Something about the boy made Declan feel odd right in the pit of his stomach. It was a strange feeling, one that Declan hadn't felt in years. Not only was it unlike Declan Harp to have any feelings of the attraction kind but it was worse because he was a boy. So, Declan might have bonded with him after dragging him around ever since they'd met and so there was something about Michael that stuck with him, that was no reason for Declan to feel that strange tingling sensation and a stirring in his pants every time he saw the boy's unfathomable blue eyes. He could tell Sokanon had a thing for him. And why the hell was he allowing himself to think that way?

The woods were exceptionally cold that night. The ale was the only thing keeping him warm besides the flickering flames. He always drank but that night alcohol seemed pointless. Instead of killing the sentiments rearing their ugly heads, the ale merely worsened his deep desperation.

In his mind Declan saw the way Smyth had looked that morning after his early bath, when he ran into him and not only did the boy have no clothes on, he seemed to be completely at ease with his nakedness. The thought made Declan smile. He had been the same way once, smug and self centered, perhaps he still was in some ways.

The sound of someone's soft feet padding on the ground alerted Harp and he turned to see Michael walking toward the fire, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sight of the boy came with another reminder glimpse of the perfect body that lay underneath those worn-out clothes. "Can't sleep?" Declan inquired. The boy answered with a nod and brought his hands close to the fire. "What about you?"

Declan didn't want to lie, so he said the only thing he could. "Lot on my mind, I suppose."

"Want to talk about it?" That soft Irish accent felt good to Declan's ears. He tried not to stare at the millions of flecks of raw fire dancing in the boy's irises. Fire that seemed to burn through Declan's soul, waiting to destroy him. He knew he had to keep his mouth shut. If he wasn't careful, he risked losing everything, including Michael.

"People like us," Harp said. "We cling to our misery like we cling to the people we love."

The boy looked at Harp with an understanding that could have only come from Sokanon's stories. She must have told Smyth what happened with Declan's family. He wondered how much she had told him and if Smyth knew Benton was responsible.

"You don't have to," Smyth said. "Declan, listen to me. You want to be happy. I know that. I see it in you every day. You laugh and you stop yourself. You eat to fill your stomach, you take no pleasure in it. Harp, you even drink to sleep! Or to keep warm. Why?"

What Smyth didn't know was that the only reason he had found himself smiling for the past few weeks had everything to do with Smyth. "I was under the impression Sokanon told you the reason."

"She told me the reason for your grief. She didn't tell me why you won't stop punishing yourself."

The boy was out of turn. It was getting harder for Declan to maintain the silence he had fought senselessly to defend, so he pretended to be offended and stood. He would have stormed out of the clearing and the conversation, but his head spun and Declan felt dizzy. It must have been the ale. But before he could move, Michael was right there, standing next to him and offering support. It was strange but the lanky boy was actually quite strong. It was true, Michael always surprised him but this time Declan was downright impressed.

"You can't run forever," Michael said. "Sooner or later, you're going to have to talk to me."

In anger and frustration, Declan broke off and finally let out his rage. "I'm not the talking type, Smyth. In case you didn't notice."

Smyth stood stubbornly, unwavering. "You can't push me away, Harp! I won't let you."

Declan glowered at him. "Just who do you think you are?"

There was a strange determination in the boy's eyes. It scared Declan. He feared that whatever it was lurking behind those eyes had the power to consume them both. The flames flickered brightly, covering Michael's delicate features and giving his pale skin a fiery glow. "You must really like me," said Michael. Declan shrugged it away. "I don't give a shit," he clarified. "But you're an asset and as such, integral to my plan."

"You mean that half-baked, suicide mission you're always going on about with Sokanon?"

Declan laughed. "You think you're the only one that knows everything?"

"Not everything." The look in Michael's eyes was hotter than the embers. "I want you, Declan."

Declan couldn't believe the boy's bluntness. "What?!"

"I saw you checking me out when I was coming out of the bath, Declan. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about..."

The words had scarcely left Michael's lips when Declan found himself grabbing the boy's throat and slamming him into a nearby tree trunk. Michael winced when tree bark hit his back and was trying not to suffocate. Even though he felt sorry for Smyth, Declan couldn't seem to take his hands off that sensitive throat for some reason and he would have snuffed the life out of him if the tears hadn't sprung up in the boy's eyes. Declan let go of him then and Michael fell to the ground on his knees, gasping for air. The way his lungs were struggling it was obvious he was still having trouble breathing. Declan blankly stared at his hands, wanting to drive them repeatedly against the same tree bark that he had pushed the boy at. His own strength disgusted him. He wanted to be free of it.

"Why did you stop?" the boy cried. "Finish me, it's what I deserve."

Declan wanted to take the boy in his arms and he wanted to tell Michael that there was nothing wrong about the way they felt and that it wasn't dirty or disgusting or any of those things but beautiful, just like him. "If I find you anywhere near me, I'm going to do something we will both regret."

The boy sat there, next to the fire, sobbing. His body wracked and shook with every hitched breath he took, and it looked like he would never stop. He was clearly in pain. Declan wanted to take away his pain but instead, he added to it by not staying and walking back to his tent.

He was hoping that would be the end of it but Michael ran up to Harp and grasped his arm in a vise grip and used all his strength to pull the older man toward him. Harp knew he should have been doing more than merely gazing at the boy. But the pain in the boy's eyes broke Declan's heart and his resolve to hurt him any further. "Don't leave me Declan," the boy wept. "Either end me or love me but show me something other than mercy!"

"Be glad I'm not slitting your throat boy, because you have aided me and saved me from danger and I intend to do the same for you. But do not think I owe you anything more."

Smyth let go of his arm. "I don't want your pity."

"That's too bad, Michael," Declan growled. "Because it's the only thing you're getting." Harp stormed off again but this time he wasn't going to look back. He kept walking, flicking away discreetly at his own tears, knowing full well that those hurting blue eyes would be the cause of his nightmares for a long time to come, and the boy's anguished voice wouldn't let go of Declan either.

But it had to be done.

Michael Smyth was no longer a child. He was no longer in the safety of his mother's womb or his old land. This was the new world and the jungle that thrived within the city walls was harsher and more dangerous than the jungle out here, in this neck of the woods. Michael failed to understand the gravity of the situation or his surroundings so it was up to Declan to teach him.

The boy would get used to fending for himself.

He would get used to heartbreak.

And so would Declan Harp.