Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(82)

Jess felt his face growing thick and red, and what little air he could painfully pull in wasn’t enough. All it would take would be one spasm of Santi’s hand, and he’d be unconscious. On his way to an ugly death.

Fight back, his instincts told him. He had a chance. Santi was so focused on his rage that he could hurt him, break free, and escape . . . but he held himself still with a huge effort. He wouldn’t fight back.

He was guilty of what Santi accused.

Santi let him go a second later and pushed himself backward. Surprised, Jess thought, at his own violence. Santi was a trained soldier, but he was a man who was in command of himself at almost all times . . . but not now. They exchanged looks. Santi was staring at him as if he didn’t know him, and Jess gasped for breath and put a hand to his painful neck.

“Sir,” Jess managed to say. “I’m—”

“I don’t care,” Santi said. “I don’t care if you’re overflowing with regret. I don’t care if this was Dario’s harebrained idea, as I suspect it was. I don’t even care that you brought him back to me, because we both know Wolfe could have died there, alone, and that I will never forgive, Jess. I want to send him out of here, away from all of this, and never let him come back. The only reason I won’t is I know he wouldn’t go.”

“Sir,” Jess tried again. “It’s my fault. I know that. I should have told him, and you, before we set it all in motion.”

“If you’d told me, stronzo, I would have knocked your heads together until you came up with a better plan.”

“I know. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d stop us. And I knew Wolfe would have agreed, but told you. Same outcome. It wasn’t easy, Captain. But it’s my responsibility, and I’ll try to earn your trust again.”

“You’re lucky I’m not twenty years younger,” Santi said. “I’d have killed you.” He sighed and rubbed his head in frustration. “But you’re just a boy, and you made a mistake, and I should know better myself. I’m sorry for putting my hands on you, Jess.”

“You wanted me to fight back.”

Santi’s glance at him told him it was true. “And you didn’t.”

“Because I know you’d kill me in any kind of a fight, Captain. I can outrun you. I can’t outfight you.”

He watched the captain pull in a deep breath, hold it, and then let it out in a rush. “Promise me you won’t put Christopher in that kind of danger again. Not that. Not ever.”

Jess nodded. “I swear, I’ll do everything I can.”

“Am I such a child that I need a lover and a student to decide my own life for me?”

That sharp voice stopped them both in their tracks. Santi turned, and Jess looked past him to find Scholar Wolfe in the doorway, arms folded. He looked tired but clean; his color was still too pale by half, but his eyes were bright, and the temper in them was all too familiar.

Santi winced. “Chris—”

“Oh no, by all means, choke the young man half to death for doing exactly what I would have done in his place. And, yes, of course, decide my life. Pad me in cotton like a fragile bottle of Greek fire. Nic. I am here. I am standing. I am sane. And much as I love you, much as I will always love you, don’t ever assume I can’t, or won’t, think for myself.” Wolfe’s voice softened, took on a warmer timbre. “My love, I know you’re blaming him because you failed to see it coming. Don’t. They fooled me as well. Fooled me so well I betrayed him earlier today, and almost got him and his brother murdered. For my troubles, I am responsible for the cruel death of a young woman who did absolutely nothing to deserve it, so if you’re angry with him . . . be just as angry with me.”

Santi went to him and folded him in his arms, because he—like Jess—had heard the tremble in the man’s voice. And Wolfe let out his breath and sank into that embrace with real gratitude. “I’m sorry,” Santi whispered. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on Jess. But seeing you like this—it rips me to pieces. You know that.”

“I do,” Wolfe said. “But I am mending. A broken bone heals twice as strong, remember?”

Santi laughed. It sounded unsteady and half-desperate. “I remember. I remember everything. That’s the curse of it, isn’t it?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Wolfe replied. “Come. Leave Jess to rest. He’s as exhausted as I am, I think.”

Santi exchanged a look with Jess, and Jess nodded. Santi meant what he said: he wouldn’t forget Jess’s betrayal. And Jess would have to earn back any kind of trust. It was a lot to understand from a single look, and yet completely clear. He might be forgiven by the others, and easily, but for Santi, he’d have a long road back.

And that was fair.

Jess locked the door again, took off his clothes, and stepped into the luxury of the Spanish embassy’s shower. He stayed in it for far too long, until the water began to run cold and his skin pebbled into gooseflesh; the feeling of being safe was something he didn’t want to give up, and as soon as he switched off the spray, dried himself, and dressed again in the High Garda uniform provided, he was back on guard. Alvaro Santiago, as he was sure they all knew, was an ally, but not a friend.

They had no friends in Alexandria. Not now.