Page 14 of Storm and Sea (Storm and Sea Saga #1)

H er name was Pesce Pagliaccio . The Clown Fish. Leo grit his teeth as a well-dressed man handed over the keys, leaving him staring at the shiny new vessel bobbing in the harbor. It was as though Alvise wanted to remind him what a fool he was. How stupidly dependent Leo had become. The keys burned in his palm. The boat was perfect—better than perfect, the newest model on the market with every luxurious upgrade imaginable.

The hull was crafted from sturdy wood, painted in a crisp white with orange accents that gleamed under the sun. Its powerful inboard motor promised a smoother, faster ride even in choppy waters. The deck was wide and open, perfect for hauling in large nets or working with lines. It was practical and efficient, yet with thoughtful details like polished brass fittings and leather-wrapped controls. It was more than a boat; it was a statement.

He wanted to sink it.

But then his family would go hungry. He had to do this. Leo fished on the Pesce Pagliaccio for nearly two weeks, cutting through the water faster than any other boat on the bay. Despite his meager catches, Leo still caught significantly more than the other fishermen in the village because of his vessel’s strength.

Each night, he docked the boat, bracing himself for the inevitable—a man in a dark suit arriving to escort him to the Vincenzo estate in the valley. Yet day after day, catch after catch, nobody came. No summons, no demands for payment. Nothing happened.

Maybe Dad is taking care of it?

Leo didn’t dare hope, and the lack of correspondence unnerved him. The only thing that helped was losing himself in the harsh work of casting nets, setting traps, and towing lines. He loved the work and relished the familiar burn in his back after a hard day. This is what he knew, what he was good at.

I won’t let them starve.

Yet as the sun set and the night of the festival approached, a nagging worry settled in the back of his mind. When would the axe finally fall? And would he be able to survive its cut?

Despite his nerves, Leo was determined to enjoy the Baia Vita festival. This was the celebration of men like him, who made their livelihood on the sea. It celebrated those with salt on their skin and sand in their boots.

Regardless of that damn shark tooth necklace.

Leo dove headfirst into the celebrations, dismissing all worries. Tonight was for fun, and he wouldn’t squander that .

“Mind if I play victor?” Leo asked, watching Nyel and Atreus finish a game of Bocce .

Nyel was good, but more than his accuracy, Leo found himself admiring the set of his shoulders and the way his arm swung from his slight frame. He’d done everything in his power to avoid Nyel, to ignore this irritating attraction. And for the most part, he’d succeeded—keeping his distance, steering clear of those big brown eyes and shy smiles. The never-ending gloom hanging over his head was enough to numb his desires, a constant reminder that he had far bigger problems to face.

But tonight? Tonight was about having fun, so what harm was there in a little self-indulgence? Leo allowed himself to joke and laugh with Nyel, hopefully moving from ‘friend of a friend’ to ‘friend.’ Atreus was on edge; that much was obvious by the way he continuously ground his teeth. He’d known Atreus long enough to read him like a book, and Leo wasn’t going to let one of his sour moods ruin this perfect night.

“Did you get anything else cool?” Leo asked after Nyel was unable to buy the belt he wanted. Leo had the insane urge to purchase one for him. Of course, that was stupid when they were only one bad fishing day away from going hungry. Still, the desire was there.

“Yeah! Check this out.” Nyel said, pulling out a glass sea turtle.

“Cool, let me get a closer look at that,” he said, lifting Nyel’s hand to his eyes. He admired the glasswork on the ornament, and Nyel’s hand was soft in his.

What would he say if he knew the thoughts in my head?

Leo couldn’t get a read on Nyel. But the newcomer showed no interest in the women on the island, so that gave him some hope.

“I just remembered something. You two keep going,” Atreus said suddenly and disappeared .

Leo watched his bunched-up shoulders part the crowd. “What’s his problem?”

“I don’t know,” Nyel said, “Should we go after him?”

Leo shook his head. “Nah. Atreus likes his space. Just leave him to it; he’ll come around.”

When Atreus was in one of his moods , Leo learned a long time ago to let him cool off.

“Hey, wanna go try the darts stand? I bet you’d be good at?—”

Leo’s voice caught in his throat as two men in leather coats strode toward him. Emblazoned on their chests was the emblem of a golden lion roaring against a backdrop of vibrant purple and black. Alvise’s men—finally here to collect.

“You know what, I’ll meet you at the darts stand in an hour,” Leo said, trying to put himself between Nyel and the men.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll meet you there,” he said, waving Nyel off, even though his heart pounded against his ribs like an inmate trying to escape its cell.

“ Signore Vincenzo wants to speak with you,” one of the men said, his voice monotone.

“Can it wait until after the festival?”

In answer, the man shoved Leo forward, taking up position behind him while the other led the way. They didn’t go to the valley; rather, they ducked into a nearby alleyway. Stacks of old crates, rolls of spare wire, and cracked water buoys piled along the sides. It was dark except for the distant flickering from the festival lanterns, splitting the darkness into thin strips of light.

“I was wondering when you’d come to visit me. The Clown Fish isn’t for free, my pet.” Alvise leaned casually against the brick wall, his appearance exuding the effortless elegance of old money, like aged wine and worn velvet.

So, his father hadn’t dealt with the payments. Of course not. How could Leo even let himself believe his father did anything? He’d signed the contract and left Leo to deal with the mess.

“Leave it to Leo; he’ll figure it out,” his father said over the dinner table when Emelia worried about funds for shoes.

Because Leo always did.

Bile surged up his throat, and he worked to keep his voice even.

“Of course not Signore Vincenzo. I’d hoped you and my father had an arrangement, but I see I was wrong. I’d be happy to discuss one now.” His voice was light. Polite. No hint of the rage inside. Or the fear.

“And how will you make the payments? You can hardly feed that rat pack as it is.”

Leo’s neck muscles tightened. “I am ready to discuss an arrangement that will satisfy both parties.”

Alvise’s mouth twisted into a feline smile. “I was hoping you’d say that. Satisfaction is a rare commodity in my circles. Money bores me.” His eyes roamed up and over Leo’s body. “What I crave is beautiful things at my feet.”

Leo’s stomach turned as he imagined them—Alvise’s so-called ‘guests,’ preened and polished like exotic birds in gilded cages, admired but never free to fly. He wondered if Alvise clipped their wings or if they were too terrified to use them.

Alvise approached him, his ice-shard eyes making Leo feel naked. He smelled of rich cologne and musk—undeniably masculine—yet it stirred nothing in Leo.

“Yes. Beautiful things. At my feet.”

He grabbed a section of Leo’s blond hair, twisting it in his fingers, the strands gleaming like threads of gold in the light. With a silver flash, Alvise brought the knife down, cutting the golden lock. Leo yelled, stumbling back, but rough hands restrained him.

Alvise held the golden lock, bringing it to his nose. He inhaled deeply, eyes closing. “Yes, this will do. It’s too bad the red fox doesn’t have a face as pretty as yours.”

“You stay the fuck away from me,” Leo hissed and immediately knew he’d made a mistake.

His cheek slammed into the cobblestone street, and a boot buried itself in his gut. He gasped, but no sound came out as air was forced from his lungs.

“None of that, my pet. I see you need more training. Get him up,” Alvise ordered, and Leo was lifted, hanging limply between the two brutes.

“Look at me, my golden boy.”

Leo kept his gaze on the ground. A moment later, a fist made contact with his cheek, sending a flash of white-hot pain through his skull, rattling his teeth.

“Look at me.”

With tears brimming, Leo lifted his head, meeting that arctic gaze.

“When I say look at me, you say?—?”

Leo couldn’t keep the tremble out of his voice and hated himself for it. “Yes, Signore Vincenzo.”

“When I tell you to come to my estate, you say?—?”

“Yes, Signore Vincenzo.”

“And when I tell you to use my given name and to get on your knees, you say?—?”

Leo’s jaw didn’t move as he ground his teeth, scarcely releasing the words. “Yes, Alvise.”

“Good boy.” He tickled the tip of Leo’s nose with the strand of hair.

Leo fell as the grunts dropped him. He barely caught himself and slumped against the brick wall, hugging his middle. They disappeared around the corner like predators after a kill, knowing full well they’d be back for more .

Leo reached up, feeling the shortened piece where a long curl had been. He fought back the sting in his eyes.

Fuck.

Atreus had outdone himself with the banner above the booth. Not only were the letters spaced evenly and perfectly straight, but he’d also drawn several sea creatures along the edges in bright gold paint. It still baffled her that, despite his immaculate penmanship, he couldn’t read a single one of the words he’d so beautifully written. When she’d asked him about it, he said the words “swam around,” whatever that meant.

But as Marina watched him carefully paint the golden sea creatures, painful memories rose to the surface, twisting her heart until she felt physically ill. The way the bristles slid across the canvas, leaving marks that would remain forever, reminded her of a permanence she’d never known. It was too much.

After a while, she couldn’t take it anymore. She left Atreus to finish on his own, masking her pain with a practiced smile and a nonchalant performance. Not a flicker of hurt showed as she walked away, shoulders steady, masterfully hiding the hurt churning quietly beneath the surface.

Still, she’d been right to put him to the task—the bright banner did its job.

When the flood of kids hit her booth like a scurry of chattering squirrels, Marina could barely catch her breath. One moment, she was overrun, struggling to collect forms and fees; the next, the crowd thinned as the kids dispersed, drawn like moths to the bright stalls selling cakes and candies.

Marina counted the forms for the third time, tallying up the numbers. There were more young kids this year than she’d seen in the past. Her heart sank; they had zero chance of winning, going up against teens as old as fifteen.

“We should separate them into groups based on age. What do you think, Nonno ? Nonno ?”

Her grandfather sat in his rocking chair, eyes closed, mouth gaping. When she shook his knee, he snorted. “ Che succede! I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Sure, Nonno . Did you want to go see the festival?”

“I can see plenty from here. You go enjoy, I’ll guard the booth.”

Marina very much doubted it since there was a one hundred percent chance he’d fall asleep again, but it seemed all the kids who would sign up this year already had.

“You’re okay by yourself?”

Niccolo slinked around the corner, his tail wrapping at the edge of the rocking chair before gracefully hopping onto Horace’s lap. “I am not alone. Niccolo is good company.”

“He sure has a lot to say,” Marina said, scratching the cat behind the ears. His purring was so loud, she half-expected him to rattle right off Nonno’s lap. She kissed her Nonno on the head. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He waved her off, and when Marina glanced over her shoulder, his eyes were closed, mouth open, with Niccolo swatting at his white beard. She laughed and made her way to the center of the merry-making.

Marina wound her way through the stalls, trying to spot Atreus. He’d been off, and she hoped the festivities lightened his mood .

She was quickly distracted by a stall selling women’s clothes. Marina admired a yellow sundress on display. The stitching practically yelled the word libertà. She imagined wearing it on a bright morning sunrise. Free as a sunflower in the breeze.

The older women would call it revealing, but Marina gravitated to the open-shoulder cut. It would fit her perfectly. Yet, as she looked, the price warded her away. They weren’t struggling for money—not with her mother’s inheritance tucked away in a bank in Firenze . Marina used part of it to pay for her schooling, but with just one semester left, half the original amount still remained.

But her Nonno was old, and every rasping cough felt like the tick of a bomb. He might need medical attention at any moment, and Marina was ready to use everything she had left to help him. Her father would swallow his pride when it came to Nonno’s care, even if he refused to accept her funds for anything else.

With her future uncertain and Nonno’s coughs worsening, there was no room to spend on frilly dresses—even if they would make her boobs look phenomenal.

She was admiring a pair of silver earrings with a blue stone carved to resemble a fish scale when the edge of her sandal caught on a beam beneath the booth. It hooked her leg, and she fell.

Marina grabbed at the table but only managed to wrench the black display cloth as she toppled. Something hard collided with her back, and as Marina landed on the stone, she realized it was another person—who was now also on the ground.

“Marina, you cow!” a female voice screeched.

Anna, the same girl from the fabric store, glared as sticky orange liquid splattered all over her shirt. The man on the ground held an empty cup, and it didn’t take Marina long to piece together what had happened.

Man holds drink —Marina knocks into him —man spills drink— Anna’s dress is ruined. A beautiful domino effect of chaos. Marina’s specialty.

She didn’t bother apologizing to Anna, instead addressing the man. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”

He turned, and despite the orange splatter on his cream cotton shirt, he smiled as if being knocked to the ground by her was the highlight of his evening.

“It is no problem. Accidents happen.” He straightened and offered his hand. Marina’s gaze lifted from the tragedy staining the man’s shirt and then to his face. She blinked.

Is he… real?

Standing before her was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, his dazzling smile so bright it made her wonder if she should worry about getting sunburned—or maybe gorgeous-man-burned? Whatever it was, this man radiated it. An aura was definitely exuding from him, and Marina was quickly getting overwhelmed. This man was not from Baia Vita. There was an air of refinement that floated around him like a barrier between him and everyone else.

He was tan, with a tasteful amount of manicured scruff framing his jawline. His dark brown hair was long, reaching the tips of his shoulders. It waved with enough messiness to be considered windswept without being untamed.

“Are you hurt?” he asked as she found her feet.

“Just my butt and my pride. Nothing major,” she said, wiping her hands on said butt.

He laughed, and it was so relaxed that Marina almost forgot she’d nearly concussed the man.

Anna clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Of course, you’d make a mess. For god’s sake, when do you return to that preppy school?”

Marina didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. Shame forced her chin down, her fingers twisting in knots. She mumbled something akin to, “I’m sorry.”

“Well, ‘Sorry’ doesn’t fix my dress, does it?”

“It’s a fruit-based drink. It’ll wash out,” the man said, checking his own ruined shirt.

“I’m so sorry. I can wash it for you if you’d like. I’m used to getting stains out of clothes,” Marina offered.

“I’d rather tear this dress apart and make curtains out of it before handing it over to you,” Anna spat.

It’d probably look better that way.

Behind her, the woman with the jewelry booth began slowly picking up her wares.

“ Oh mio Dio , no, let me,” Marina said, bending low, “ Per favore , sit. I’ll do this.”

The old woman gave a relieved nod and waddled to a seat as she held her lower back. It was a few seconds before Marina noticed the man crouching beside her, picking up the delicate silver earrings.

“You don’t have to do that. It’s her mess; let her pick it up,” Anna snapped.

“I don’t mind,” he replied.

“You don’t have to kneel in the dirt with the likes of her.”

At this, the man looked up, flashing Anna a wide smile, but Marina sensed none of the searing warmth this time.

“Why don’t you go home and take care of that stain? I think we are done here.”

Anna gaped at the obvious dismissal, shooting Marina a glare before stomping off.

Great. Just great.

“I am terribly sorry for her behavior. She was rather rude,” the man said, finding matching pairs for the scattered earrings. His hands were steady and delicate with the fragile ornaments.

“I’m used to it. Anna doesn’t like me much.”

“Anna? So that was her name,” he mused .

Marina quirked a brow. “You were on a date with her and didn’t know her name?”

He grinned flirtatiously. “I only met her tonight. And I am terrible with names, honestly. Speaking of which, might I get yours?”

“You didn’t hear Anna yelling it?”

“I’d like to hear it from your lips if you don’t mind.”

Marina didn’t know why that made her pause, and she definitely didn’t know why she was humoring him. Yet she found herself granting his request.

“Marina Marcello.”

“Marina,” the man purred, “Now that is a name I won’t forget.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it’s beautiful.”

Marina was at a loss for words. No man had ever complimented her like this before. Feeling completely out of her element, she remained silent, unable to muster even a simple "thank you" or a follow-up question.

I’m such a weirdo.

She could practically feel Anna’s scoffing judgment. Anna would have said something nice in return, maybe giggle and twirl her hair. Bat her eyelashes with pouty lips.

But that just wasn’t Marina.

Silent, Marina continued fixing the woman’s booth, apologizing ten more times as she set everything back in place. The final pair of earrings—the ones she’d been eyeing—were carefully placed on the table. The blue fish-scale stones sparkled with opalescent reflections. They were stunning, and Marina was always on the lookout for something to distract from her flaming hair.

But she really shouldn’t.

“Well, see ya,” Marina said awkwardly and turned to disappear into the crowd. She’d only made it ten steps when the barest touch graced her upper arm .

“Wait.”

She raised a brow at the man, his dark eyes imploring. He gestured to the festivities.

“I see no reason why we can’t enjoy this together. What do you say?”

“Don’t you want to change?” she asked, eyeing his shirt.

“I kind of like it, actually. Gives it character.”

“You look like you got drunk and sloshed on yourself.”

“Like I said, character.”

Marina laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. I can still wash it out if you’d like.”

“No need.” He held out an arm. “Walk with me instead?”

Marina hesitated. This was weird. She should get back to Nonno .

“One pass around the square,” he begged.

Marina had ruined this guy’s date. Not to mention his shirt. One pass couldn’t hurt. Lips pressed tightly together, Marina relented, taking his arm.

They walked through the bright stalls of carnival games and fried foods, but Marina took in none of it. She watched her feet, trying her best to avoid the eyes bearing into her like daggers. But there was little chance of that when her bright red hair stood out like a flamingo in a flock of pigeons.

They’ll see me. With him.

They’ll see her on the arm of arguably the most gorgeous man Marina had ever laid eyes on. The rumors would fly. For something like this, she worried the girls would seek revenge. Anna especially. Marina shivered, remembering the pranks and jokes her roommates pulled on her all winter.

Please just let this night end.

“This song is one of my favorites. Can I persuade you?”

Before she knew it, they were at the edge of the square, feet away from whirling figures and swishing skirts.

“Oh no, no, no, no, no,” she said, backing away with her hands raised as though she were being held at knifepoint. “I don’t dance.”

The man cocked his head, his stupidly-perfect hair swaying on the night breeze. “Is that so?”

“You witnessed just how good my coordination is,” she said, still backpedaling. “So did your shirt.”

“Don’t worry about the shirt. And the perfect cure for not doing something is practice. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“But I—” Marina eyed the crowd. They were moving so fast, so synchronized with the beat. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Hmm,” he said, bringing his hand to his chin in contemplation. “Let’s try something.”

Without a word, he led Marina to a secluded courtyard tucked a few alleys away from the bustling square. Here, the music softened to a distant hum, replaced by the gentle trickle of the fountain. The moonlight bathed the space in a cool, silvery glow, a striking contrast to the buzzing yellow lantern light that flickered in the square.

“How about this? Nobody around.” He placed her left hand on his shoulder and took her right. “May I?” he asked, his opposite hand hovering beside her waist.

“U-uh-huh,” Marina stuttered and tried to keep her breath even as he placed his palm on her waist, hardly making any contact at all.

“Listen, bringing me away from the crowd still isn’t going to protect your toes.”

“Lucky for me, I’ve lost feeling in all ten toes,” he said, taking a step backward and leading her into a simple four-step sequence.

“Liar,” she snorted, following his lead.

She managed through half the song before stomping on his foot. “See, I told you I’m no good at?—”

He pulled her in tighter, his hand sliding from her waist to the curve of her back .

“You’re doing beautifully. Let’s go again.”

“Okay,” was all she could say past the hummingbird tempo in her chest. He led her through several more sets and Marina didn’t even notice when one song ended and another began. She was only aware of her gliding feet, the warm pressure on her back, and the flush in her cheeks.

With a delicate twirl, they ended the final song, coming to a standstill as the last note lingered in the air.

“See, I told you it only takes practice.”

Marina was panting. “I guess there’s still hope for me.”

“Have more faith in yourself, my dear,” he said, his words like a caress.

He brought her hand to his lips, and Marina hoped her gasp went unheard as a chaste kiss ghosted across her knuckles.

“Until next time, Marina.”

As he released her hand, he pressed something small into her palm before turning down the alley and fading into the night. Marina stood in a daze for an embarrassingly long time before inspecting the gift in her hand. Inside a thin cotton pouch tied with a bow were the blue opalescent fish-scale earrings. Her stomach twisted as she realized she never asked for his name.

It felt like no time at all before the fireworks ended, the last sizzle of light and sound fading into a starry sky. The silence settled heavily in their ears.

Nyel was reeling, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the explosions in the sky or the onslaught of sensations that had besieged him in the span of a breath. Something had happened—or tried to—but whatever it was felt incomplete.

Nyel ducked his head and squeezed his eyes closed as twirls of golden light zigzagged across his vision, likely remnants of the overwhelming emotions temporarily blurring his sight. That’s all they were—nothing more. And the feeling? He had no explanation.

Yet, deep down, in the quiet corners of his mind, a tiny ember of thought sparked to life, whispering to him.

He knew. He knew. He knew.

“Well, that’s the end of my favorite shirt,” Atreus said, examining his shredded dress shirt.

“You can’t fix it?” Nyel asked, knowing Atreus to be very adept with a needle. Or really anything with his hands.

“No. It’s a goner.”

He tore the fabric off himself, the back completely shredded by his barbs. They dried on the beach, regaining their human selves. Luckily, Nyel’s clothes were baggy on him to begin with, so with the addition of his rounded fins, his shirt only stretched. His pants, however…

“I think my pants are a goner,” Nyel said, facing Atreus, embarrassed at his likely exposed rear.

“I can fix that—just a bit of velcro, and it’ll be hardly noticeable. For now, though,” he said, handing Nyel his torn shirt, “tie this around your waist to cover it.”

“Thanks,” he said, blushing as he tied it to hide himself.

Only then did Nyel realize just how shirtless Atreus was. He’d never seen him with this much bare skin before. Even when the other men shed their camicia , Atreus always kept himself covered. Was that why it caught Nyel off guard now? Why did his gaze keep drifting to the sculpted ridges of Atreus’s abdomen? Even when he realized he was staring, Nyel couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“We should get back,” Atreus said. “After the fireworks, things usually close up.”

“Right.” Nyel forced himself to turn around.

What is my problem?

When they arrived at Marina’s booth, they only found Horace asleep in his rocking chair. Niccolo cowered under the blanket around his legs, likely spooked by the fireworks.

“ Signore Finotto? Sir?” Atreus gently shook the man’s shoulder.

“Gabriella?” he wheezed, blinking back to reality. “Oh, Antonio. I’ve been watching the booth for Gabriella. She should be back soon.”

Nyel had to resist a laugh.

“I’m here!” Marina’s voice called as she jogged to them. She was rather flushed despite the night being cool. “And it’s Marina, Nonno .”

Horace smiled. “You look just like your mother.”

“I know Nonno . Ready to go home?”

“Yes, it’s time for this old man to be in a proper bed.”

As they helped Horace to his feet, Nyel noticed a pretty gleam of color below Marina’s ear.

“Are those earrings?” Nyel asked.

“You never wear jewelry,” Atreus said, squinting.

“And you never walk around half-naked. I guess we’re all trying new things tonight,” she quipped with a wink.

“Did someone give you those?”

“Don’t ask questions you aren’t ready to hear,” she teased in a sing-song trill. “And what happened to your shirt?” she asked before spotting it tied around Nyel’s waist. She eyed them with a raised brow .

“DoN’t aSk qUesTions You aRen’t rEady tO hEar,” Atreus mocked, mimicking her tone.

“You ragazzi keep me young,” Horace said with a sleepy smile from between their bickering.

Nyel was about to follow them to the pescheria when his stomach sank with sudden realization.

“Have any of you seen Leofel?”

When neither Atreus nor Marina had seen him, Nyel’s worries grew. He was supposed to meet him, but after the fireworks, Nyel completely forgot.

How could I blow him off like that?

“I’ll meet you guys at the house, okay?” he said, turning toward the carnival games. He thought he heard Atreus call after him but ignored it. The stretch of booths lined with games was empty now, save for the vendors packing up for the night. Nyel spun, worry eating at him like barnacles on a ship’s hull.

Nyel ducked around a vacant stall when a glint of golden curls hooked his attention. Leo wandered aimlessly from corner to corner, as if he had no particular destination in mind.

“Leofel!” Nyel called jogging to him. “Hey, sorry I didn’t meet with you. I got caught up, and then the fireworks, and…” Nyel gasped, his hand covering his mouth.

Leofel’s face was a mess. One eye was swollen shut, and a smear of blood streaked from his lips to his cheek, where he’d wiped it.

“Leofel, what happened—Oof!” Nyel made a startled sound as the air knocked from his lungs.

Leofel embraced him like a drowning man. He squeezed Nyel, his head bent, his mouth so close that Nyel could feel his shuddering breath.

“Hey, are you okay?”

It was a stupid question. Of course, he wasn’t okay, but Nyel didn’t know what else to say. After a moment, Nyel returned the embrace, rubbing his hands up and down Leo’s back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Leo shuddered again.

“Please. Don’t tell anyone,” he breathed.

And he was gone, ducking into an alley, leaving Nyel cold, concerned, and confused.