Darius' thumb stilled on Xion's cheek. For a fleeting second, he looked almost pained, like a man battling an ocean with nothing but bare hands—the ocean that was his lover.
Xion was so small, fragile even. He could hold him in his arms so easily, and yet it was so hard to keep him close.
Every moment when he wasn't looking at Xion, when he couldn't feel him close by, the restless beast in his chest would be far too eager to rip at the ribcage and jump out.
He abhorred it when Xion was beaming at others. Loathed it with a passion that bordered on murderous.
All he wanted to do was slit the throats of the one who even dared to breathe the same air as his sweetheart.
No, Darius. You are the Archduke, he scolded himself. You aren't so crude.
But he was.
He was worse than just a little crude.
The only thing holding his wrath at bay was his little wish. He never wanted to lose the look of trust in those eyes.
Don't want that. Don't want him to be afraid of me.
