Yeah.
Ciaran would never forget that.
But when it was clear Sawyer was okay and sleeping soundly, his body temperature regulated so he was no longer shivering or trembling, and he was no longer in a state of unbidden arousal, Ciaran peeled himself away and got up.
He was loath to do it, but he didn’t want Sawyer to wake up and find himself very naked in bed with Ciaran, who was wearing only shorts. He’d have enough to explain already without adding to it unnecessarily.
He considered going into the bathroom and taking care of his hard-on, but he knew from years of experience that if he ignored it long enough, it would go away on its own.
Sawyer mumbled something about water and grabbed Ciaran’s pillow. He pulled it to his chest, hugging it, and after the sweetest little sigh, he began to snore.
Ciaran put some folded clothes on the end of the bed, then parked his arse in the chair near his chest of drawers and decided watching Sawyer sleep was his best course of action.
He certainly couldn’t leave him alone. Not now.
Probably not ever.
After a while—Ciaran wasn’t sure how long—he heard some familiar steps coming down the hall. He knew it was Fray before he heard a whispered, “Hey, Ciar, it’s me.”
Fray.
Ciaran needed his best friend now more than ever.
Ciaran cracked the door, Fray’s concerned face exactly what he needed to see. “Hey.”
“Oof,” he said, then grimaced. “Sorry. Pheromones. Wow. Did you... Are you two...? It smells like you...”
Ciaran shook his head. “I need to talk to him first.”
“How is he?”
“Better, I think. He’s asleep.” Ciaran moved aside so Fray could see the bed.
“How are you?”
That made Ciaran smile. “I....” He was about to lie and say he was fine, but he didn’t have it in him. “I don’t know. How are things out there? Did you find anyone in the Cove?”
Fray shook his head. “If there was anyone there before, they’re long gone.”
Ciaran had assumed as much.
Fray’s eyes met his, and Ciaran knew whatever he was about to say wasn’t good.
“We’ve got another problem.”
“What is it?”
“Dylan,” Fray murmured, his eyes darting to where Sawyer was still asleep.
“What about him? What’s wrong?”
Fray looked him right in the eye. “He recognised Sawyer.”
Ciaran’s defences bloomed and he barely contained a shiver. “He what? From where?”
“From Hobart.”
Ciaran’s blood ran cold, and jealousy coursed through him. It made his stomach roll. “Did he...? Have they...?”
