He stayed away from his patient slash captive for almost a week, letting Boyd see to Stavros’ care. Pretending he didn’t care.

Pretending he didn’t feel.

Until Boyd approached him with hesitant steps. “Discúlpeme, señor. He’s awake.”

“How is he?” The fever had broken a while ago, the bullet wounds healing nicely, he knew. Boyd had insisted Stavros needed sustenance beyond the occasional bread and water if Daniel wanted him to get—and stay—well.

He allowed it, but Stavros remained shackled to the bed Daniel used to sleep in.

“He is stronger, señor.” Boyd glanced away then back quickly. “He is insisting that he see you.”

Of course he was. “He has been fed?”

Boyd nodded. “And bathed.”

Daniel could only imagine Stavros’ reaction to having Boyd give him his sponge bath. “You may go.”

Boyd’s eyes widened. “Señor, I—”

He didn’t look back to make sure Boyd followed his order as he strode to the bedroom Stavros occupied and stepped inside.

He shut the door quietly behind him, and stood there, taking in the man on the bed. He had some color to his skin again, aside from the blue and black bruises from his rough treatment under Daniel’s hands.

Rough treatment.

He deserved so much more than just that rough treatment.

His hair had grown a bit, Daniel realized, falling down to the middle of his forehead. Boyd had dressed him in a white t-shirt and black sweats. Stavros’ dominant hand, the left, was shackled to the metal bed frame, as was his left ankle.

His eyes had been closed, but at the sound of the door closing they flew open.

They watched each other, and in the depths of Stavros’ eyes Daniel saw relief and more. But those other things, he refused to acknowledge them. Instead he walked closer, never breaking eye contact, until he stood next to the bed, staring down at Stavros.

“So it’s true,” Stavros murmured. “You’re keeping me alive.” His voice was still a bit weak and hoarse, but the sound of him…

Daniel’s pulse galloped in his ears and he couldn’t deny that. “Mr. Konstantinou, I hear you’re better.” He took an obscene amount of pride in the steadiness of his tone.

“Depends on who you ask.” Stavros’ mouth curved into his trademark smirk. “I’m alive, but I could be better.” He rattled on the cuffs around his hand for effect.

“You wanted to see me.” He didn’t bother phrasing it as a question.

“I did, and I have to say, you do look good.” Stavros licked his lips. “I was sure my fever had fucked with my brain…” He eyed Daniel up and down. “But no.”

Dangerous heat swirled in Daniel’s lower belly. He gritted his teeth. “What do you want?”

All mirth disappeared from Stavros’ eyes, and his expression turned serious. His gaze was heavy, locking onto Daniel’s and keeping him rooted to the floor. “Do you really want to know what I want?” Stavros asked softly. “Are you sure that’s a question you want answered?”

So many things he’d seen and done, but Daniel found at that moment that he wasn’t strong enough, brave enough, to follow that question where it would inevitably lead. That weakness, that vulnerability angered him.

“Do you mistake me for one of the fools you play with?” he rasped.

Stavros observed him, his eyes saying things his mouth didn’t. The silence, thick and charged, made a mockery of Daniel’s words.

“This is your bed, isn’t it?” Stavros’ unfettered leg slid up and down the mattress. “I can smell you on the sheets. On the pillows.” His chest rose and fell when he took a deep breath. “You slept here.” He closed his eyes, making a low hum in the back of his throat.

Daniel watched with his mouth dry and his hands fisted. Otherwise he’d touch him. He’d press a thumb to the pulse at the base of Stavros’ throat. He’d brush his knuckles across his scarred cheek. He’d slide his fingers through the hair brushing Stavros’ forehead.

He’d touch him.

“Daniel.”

His body jerked, and his gaze flew from Stavros’ mouth back to his eyes. “Never call me that,” he lashed out.

Every time. Every single time he got in the Greek’s vicinity he lost his resolve. Lost his focus. No matter how hard he tried, emotion ruled him. Anger and regret along with the new ones, want and betrayal.

“Why am I still here?” Stavros was the calm one, gaze steady, voice smooth. “Why am I still alive?”

Daniel turned away, giving Stavros his back as he headed for the door. He had to get out of there. His chest felt as if it were caving in on him. The pressure inside him built, getting too big, too much. He had to get out.

Turned coward so quickly, but yes, he wanted to turn tail and run. He saw it coming, that fall. Saw himself walk into the inferno with arms flung wide, heat from the flames stripping him to bone.

“Don’t you walk away. Answer me!” Stavros yelled. “Fucking answer me. Give me that.”

“Give you?” Daniel swung around and went right back to him. “Give you?” He pulled the gun from his waist. Trembling. He shook something dreadful. Emotion crashing down on him in one swoop. “I should give you? After everything you took from me, I should give you?”

“Yes.” So bold. Defiant. The way he demanded. The way he owned that selfishness. It shouldn’t make Daniel’s pulse stutter.

He’d been dead for years, and this man brought him back to life. His voice. His blood. His eyes. They brought Daniel back to life.

It was wrong.

This want. It was wrong. But wrong felt so right, the way it writhed thick and warm along his spine. Like hot, spiced honey.

He put the gun to Stavros’ forehead. Pressed it against him. “You’re alive because you’re mine. Your blood. Your life. Your death. Mine.” Daniel pounded his chest with one hand, the other holding the gun pointed at Stavros. Right between the eyes. “Yo decido, cabrón.” I decide.

The other man just watched him, with wide eyes. Accepting.

“I should give you what you gave me.” The words were lava-hot on his tongue. “Sorrow like I’ve never felt. Pain I didn’t think I’d ever escape.” With the way he shook, the gun skidded across Stavros’ forehead, landing at his left temple. “You took her. In the blink of an eye, you took her from me.”

“I know.”

He knew. Of course, he knew what he’d done. The damage he’d caused. The hell he’d unleashed. He knew. “What should I give you then?” Daniel asked in a whisper. “What do I have that you haven’t already taken, Stavros Konstantinou? I have exactly one bullet in this gun. Is that what you want?”

Stavros stared up at him, teeth in his bottom lip, nostrils flared. The pulse at his throat beat wildly.

Daniel pulled the trigger.

Click.

Stavros didn’t flinch.

“What do you want? Contéstame!” he roared. Answer me. A hairsbreadth from shattering. He heard the sharp cracks. Heard his control collapse to the floor at his feet. His grip on the gun was tenuous at best, same as his grip on his sanity. He stared down at the man on that bed.

Destrozado.

Torn apart.

“Your touch.” Stavros’ voice, it trembled too. “I crave it.”

Those words shredded whatever was left inside Daniel. Rocking him back on his heels. Unsteady. “Do you?” He didn’t blink as he squeezed the trigger again.

Stavros’ lips parted. Lust shadowed his eyes, turned them a dangerous dark. He was fascinante—fascinating—with the splash of red on his cheeks and chest. His free hand gripped at the sheet, fisting it and tugging, as his chest rose and fell rapidly.

Daniel’s body throbbed, liking that sight. The monster inside him came alive and clamored for more. “I want to hurt you,” he snarled, bringing his face down to Stavros’ so they could be nose to nose. “I want to touch you.” He caressed Stavros’ cheek with the length of the gun, holding his head steady with his free hand.

Stavros’ breath sawed out onto Daniel’s lips. He smelled like lemon and ginger, the tea Boyd had been feeding him. He also smelled hot, felt like it, too. Always warming Daniel.

Thawing him.

He climbed the bed, body almost smothering Stavros as he went in search of that heat.

“I want to kiss you, and I want to kill you.” Mindless. Directionless—or was he? Because his every focus was on Stavros’ face. His destination.

A sound left Stavros. A moan. His unshackled hand, the right, slid up Daniel’s shoulder and grasped him by the nape as they stared at each other.

They panted together. Stavros looked like Daniel felt.

Feverish.

“And I want to bleed you.”

“Do it. Any one of it,” Stavros whispered against Daniel’s chin. “All of it.”

Daniel brought the weapon forward, brushing Stavros’ lips with the tip. He wanted the other man to stop talking. To silence the words battering his defenses. But Stavros simply parted his lips and licked the gun.

Daniel’s breath hitched.

The heat on slow simmer in his belly turned all the way up to boil, and he pushed the gun deeper into Stavros’ mouth. The Greek’s lashes fluttered. Lips stretched around the tip of the gun, he groaned and didn’t stop sucking it.

Licking.

Fellating.

Oh Dios.

Restraint went out the window.

The monster in you recognizes the monster in me.

Perdóname.

He pulled the gun out, and a string of Stavros’ saliva clung to the muzzle of the Glock. Daniel stared at it. He couldn’t stop shaking. The bitter taste of betrayal remained at the back of his tongue. Never far away.

Still…

He traced Stavros’ lips with the gun. Slower, a more detailed caress.

Caress. It didn’t make sense, what he was doing. The man he was, the man he used to be was no longer present. He didn’t recognize himself. But he couldn’t stop stroking Stavros’ lips.

Everything felt foreign. Every sensation new as Stavros rocked his lower body against him. Daniel operated only on instinct, on selfishness, wanting to punish Stavros. Wanting to prove that he was more than this person he’d become, obsessed and filled with lust and a dark, intoxicating drive to touch the man who’d stolen everything from him.

Just plain old wanting.

It bowed his head, that intense, intangible thing. Moved him closer still, until his lips were right there, hovering over Stavros’. He got rid of the gun, making sure to put the safety on before he tossed it to the far side of the mattress. Then, with trembling fingers, Daniel traced Stavros’ scruffy jawline, the hairs there more silver than black.

“What have you done?” he asked out loud. Broken words directed inward, at him. And to Stavros, as well. They conveyed everything. His fear. His need. The confusion. “What have you done?”

“This is us.” Stavros’ breath alone undid him, the way it caressed Daniel’s chin. Hot, but not enough. Hinting at an inferno. Teasing, making him ache for more. “What we do to each other. What we feel.”

What they felt. None of it made sense. None of it was right.

But why was Daniel here, plastered to the brick-hard body of his enemy, knee-deep in so much deep needing? Yearning for things like taste and touch?

He took Petra.

It made no sense that Daniel would want this, that he’d betray the woman he loved for this. It made no sense that he’d need this, the scent and feel of Stavros. Denial sat at the tip of his tongue.

Heavy.

“Daniel.”

Their noses bumped first. Then their lips brushed.

Tremors rushed through him at that faint contact. Stavros’ breath hitched, and Daniel froze.

Perdóname.

The sense of betrayal hit him low in the gut, all twisted up with every other sensation. Felt almost as if Petra was there next to them, witnessing that shattering of the man Daniel used to be.

Yet he couldn’t stop. The tide dragged him along by the ankles, and he went without a fight. The awkward brushing of lips still managed to unman him. Uncharted waters left him floundering, so that all he had left to grasp on to for anchor was the feel of Stavros under him, lips firm, parting slightly as Stavros grabbed him by the nape, holding Daniel’s head steady.

Taking control of the kiss.

Turning it from soft and tentative brushes, to open-mouthed, wet and panting in a second.

Daniel moaned, the lust and hunger in full effect. Their tongues crashed together, Stavros’ taste mingling effortlessly with the betrayal already coating Daniel’s tongue.

Stavros arched under him, serving himself up. And Daniel took, wrestling with him for control. Drinking him up, taking him inside. Swallowing. Funny how Stavros’ furiously wet kiss quenched Daniel’s thirst, yet somehow left him parched.

Despite the guilt, he deepened the kiss, mouth opening wider than ever. An effort to gorge on everything that set him on fire, but still in the most unexpected ways cooled him down. The ball of lust in his belly blazed for Stavros like the midday sun, and he groaned when Stavros rocked against him.

Their erections were pressed together, Stavros’ thighs parted, cradling Daniel between his legs. The hand at Daniel’s nape drifted down, along the indent of his spine. Over his clothes, still he flinched at the burn.

Their positions had changed sometime when he hadn’t been paying attention, and now instead of being the captive, Stavros had captured him. Effortlessly. No warning.

Daniel used to be the man in charge, now he drowned, walking willingly into the unknown waters. Embracing it, latching on to Stavros’ tongue and sucking until the other man squirmed underneath him.

He canted his hips, pressed hard, chasing the pleasure that hurt so sweetly.

Stavros’ grip on him loosened, body shaking. His shadowed jawline scratched at Daniel, the sensation bringing shivers. Never had he been bombarded with so many emotions and sensation from just a kiss.

Just a meeting of lips.

With Petra—

He froze.

Petra.

Reality yanked his lust-fogged brain back to the surface, and he threw himself off Stavros. Landing on his knees on the floor.

“Daniel?”

Petra.

She deserved better than this. She deserved a husband capable of avenging her. She deserved the devotion in death that she never quite got in life.

She deserved more

He kept his eyes closed, fingers pulling at the rosary beads wrapped around his wrist. The mattress shifted, and a hand settled on his shoulder.

“Daniel, what—”

“Do not.” Breath sawed through his lungs, his chest rising and falling as the ravaged words left him. “Do not.” She’d trusted him to protect her. He’d promised to protect her. That failure would follow him to his grave. He’d promised to make them all pay.

Here was Stavros Konstantinou, turning Daniel into a liar twice over.

Any other man. He could want any other man.

Not this one.

“Petra.” With his back against the bed, he stared down at the old rosary beads, plucking them. “Petra, lo siento.” Lips still wet from the drugging intoxication of Stavros’ kiss, belly tight, body still throbbing in anticipation of release, he sat, whispering to ghosts. “Lo siento.”

“Fuck.” Above him, Stavros muttered a panicked curse. “Fuck.”

Daniel got to his feet, refusing to look into Stavros’ eyes as he grabbed his free hand and shackled it to the other one. He ached, didn’t think his knees would hold him up. He needed to sit down. Needed to clear his head. Think about what he’d just done, but his body was buzzing. Blood rushing in his ears.

He lingered. On his tongue, in his nostrils, Stavros lingered. The tips of Daniel’s fingers, the sensation of touching. Stroking. It all stayed with Daniel. A permanence he couldn’t deny.

He tried. He tried. For Petra, he tried.

“You’re walking away?” Despite the incredulity in Stavros’ voice, Daniel made out the slight tremor, and the lust he hadn’t yet shaken.

It wasn’t as if Daniel had shaken his. He might never get rid of it.

“Daniel. Daniel, look at me.” The cuffs clanged when Stavros tugged on them. “Look at me, por favor.”

Daniel did look at him, at the need for more written all over his face, and in the lines of his body. His fingers twitched and he fisted his hands to keep from smoothing a finger across Stavros’ lips. “That is all I had do to get you to beg, yes?”

Stavros’ eyes hardened and his mouth tightened a fraction. “Undo the handcuffs. Or finish what you started.”

Daniel scoffed, and turned toward the door.

“You’re afraid. Because I’m a man.”

“No.” Rage exploded like a pin-pricked balloon. He spun around, but didn’t make a move toward the bed otherwise he might listen to his body and climb right back on. “That is the easy part. You took her, and I can’t touch you without thinking of that night, without thinking of her.” His voice broke, and Daniel shook his head. He had to get out of there. The further he got from Stavros right then, the better it would be for his sanity. “It can’t be you. It can’t be you.”

Stavros stared up at him, swallowing, drawing Daniel’s attention to his throat. The skin was red, rubbed raw by the chains and Daniel’s hand, but he wouldn’t scar. Not the way he’d scarred Daniel. “Of course.” Stavros nodded once. He glanced away and when he brought his gaze back to Daniel, his eyes glistened. “The last time I wished for anything, I was probably ten years old. But right now, I wish I’d said no when I was offered the job.” His throat worked. “And I wish I knew how it felt to be loved by someone the way you love her.”

“No.” Daniel held up a hand. “No.” Especially not after what they’d just done. He went to the door.

“Don’t go,” Stavros called out. “Please. Please, don’t go.”

“I can’t stay.” Daniel grabbed the doorknob. “If I stay…”

Stavros didn’t speak again, because he heard what Daniel didn’t say. If he stayed, they’d finish what he started. Then his betrayal would be complete.

So he left. Even though his body kept humming, waiting for what he promised to deliver. Even though he wanted to turn around and go back into that room, and climb back onto that bed.

He left.