This might be all Ciaran ever got, so he allowed himself a moment to believe Sawyer was willingly, happily, in his arms. Ciaran’s hearts beat in sync, thrumming like never before. Then Sawyer put his head right above where Ciaran’s human heart should be.
Thatwas the reminder Ciaran needed.
He wasn’t human, and Sawyer was.
And he was a cop. Cops were forged by logic and reason. Mostly. How would he react to knowing the world wasn’t as he knew it, that humans weren’t the superior beings, thatotherswalked amongst them?
Shifters.
Ciaran didn’t particularly like that term, but it was something humans understood. In their fantasy and paranormal fictions and movies, they knew what shifters were. Mostly wolves, for some pop-cultural reason, but they knew what it meant: humans who could shift into a different form.
Ciaran didn’t really care about any of that right now.
How Sawyer would react was beside the point.
He had to survive this first.
Was he really in heat, as Kellan had thought?
How was it possible for a human? Had simply being around Ciaran triggered it?
If Kellan didn’t know how it would end, then no one would. Kellan was the most intelligent of their kind. He had a wealth of knowledge about all kinds of shit, and he’d no doubt been seeking out all he could.
Ciaran couldn’t think about anything while Sawyer was lying in his arms. In his bed.
Naked.
Chriiiiist.
In a vain attempt at distraction, Ciaran imagined what the guys were doing outside, what they’d found, what Dylan hadsaid, and where the hell he’d been. Then, whenthatbegan to make him mad, he imagined himself in freeform in the depths of the ocean, where the immense pressure of the water made him feel safe.
At home.
He wished he was there now.
Almost as much as he wished to be right where he was.
Ciaran wished, too, that Sawyer knew his secret and that he accepted him. Wished he could have a mate and be happy for...
For as long as Sawyer lived.
He didn’t want to get ahead of himself because Ciaran knew that as soon Sawyer found out about Ciaran—his kind, his world—it’d all be over. Sawyer would be gone, and Ciaran would be left to pick up the pieces of a bond he wanted but had never completed.
It made him hold Sawyer a little tighter.
While he could.
While he had the chance.
Sawyer had stopped trembling and shivering. He’d also stopped murmuring and writhing, and his breathing had evened out. He was sound asleep, and Ciaran rubbed his back, savouring every moment. Committing it all to memory so he could pluck it from obscurity years from now and relive what it felt like.
Sawyer’s body, his weight as he half lay on top of him. His breathing, his scent.
He would remember forever the beat of Sawyer’s heart thumping against his own.
The feel of his hair when Ciaran ran his hand through it. His strong back as Ciaran traced patterns over it. His steady breathing and the quiet murmurs he made as he slept.
The feel of his hard cock pressing against Ciaran’s thigh. The scent of his arousal....
