The Loyal Spartan
she whispered, her voice a low, shaky murmur that was laced with a thousand different emotions.
“Always,” I said, my voice a low, rough rasp that was a final, unbreakable promise.
And then she was in my arms, her body a soft, warm presence, a stark, shocking contrast to the cold, hard reality of the fight. I held her, my arms a crushing, desperate embrace that was a silent, frantic apology for my failure, a silent, desperate promise of my devotion.
It was the kind of reunion neither of us would have admitted wanting months ago, a raw, unfiltered expression of a love that was as terrifying as it was overwhelming. We were alive. We were together. And that was all that mattered.
Bab Populer