always be heterosexual. Nothing would ever change that, and his best friend would die before sleeping with him.
Why can’t I walk away from Darling?
Honestly, he’d tried. He’d gone from one man to another, hoping, aching that one of them would find a way into his jaded heart.
And every one of them had disappointed him, and left him with scars that were deeper and uglier than the ones marring his body.
But as he breathed Ture in, that part of him that he hated most surged forward. Hope was a fickle whore, and he hated the fact that he was her bitch.
You’ve walked this path a million times, Mari.
Only Darling was Darling. Everyone else was a poor substitution.
Clenching his teeth against the wave of pain, Maris pulled back and got up. He wouldn’t mourn something he couldn’t change. Forget hope.
He was, and would forever be, Darling’s bitch.
Ture scowled as he watched Maris clean up the food he’d brought. There was a darkness to him now that Ture didn’t understand. A thick wall of sadness.
Zarya’s stories of Maris went through his head. Like him, Zarya didn’t trust easily. She was extremely suspicious and cautious.
Yet Maris had won her over with little effort. She idolized this man. Originally, Ture had dismissed all her stories as hero worship and delusions. He’d never dreamed that a man like Maris actually existed.
A king among princes.
Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to protect what he loved. A man capable of putting the needs of others above his own. Such beasts were as rare as the fabled iksen that was said to only come out of its cave once every thousand years.