AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Patrick flinched. “I was waiting for confirmation from Yal’rest about the Ranger Corp.”
Fal’ran stepped back, his face twisting in pain he would have never shown Patrick months ago. “Because you think that’s the one I should take.”
Patrick bared his teeth. Fuck this. Fuck obsessing over the right thing, fuck hedging, fuck downplaying his desires, fuck downplaying himself.
“No, I don’t.” Patrick’s hard voice made Fal’ran straighten, and hope sparked in his eyes again. “I think you should be with me.”
Fal’ran didn’t retreat when Patrick advanced on him.
“I think the Rangers will make you powerful and wealthy and influential—” he grabbed Fal’ran’s face in both hands and tilted his chin down to meet his eyes “—but fucking hell Fal’ran, I think I’ll make you happy. I think I’m good for you and I think you’re good for me and I think what we have together is better than anything the fucking Rangers—”
Fal’ran cut him off with a bruising kiss.
Patrick froze in shock and Fal’ran shoved him hard against the wall and kissed him with desperate ferocity.
“You stubborn fucking man.” Fal’ran pulled away long to snarl against his lips, then kissed him again, forcing his lips apart with his tongue. Patrick groaned and locked his arms around Fal’ran’s neck as he opened his mouth for him. “Fucking. Stubborn.” Fal’ran growled every time he pulled his mouth away until breaking long enough for air and complete sentences. “Why do you always have to make things harder than they need to be?”
“I just needed to be sure.” Patrick tangled his fingers in Fal’ran’s thick hair, their breath mingling in the space between their lips.
Fal’ran ran his hands down Patrick’s sides to lock around his hips. “And are you sure yet?”
“Depends.” Patrick’s lips quirked. “Are you taking the position with the Rangers or the research station?”
Fal’ran glowered. “You’re not really asking, are you?”
“It’s just…” Patrick rubbed Fal’ran’s hair between his fingers. “Prestige, power, opportunity. That’s what you always wanted.”
“It’s what you wanted, too,” Fal’ran reminded him, tilting his head and searching Patrick’s face.
Patrick frowned and nodded. “It was once, yeah.”
For most of his life, he’d wanted it. He’d thought if he proved himself, if people looked at him differently, if he wiped the stain of his humanity off his Klah’Eel record, then the hole of self-doubt in his chest would finally fill.
“It’s what we wanted.” Fal’ran brushed his nose against Patrick’s and the look in his eyes overflowed that hole in Patrick’s chest with more affection and certainty and peace than Patrick had ever dreamed possible. “It’s not what we needed.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Three Weeks Later
Patrick stood on the balcony and watched the shadow of the research station gate stretch across the desolate wilderness. In three weeks, he hadn’t grown tired of the stark beauty of the Dead Zone, and the pinks and oranges of the setting sun suited it best. By sunset, the day’s boiling heat cooled to something comfortable, but hadn’t yet dipped into the chilliness of night. Every day, he came out onto the balcony to enjoy the quiet, the beauty, and the peace of the moment.
Today, he’d enjoy it a lot more if Sazahk and Bar’in walked through those damn gates like they should have two hours ago.
“Still no sign of them?” Fal’ran’s voice made Patrick’s heart skip. He joined Patrick on the balcony every day and yet Patrick’s heart still somersaulted, and his belly still warmed the moment he arrived.
“No, not yet.” Patrick turned to see Fal’ran bathed in the same sunset colors as the Dead Zone. They brought out the orange in his eyes, making them glow. The younger man held a tablet in one hand and two steaming mugs in the other, and Patrick swallowed down the lump of affection in his throat. “But they were surveying on the far side of that ridge, so I’m hoping they’ll come over it any second now.”
“They might have made camp before it got dark.” Fal’ran passed a mug of tea to Patrick and leaned his hip against the low balcony wall. “You worried about them?”
“Not yet.” Patrick sipped his tea and looked away from the ridge to study Fal’ran instead. He’d been so worried a research station post would bore the fiery man. Neither of them had joined the army to fight paperwork and bureaucracy. But Fal’ran had settled into their strange domesticity with their strange squad-turned-family as though he’d been born for it. Patrick still didn’t leave the bedroom without his gatlung over his shoulder, but Fal’ran had shed his weapons within a week.
“I finished the requisition orders for Dom’s Dead Zone cellular degeneration test kits, by the way.” Fal’ran held the tablet out to Patrick. “Review them?”
A grin spread across Patrick’s face. “Did you just hear yourself?”
Fal’ran raised his scarred eyebrow. “What? Never thought you’d hear me using words like ‘cellular degeneration’ and ‘requisition’ all on in one sentence?”
Patrick snorted and took the tablet. “I didn’t say that.” He scrolled through the orders. “Honestly, a few months ago, I’d have been less surprised by the big words than by the fact you refer to Dominic Turner by a nickname.” The requisition form was perfect. As usual. Fal’ran’s quick learning didn’t end with military tactics.
