“Murder,” something whispered, rising from the dark depths of Arik’s mind. “Murder most foul.”
“No,” Arik shook his head. “Okay, maybe. But he’d only been trying to lift the curse. Some acts of retribution are deserved.”
He opened his eyes to seek out his reflection. It was easier to argue when one could stare at what one was fighting with. His eyes widened. His mouth fell open. But only until the liquid cooling on his face dared to slip past his lips. Arik choked and reached blindly for a towel.
The “water” wasn’t water in the least. It was as black as ink. It was blood—Blaze’s blood.
“You came, yes.” Arik smiled, because of course Blaze had come—spitfire Blaze with his eyes flashing and his jaw set, ready to battle anyone or anything; his knight, his lover.
“You were in the corner?” Blaze’s statement was a question. As though he wasn’t quite sure it was truth.