Chapter 32
I woke up hard.
Not unusual. Morning erections were a biological reality I'd learned to ignore through years of practice.
What was unusual was the warm body pressed against my chest, the steady heartbeat under my palm, the fact that my cock was trapped between us and every shift of Lorenzo's breathing sent friction sparking through my nervous system.
We'd gone to bed together. On purpose. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like we’d done it a hundred times and might do it a hundred times more.
Gray light filtered through the ranch windows, which were splattered with raindrops. Small voices drifted up from downstairs. The voices of children, I realized. The children we’d saved.
I looked down at Lorenzo, who’d draped his whole body across mine.
His face was tucked into the space between my shoulder and neck, breath warm against my throat.
I leaned down and breathed in his scent of burnt sugar, coffee, and sex while my other hand traced down his spine to where the sheet pooled at his hips.
I could keep going. Could map every inch of him the way I'd wanted to last night but hadn't had the patience for.
We'd been too desperate, too hungry, too aware that this might be our last night alive.
As if we could fuck away the fear, the pain, the possibility that we both might die.
Lorenzo shifted in his sleep, pressing closer. His leg moved higher between my thighs, and the pressure against my cock made me want him all over again.
Every morning could be like this if we win, I thought, and tightened my arms around him.
I tried to imagine a world, ten years from now, where we might wake up tangled together like that in our own home, a world where the children who woke us were our own and not strangers I’d wronged.
It was the first time in nearly twenty years I’d let myself think about a future that didn’t include prayers and mass and daily penance for having survived my mother and brother.
His fingers flexed against my ribs, and his leg pressed harder between mine, grinding against my erection with enough pressure that I had to bite back a sound.
His lips turned up in a smirk, though he didn’t open his eyes. “Someone’s eager for round two.”
“More like round six,” I corrected. Or was it seven?
Lorenzo's eyes opened then, gold-flecked brown meeting mine with a mischievous smirk. "We could make it seven."
I wanted to. God, I wanted to roll him onto his back and lose myself in him one more time before we had to face what was coming. But the voices downstairs were getting louder, and we still had a twelve-hour flight across the Atlantic to catch.
"We have to get up," I said, even though my body was screaming the opposite. "Our flight leaves soon."
The heat in his eyes dimmed. "Right. The labyrinth."
Neither of us moved for another few heartbeats. We just stayed tangled together, breathing the same air, pretending we had more time than we did.
Then Lorenzo pulled back, and the loss of his warmth made my chest ache.
He sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist, and I got a full view of the damage we'd done to each other last night.
Bite marks darkened his shoulders and neck.
Scratches raked down his back where my fingers had dug in.
Bruises in the shape of my hands colored his hips.
Mine. Every mark was mine.
But they were temporary.
My eyes dropped to the bite mark healing on the inside of his arm. It’d scabbed over, and the bruises had faded. In a few weeks, it’d be nothing but a scar. When I’d bitten him, I thought I was doing it to make us even. But we’d never be even.
I could live a thousand years to worship Lorenzo, and still never repay him for what he’d given me: my freedom.
The bastard had danced into my life bringing chaos and murder, and somehow, that was exactly what I’d needed to wake up.
To start taking control of my own life. To live. He’d given that to me.
And all I’d ever given him was a single little scar.
"Stop looking at me like that," Lorenzo said without turning around. "Or we're never getting out of this bed."
“I was thinking about after,” I said quietly.
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “After the labyrinth?”
I nodded.
“What about it?”
“What happens to this?” I asked, gesturing between us. “To us. Do we just... go back to our lives? Pretend this never happened?"
He turned to face me fully. The morning light caught the gold in his eyes, turning them almost amber. "Is that what you want?"
"No," I said firmly.
"Then what do you want?"
Everything. The word sat on my tongue, but I couldn't force it out. How did I explain that I wanted every morning like this one? That I wanted to learn all his scars and stories? That I wanted years to figure out who we could be when we weren't bleeding or running or fighting for our lives?
"You," I finally said. "I want you. After this.
I want mornings like this and nights like last night and every messy moment in between.
" My chest was too tight, like my ribs couldn't contain everything trying to claw its way out.
"I want to build something with you that isn't founded on violence and desperation. "
Lorenzo stared at me like I'd spoken a language he didn't understand.
"I've spent my entire life being told what I should want," I continued.
The words were spilling out now, and I couldn't stop them.
"What I should be. How I should serve. But you're the first thing I've ever chosen just for myself.
Not because God demanded it or my father ordered it or the Church required it. Just because I want you."
"Rafael…" He sighed. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"Don't I?" I pushed myself up, ignoring the way my missing eye threw off my balance.
I reached for him and cupped his face between my palms. "I know exactly what I'm asking for.
I'm asking for your particular brand of dysfunction.
Your darkness. The parts of you that everyone else would run from.
I'm asking for all of it. Because the alternative is unacceptable.
" I kissed him softly and slowly, trying to pour every unspoken promise into the contact.
"Because I've already lost everyone I ever loved.
My mother. Gabriel. Even my father, in his own twisted way. I'm not losing you too."
Lorenzo's hands came up to grip my wrists. "Rafael, I—" He stopped. Started again. "I've never felt this before. Never wanted to stay with someone after. Never thought about futures or mornings or any of it. But with you..." His voice cracked. "With you, I want it all."
My throat went tight. "So we agree? After Constantine's dead, we figure this out? We try?"
"We try." His lips curved into something fragile and genuine. Not his usual cocky smirk. Something softer. Real. "But you're going to have to be patient with me."
"Me too." I kissed him again. "We'll learn together."
He pulled me closer, arms wrapping around me tight enough to bruise.
"I love you," Lorenzo whispered against my mouth. "I didn't think I was capable of it anymore. But I love you."
"I love you too." The confession felt like falling and flying at the same time. "God help me, I love you."
We stayed like that, wrapped around each other, until Hades’ voice drifted up the stairs calling that breakfast was ready and the plane would be leaving in two hours.
We pulled apart slowly, reluctantly. Lorenzo's thumb traced my cheekbone one last time before he let go and stood. I watched him move around the room, gathering clothes, and tried to memorize the way morning light painted gold across his skin.
This could be the last time.
I shoved the thought down and climbed out of bed. My depth perception was still wrong, making me misjudge the distance to my duffel bag. I overreached and nearly fell, catching myself on the dresser.
Lorenzo was there immediately, steadying me. "Easy."
"I'm fine." But I let him guide me, let his hand stay on my lower back while I dug through my bag for clean clothes. The simple domesticity of it made my chest ache. Getting dressed together. His hand on my back. Normal couple things that seemed precious when we might not get another chance.
I pulled on black cargo pants and a dark shirt while Lorenzo donned the same. He finished dressing first and turned to find me standing there, not moving toward the door.
"You need a minute?" he asked quietly.
I nodded.
Lorenzo crossed to me and cupped my face, kissing me gently. "Take all the time you need. I'll be downstairs."
He left, closing the door behind him.
The last time I'd prayed, really prayed, I'd been on my knees in the catacombs beneath the Vatican with my father's blood under my nails and rage burning through my chest.
God and I hadn’t really been on speaking terms since, but there was something about facing my own death that drove me to my knees in that Montana bedroom.
God, I started. I don't know if You answered me that day in the catacombs. Maybe You did, and I was too angry to hear it. Maybe silence was the answer. Maybe You were waiting for me to stop screaming long enough to listen. But I'm not angry anymore.
I still don't understand why my mother had to die or why Gabriel drowned or why You let all the terrible things happen to good and innocent people. But I'm not asking for explanations anymore. I'm not demanding You justify Yourself to me.
Rain drummed against the windows. The sound blurred, and I realized my vision had gone wet.
I think maybe I needed all of it to get here. To this moment. To him.
I reached up to rub the burning from my eyes and found them wet.
I don't think I would have chosen Lorenzo if I hadn't lost everyone else first. I don't think I would have been brave enough to leave the Church if Azevedo hadn't been a monster. I don't think I would have learned what real love was if Constantine hadn't tried to destroy us both.
I wiped my face with my palm, but more tears replaced them immediately.
So, I'm not asking for forgiveness for loving him. I'm not apologizing for choosing him over everything the Church taught me was holy. Because loving him feels like the first true thing I've ever done. The first choice that was really mine.
My shoulders shook. I pressed my hands harder together, trying to hold myself steady.
He saved me. Not because he had to. Not because anyone ordered him to. But because he chose me too. This broken, angry, half-blind mess who spent years killing for an institution that would have hanged him without a second thought. Lorenzo looked at all of that and decided I was worth fighting for.
A sob tried to claw its way up my throat. I swallowed it down.
And now we're walking into a labyrinth where one or both of us might die, and I can't, I CAN'T lose him. Not when I just learned what it feels like to be loved. Not when I finally understand what my mother and father had before grief destroyed them.
The tears were coming faster now. My chest ached like something was splitting open inside it.
Please. The word was a whisper, a breath, a prayer more desperate than anything I'd ever said in a confessional.
Please keep him safe. Whatever happens in that labyrinth today, let him survive.
He's been through enough. Lost enough. Suffered enough.
He deserves peace. Deserves a future. Deserves everything I want to give him but might not live long enough to.
If one of us has to die today, let it be me. I've already had more than I deserved. More than I ever thought I'd get. Lorenzo gave me that.
But please, please let him live. Let him have the years I won't get to give him. Let him wake up in the morning and not have to fight. Let him feel safe. Let someone love him the way he deserves to be loved, even if it can't be me.
The sobs were coming now, and I couldn't stop them. My whole body shook with the effort of keeping them quiet, of not letting Lorenzo hear me falling apart through the floorboards.
I love him, I confessed to God. I love him more than I've loved anything. More than the Church. More than my vocation. More than my own life. And I don't know if that's holy or sinful or somewhere in between, but it's true and it's mine and it's the only real thing I've got.
So please. Don't take him from me. Not yet. Not when we just found each other. Not when we just figured out what this could be.
I wiped my face again. My hands came away wet, and I stared at them, at the scars across my palms where Constantine's nails had driven through.
“Thank You,” I whispered aloud, because I needed to hear the words.
“Thank You for bringing him to me, even if it was messy and violent.
For teaching me that faith isn't about following orders or trusting institutions or praying the right words in the right language.
It's about choosing love even when it costs everything. Even when it means walking into darkness. Even when you know it might destroy you.”
I opened my eye and stared at the door Lorenzo had walked through.
I'm not Your sword anymore. Not the Church's. Not anyone's but my own. But if You're listening, if any of this matters, if there's any mercy left in You after everything You've watched happen, keep him safe.
That's all I'm asking.
That's all I've got left to ask.
Amen.
I stood on shaking legs and crossed to the small bathroom, where I splashed cold water on my face. My reflection looked hollow. Raw. The bandages covering my missing eye were stark white against red-rimmed skin.
I looked like a man who'd just prayed for the first time in his life.
Maybe I had.
I dried my face, straightened my shoulders, and went downstairs to face whatever was coming.
Lorenzo looked up from the bottom of the stairs. When he saw me, he held out his hand, and I took it.
Hades stood in the entryway in a plain black shirt and slacks. "Rhadamanthys is waiting outside," he said. Then he stepped closer, his voice dropping low. "Before you go, if you would permit an old man’s superstitions?”
Lorenzo looked at me, and I nodded. “Of course.”
Hades placed one hand on Lorenzo's shoulder and one on mine.
"Ogun guide your hands. Ori protect your steps.
The fire of your ancestors burns before you, clearing the path of those who mean you harm.
May your shadows walk behind you, not before, and may you return with your names unbroken.
Go with courage and come back whole. A??. "
He withdrew his hands with a nod.
"Thank you," Lorenzo said quietly.
I opened the front door, and cold Montana air rushed in, carrying the smell of pine and rain. Dawn was breaking over the mountains, painting everything gold and red.
Outside, Rhadamanthys stood beside a black SUV, his face grim in the early light.
Lorenzo's hand tightened in mine. "Ready?"
No. I'd never be ready. But I nodded anyway.