He was thrown onto a chair in a room he’d never seen before—no, wait, was this the doctor’s office?—a blanket waswrapped around him and towels used to dry his hair, his face, and then Kellan was there, peering into his eyes and asking him questions.
He still couldn’t hear properly, his head was spinning, his lungs were too heavy and they burned, and he couldn’t stop coughing.
Then the door swung open with far too much force, protesting against the frame, and Ciaran was there, chest heaving, and he had the most gloriously livid expression on his face.
Kellan stood back, his hands raised as if he shouldn’t have been touching Sawyer, and Ciaran stalked into the room, his gaze landing on... on the man Sawyer recognised. Ciaran pointed at him. “You,” Ciaran said to him.
“I just got back,” the guy said, eyes wide.
Was it fear?
“I found him in the water.” He shook his head. “I-I-I didn’t?—”
“We will talk about this later,” Ciaran said to him. He came over to Sawyer and cupped his jaw, lifting his face none too gently. His eyes were wild, and his voice was... tortured and soft as he said, “Sawyer, are you alright?”
Sawyer tried to pull his head back, but he was lightheaded and hazy, and he was starting to feel the cold now.
So cold....
“I pulled him out,” Otis said. “I saw him go in. He was looking at the water and just went in, headfirst. Like something invisible pulled him in or something.”
“I’m fine,” Sawyer tried to say, but it didn’t sound right. He was dizzier now and not really following what was going on.
“He needs to get out of those clothes and get warmed up,” Kellan said. Was he still here? Sawyer hadn’t realised. “His core temperature is dropping.”
“I’ll take him,” Ciaran said.
What?
Take him? Where?
“I’m fine,” Sawyer said again.
They ignored him. Or maybe he didn’t say it out loud. He wasn’t sure anymore.
Then Ciaran was yelling about something, and Sawyer could feel the energy rolling off him, like vibrations or something. Or was Sawyer shaking? He wasn’t sure about that either. Then Fraser and Tobin were there in the small room, and it was crowded and loud, and Sawyer couldn’t keep his eyes open or follow what was going on.
Until Otis roared over him, and the room fell silent. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Ciaran. If you’d shut up and listen! I know what he is to you. I know you can’t think straight. But he didn’t just fall in and sink. There was someone else in the water. Something was pulling him down.”
The room remained silent and still, and Sawyer tried to look up at Ciaran. He was vibrating with so much rage that it looked like he was shimmering.
Well, that’s not right.
Sawyer tried to shake his head, but everything felt wrong. The room, his head, the cold.
“Go find me whoever the fuck touched him,” Ciaran said, his voice cutting like a blade.
Who touched him? Who touched who?
Sawyer was done trying to follow. “Someone needs to start explaining what the fuck is going on,” he said, standing up, or trying to, but the room slanted and went sideways, and then strong arms were around him, carrying him as if he weighed nothing. Sawyer tried to focus, but he couldn’t keep a hold of reality.
Ciaran was holding him, his arms strong, his chest warm, and dear god, how Sawyer wanted to stay right there. He strodealong halls and corridors, lights passing overhead, but all Sawyer could see was Ciaran.
His jaw and neck, his chest—all so close up.
His scent.
It was divine. Like everything about Ciaran was made just for him.
