Affronted at being talked to like a child, Cym’s anxiety fled as he lost his temper. “I’m not a china doll; I can keep up. I managed to survive for weeks before I met you!”

Cym conveniently ignored that he was shoeless, half-starved, and freezing when they met, and the frigid silence Fourteen gave him in response told Cym he was thinking the same thing.

For a moment, Cym thought Fourteen was going to bail and leave Cym to his own devices. Why had Fourteen even come after him in the first place. Cym was so fucking useless, why would anyone⁠—

Fourteen took Cym’s face in his gloved hand, cutting off Cym’s toxic train of thought. If the gesture hadn’t granted him Cym’s full attention, Cym would have missed the tiny frown tugging at the corner of Fourteen’s mouth.

It was like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Cym held his breath and waited to see what Fourteen would do.

Fourteen’s eyes locked onto Cym’s and he leaned down slowly, inch by inch, giving Cym plenty of time to move away if he wanted to, until he finally touched his forehead to Cym’s. The relief Cym felt from his power pouring into Fourteen made his limbs feel like jelly. Seeing Fourteen in broken-soldier-mode had been too much for Cym to bear, but he couldn’t be the one to initiate touch. It had to be Fourteen’s choice.

The effect of Cym’s magic was immediate. Fourteen’s face became animated again rather than the cold stone it had been. Now he reminded Cym of a storm—full of barely leashed energy waiting for the right time to strike.

Fourteen’s brows drew together, and his eyes blazed with intensity. “I know you’re a survivor. I’ve seen how tough you are. If your body was as strong as your will, I wouldn’t have asked. But you’re small, unfamiliar with combat, and you’ve lost a lot of blood. If you need help, ask. I came here for you, and it would defeat the purpose to leave you behind just because you were too proud to ask for help.” He punctuated this with a kiss to Cym’s forehead, robbing him of words.

Cym was pretty sure he’d been robbed of a handful of much needed IQ points as well.

Cym’s forehead tingled where it had been kissed, and he reached up to rub the spot with his fingers. Fourteen didn’t appear to have the same reservations as Cym did about Cym’s power taking away his free will. Was it possible Cym had allowed his fears to carry him away? Had he been blowing it out of proportion?

Cym swallowed hard and whispered, “Oh. Okay then.”

His hand itched to touch Fourteen’s face. He wanted to feel the difference between Fourteen’s cheek and the stubble growing on his jaw, but he held back and focused on the present moment. “I didn’t say thank you, did I? For saving me, I mean.”

“Nope.” There was a twinkle in Fourteen’s eye as he leaned down to whisper in Cym’s ear, brushing it with his lips. “I’ll let you thank me later when we get out of here.”

Cym shivered at the promise in Fourteen’s voice, and the instant, partial erection that announced itself proudly had Cym wanting to finish what they had started on the bed earlier, right here and now. They could have both died several times that day, and the idea that Cym’s fear and insecurity would have robbed them of the only happiness they might have ever had together made him want to kick himself.

Maybe Cym wasn’t a horrible person.

Maybe Cym’s magic was helpful for Fourteen.

And maybe, just maybe, Cym could have this.

Chapter 18Cym

Standing up on shaky legs, Cym kissed Fourteen, refusing to make the same mistake again. Fourteen’s body froze, and for a second Cym thought he’d severely misjudged the interaction between them. He tried to pull away, but Fourteen’s hand came to the base of Cym’s neck, stopping his retreat. Fourteen’s mouth came down on his, and Cym stopped thinking and became a creature of pure sensation.

Cym’s heart pounded as Fourteen nipped at his bottom lip, demanding he open up. With a gasp, Cym allowed him inside and was helpless as Fourteen explored Cym like he belonged to him. The soft leather of Fourteen’s gloved hand caressed his spine, pressing Cym against him so tightly that Cym could barely breathe.

Cym didn’t care about breathing, he only cared about getting close enough to Fourteen to show him how he felt. He wanted to erase the memory of Fourteen’s face when he’d ordered him away, wanted to make him forget it had ever happened.

A throat cleared across the room.

They both turned to see Sterling pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed, looking very put out. “It’s clearly too late to avoid traumatizing me with things that can’t be unseen, but if it isn’t too much trouble, could we get out of here before more people show up?”

Fourteen narrowed his eyes menacingly.

Undaunted, Sterling continued. “I don’t care how scary you are. There are some things you just don’t do to a guy—like make out with his brother in front of him.”

Cym’s eyes flew to Fourteen’s face to discover—to his surprise—that he looked like he was trying not to laugh. Cym squeezed Fourteen’s arm, allowing himself to enjoy the muscles he kept hidden under his jacket, and eased back down from his tiptoes, noticing belatedly the throbbing of his poor, fucked up ankle.

Cym whispered hesitantly, “Later?”

Fourteen’s eyes were dark and predatory as they scanned his face. “Later.”

Fourteen’s rough voice sent a shiver down his spine, and Cym wrapped his good arm around himself, realizing he was still freezing.

Fourteen frowned. “I’ve got something for you.” Out of his jacket came a pink velour hoodie and a pair of white yoga pants. “The colors aren’t ideal for covert ops, but it’s better than what you’re wearing. Your pants didn’t survive their encounter with the cage.” Fourteen gave an awkward cough and added, “Or me.”

Cym glanced down to see one of the legs of his pants had been ripped from ankle to hip and was missing large strips of material. If it was this cold inside the garage, he’d hate to think what it would be like going outside in half a pair of pants. If his brother hadn’t been there, he would have kissed Fourteen again for his foresight.

With some help from Fourteen, Cym pulled the hoodie on, leaving his injured arm out of the arm hole and zipped safely inside. The cheerful visage of Hello Kitty winked up at him from his good arm, and he decided to take the kitty as a sign of good luck.

When Cym got to the pants, he paused. “Um…” He wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to get them on himself, but having Fourteen help him in front of his brother seemed like a recipe for disaster.

“Maybe I should help you with that.” Sterling volunteered awkwardly.

Fourteen gave his brother a threat-filled glare, letting Cym know he wasn’t as indifferent about Sterling’s shifting loyalties as he had seemed a minute ago.

Sterling held both hands up in surrender. “I get it, I get it, okay? You’ll rip my arms and legs off if I hurt him,” he said irritably and stepped forward to help Cym. He only made it two steps before stopping in his tracks with a strange expression on his face.

Cym hobbled backward hastily while Fourteen stepped in front of him, looking ready for anything.

“Are you okay, Ster?” Cym asked, cautiously peeking around Fourteen’s shoulder.

Sterling shook himself and frowned. “Yeah, I just… maybe your champion should help you after all. I’ll turn around. Just… hurry up, okay?”

Cym met Fourteen’s eyes, still dark with promise from their kiss earlier, and gulped. “Okay…” Standing injured in a half-destroyed garage with his brother standing awkwardly to one side wouldn’t have been his first choice for letting Fourteen see the goods for the first time, but perhaps there was a workaround for that. “Could… could you close your eyes?”

Fourteen gave Cym an amused look that said he had no problem defiling Cym right in front of his brother, but he nodded his assent and closed his eyes without a word. Cym leaned onto Fourteen’s arm and did his best to shimmy out of his torn pants one-handed without taking off his shoes—the floor was too icy to contemplate touching with his bare feet. At one point he nearly fell over, and Fourteen shot out a hand to stop him. Startled, he looked at Fourteen’s face, expecting his eyes to be open, but he was confused to see them still closed.

“How did you…?”

Eyes still closed, Fourteen lifted a shoulder minutely in a shrug. “All part of the training.”

Shaking his head, Cym went back to pulling on the yoga pants over his sneakers. Fourteen had no idea how effortlessly cool he was. Cym finally managed to work the pants up his legs with one hand and reveled in the leftover warmth they retained from being carried against Fourteen’s body.

Was this what being cared for felt like? Being protected whether he asked for it or not? Having someone else put his needs above their own? He pressed a cheek against Fourteen’s broad chest. This dependable, surprisingly thoughtful, cool-as-fuck man had attached himself to Cym whether he deserved it or not. Cym knew he didn’t deserve it, but he would work to make sure he did one day.

Cym reached up with his good hand to touch Fourteen’s cheek. “Fourteen… I’m so sorry… I-”

With his eyes still closed, Fourteen said, “Later. Apologize when you’re safe.”

“I’ll do that,” Cym promised, planning to apologize to Fourteen hard enough to get himself pregnant if he’d possessed the proper parts for it. “I’m decent now. You can open your eyes.”

Fourteen’s eyes opened and he gave Cym a once over. “How’s your ankle?”