AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m no better.”
“But yeare. D’you no’ see it? Ye went aff-script. Ye broke oot o’ bein’ somebody else’s pawn and took action intae yer own hands. That’s the move o’ a fuckin’queen, no’ a pawn.” He shakes his head, looking awestruck. “Sassenach, ye’re incredible. And it’s crazy tae me that ye dinnae even see it.”
I say nothing. There’s not much I can say, really. I’d feel more incredible if my actions had resulted in something good, instead of turning Oscar Munro’s ire onto all of us with the same intensity as a sweeping, lighthouse beam. But despite my failure, Finlay’s radiating a wild amount of faith in my direction, and it gives me strength I hadn’t anticipated.
Finlay’s finger strokes my cheek. “It’s clearly eatin’ ye up inside,” he observes. “Ye dinnae have tae stay quiet and keep everythin’ tae yerself, y’know. Quiet American girl.” He smiles at me. “Ye’re one o’ us noo, remember? We share things. Whit else are ye no’ tellin’ us?”
Discussing Oscar Munro is a step too far, and all the raw recklessness involvingthatsituation will remain confined inside me until the end of time.
“C’mere,” Finlay says with deep affection when I don’t respond, standing up and taking me with him. He pulls me up by my hands until I’m pressed against him. The sensation of being next to another body is an exquisite comfort, and I lean into Finlay to chase more of it.
He presses a kiss to the crown of my head, then tilts my chin upward for our mouths to connect. With one brush of his lips, I wilt into him, urging his mouth for more — for kisses both deeper and harder, to obliterate the pain and the memories.
We’re breathless when we part. His arms refuse to leave my waist, and he gathers me close to his chest, making me bury myself into the nape of his neck.
“So ye bumped intae Oscar Munro,” Finlay says dubiously, “and he invited ye round for, whit, tea?”
Whisky, my mind supplies, but I don’t tell him this.
“It was a brief encounter.” For my own sanity, I need to downplay that night as much as possible. My words are a lie, though I wish they weren’t. “He was… curious… about me.”
“Aye, I bet he was.” His voice is dark. Perhaps Finlay senses my reluctance to speak more on this subject — and perhaps he senses that more did indeed occur that night, because when he next brings his mouth to mine, it’s a brutal, possessive beast, as though his kiss is powerful enough to fight off elegantly suited, whisky-soaked devils old enough to be my father. I groan aloud, looping my arms around Finlay’s neck, my body drooping between the safety of his embrace. We kiss for a sweet eternity in the silence of the medical wing, until a soft cough politely interrupts.
“Well, it’s a delight to learn I’m such a turn-on even when comatose,” Luke drawls lazily, shuffling on the bed. When he inadvertently lands on his injured side, he winces. “Damn this to hell.”
“Watch it,” Finlay warns, crossing over to help Luke. He rearranges the pillows behind Luke’s head so that he’s perched upright, and Luke blows out a frustrated breath.
“I hate being weak.Hateit.” His dark eyes alight on me, and the tension in his body slowly seems to seep out. In an almost impish tone, he adds, “Don’t stop kissing on my behalf.”
I grin down at him. “Maybe I could kiss you better instead?”
As I say this, I find myself naturally gravitating toward Luke. Even as he sits, straight-backed and chin lifted, with a gaze like darkened steel, his aura is one of effortless nobility and princeliness. He projects hardness as a duty, when I know he secretly craves another fat pillow behind his head — but he’ll do without it, and maybe threaten to lose all the pillows, because sacrifice is what a good leader does.
Luke makes it easy for others to follow him.
Knowing this, I realize with sudden calmness that Luke’s support will never vanish completely. He’s too powerful, toovirtuous, not to naturally command the respect of others.
Luke’s mouth is soft against mine. He seems to cherish my touch, cradling my face like the most delicate artwork. He never uses his power to demand more, and I find that intriguing. He could so easily order me — or anyone — to give him all the darkest pleasures in the world, to which he could deem himself entitled, and somehow I’d find it in me to oblige, knowing his happiness is a priority. Instead, his mouth is a gentle warmth, focused solely on pleasuring me, his tongue sweet as it tastes mine. Wetness springs between my legs simply from the tenderness and care I’ve received tonight from both chiefs.
I’m valued, and that’s a big thing to realize.
One for all, all for one.
“You remind me of all the good in the world,” Luke murmurs when we part, the deep rumble of his voice enticingly swoonworthy. “You remind me to keep fighting.”
“And — sorry tae crash the party—” Finlay does look somewhat remorseful, as though he could watch me and Luke kiss all night, “—but ye know thatwillhave tae happen, aye?”
“Fighting?” I balk.
“Ye’ve seen the papers. They dinnae believe that speech was you. They got speech analysts in and everythin’, and theystillsay it wisnae you — which means they need a new job, tae be honest wi’ ye.”
Luke sags deeper into the pillows, his handsome face perfectly horizontal as he gazes at the white, sterile ceiling. “Surely they’d be happy to take any excuse to say I abdicated. They’d take the word of some random on the street to get shot of me. It doesn’t make sense that they wantmoreproof.”
“It does,” I say slowly, joining the strands together. “Because it’s not proof they want. It’s a challenge. A fight.Groveling. Danny was right: they want you humiliated in public because they think they have the upper hand. They want to see you suffer.”
“Aye, they’re goady fuckers right enough,” Finlay agrees. “They want repentance and fear. They dinnae want the next in line casually shruggin’ aff his crown wi’ the polite disinterest o’ someone turnin’ doon a shite job.”
For a long time, Luke blinks up at the ceiling before slowly turning onto his side. “I know I should be rallying the troops. Gathering intel and being strong. Making use of old connections. But… all I want to do is sleep for a phenomenally long time.”
Finlay strokes Luke’s hand. “Sorry, pal. Sleep noo. Recover.” He pauses, looking down at his friend. “But ye’re the only one who’s answered tae them so far. You’ve abdicated but yer mother hasnae. Becca hasnae. I suppose when yer family’s giein’ them fuck a’, they smell blood in the water wi’ you.”
Luke says nothing after this, staring glumly at the ceiling. His hand, however, searches for mine with a kind of urgency. He entwines our fingers together so tightly that it feels like our bones fuse, and in the silence of the medical wing, all I hear are Luke’s gentle words:You remind me of all the good in the world. You remind me to keep fighting.
