Daniel captured his hand and dragged it to his mouth. Chapped lips brushed along the ridgeline of his knuckles. The faintest nudge of a tongue along the seams between his fingers. Something in Liam’s chest caved: an avalanche he had no chance of holding off.

Time worked differently in these cursed woods. He’d spent months and months with Pitr, but never shed the feeling he was taking a stressful exam; three days with Daniel, and already they’d built a lifetime of trust and familiarity. Liam already wanted another lifetime of it more.

Daniel’s mouth rounded on the tip of Liam’s finger, and Liam whimpered.

“Shit.” Liam forced himself to sit up straight. “Wait. I’m sorry. I need to tell you something. Before we . . .” Liam cleared his throat, very much hating his conscience. “I feel like you deserve to know what we’re facing . . . and why.”

Daniel’s grip loosened on his hand. “Pitr, you mean.”

Liam nodded slowly. He squeezed Daniel’s hand once, trailed his index finger down the center of Daniel’s lips, then forced himself to pull his hand back.

“He and you . . . you were . . . lovers.”

If only that had been true. The words had danced on Liam’s lips plenty of times, but he’d been too scared to voice them. His earlier admission to Daniel had been the closest he’d ever come to saying it out loud. “Something like it, anyway.”

Slowly, Daniel unwound at Liam’s side. Liam turned to stare at him. He’d never imagined he could fall for someone again, not after Pitr’s casual cruelty that later turned to viciousness. Liam couldn’t put his heart out there on a string for someone to use like a leash. He needed to maintain control—not just of the shadows, but of himself.

In Daniel’s eyes, he found softness. Not judgment. “Whatever you have to say, it doesn’t change who you are right now. I see you.”

“Jesus Christ, I wish I could bottle you up and drink you for liquid courage.” Liam shook with a frantic laugh. Daniel’s whole face went red, and Liam couldn’t stop himself—he kissed that infuriating curl. The thrill it sent down his own arm, straight to his heart, would have to be enough to give him strength.

“Let me start from the beginning.”

Liam explained about his father and the rages that threatened to shred their apartment, rages that Liam was too small and weak to stop. How the first time he grabbed his father’s fist on its path to his mother’s face, and the beating that followed, should have warned him off. But Liam had never been any good at taking a hint.

Even after Liam’s mother had kicked his father out, it didn’t help. Liam would never be able to save her.