My Maddie (Hades Hangmen #8) - Tillie Cole Page 0,20

mention of Brother Moses brought him so much anger he found it hard to contain. I pressed my palm to his cheek, and his erratic breathing calmed. “I do not say this to incite anger or to gain pity.” I pushed Flame’s hair back from his forehead. His eyes closed at my touch. It still floored me. Still overwhelmed me how much he trusted me. How much he loved me. Only I saw this Flame—my perfectly broken boy. “I wanted to tell you this, so you know that you are not alone.” I smiled as his hand squeezed mine in solidarity. “We are one and the same, you and I. Two halves of one soul. What you fear, I fear too. But I know, together, we can achieve whatever we wish… and I wish us to be the parents we never had.”

“I never want you to be scared.”

I pressed my forehead against his. “With you beside me, fear will never triumph.”

“I feel the flames again, Maddie. They’ve woken up. They get stronger every day.” Flame released my hand and, never taking his eyes off mine, placed his nails on his arm. “Every day, they tell me you will die. Now they tell me that the baby will die too. They tell me I will kill you. The flames I have in my blood will try to kill you.” Flame’s jaw clenched, and he dug his nails into his flesh, hissing and rolling his head back in pleasure. And it broke my heart. I had thought it shattered as I watched him on this hatch, reliving his brother dying in his arms. But this, seeing him back in this place… He fought this every day, I knew that. Right now, I could not stand watching him in such distress. With our bodies so close, I felt his arousal against my leg. The bloodletting caused this. Flame cut himself again, blood forming in small drops on his tattooed skin. He hissed and groaned, but his brow was pulled down and filled with tension. I knew why.

He needed me.

Moving my hand south, I took his length in my hand. Flame’s loud groan filled the room. Tears swam in my eyes as I began moving my hand back and forth, giving him the relief, I knew he craved. I would not let him be consumed by the flames he believed ran through his body. I would not see him in pain. Flame’s scratches became harder and more violent the faster I worked my hand. But I kept going. Took care of him until he threw his head back and roared out a guttural, agonized cry, as he spilled his release onto the ground between us. I bit my lip to keep from sobbing. His skin was slick with sweat, his arms bloodied from the pain he had forced upon himself. But in the aftermath, in mere minutes, Flame became sleepy. His hand remained in mine. I had held on to his hand throughout it all. He had held on to me.

“I’m sorry,” Flame apologized, his broken voice cutting through the silence.

“No,” I whispered.

“The flames… the flames burned too hot…” he murmured, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Let us go to bed,” I suggested and waited for him to move. I would not leave him on this spot. Flame blinked up at me, and he was still the most beautiful man I had ever seen. It amazed me how he continued to steal my heart every single day. “You need sleep, baby. Let us sleep.” He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else. But words failed him. Taking his hand, I guided him to his feet. Flame followed me into the bedroom. He lay down and I lay before him. I clasped his hand and brought it to my mouth. “I love you.”

Flame did not respond at first, and then he said, “You’re not allowed to die.” His eyes closed, his mouth parted in slumber, but his words replayed in my head like a twister. You’re not allowed to die…

I stayed absolutely still, holding his hand as his breathing evened out with sleep. I surveyed his body. My attention fixed itself on his arm, now spattered with freshly drawn blood. Releasing my hand from his, I silently moved from the bed and retrieved a washcloth. Careful not to wake him, I wiped the cloth along his arm, cleansing his blood and washing the evidence of his pain away. I cleaned his stomach