Christ, if they’d fucked?—
“No,” Fray said quickly. “Nothing like that.”
The relief Ciaran felt almost made him sag. “Then what is it? He recognises him how?”
“He was the cop who chased him. Along the dock.”
Oh shit.
“He chased him?”
Fray nodded and made a face. “And that’s not the worst part.”
Ciaran held his breath.
“Dylan shifted in front of him. He didn’t mean to. He was panicked. You know how he gets.”
Ciaran let out a slow breath in hopes it would calm him.
It didn’t.
Fray’s expression became sad, pensive. “Sawyer knows about us,” he whispered. “About our kind. And Ciar, I’m guessing that’s why he’s here. To spy on us, uncover our truth.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Ciaran couldn’t begin to name everything he felt in that moment. Starting with fear, then anger, but mostly betrayal.
Fuck.
Chapter
Thirteen
SAWYER
Sawyer woke slowlyfrom the heaviest sleep he’d ever had, and it had kept him safe and warm, this sleep that’d wrapped itself around him. He didn’t want to wake. Such a wonderful, blissful, and comforting sleep. And possibly the weirdest. Another sex dream, this time so vivid, so intoxicating, he could have sworn it was real.
Same sex dream he had been having since he arrived in Tenebrae.
Being held down by too many hands while being railed so thoroughly, face down, arms pinned, legs splayed and held apart, and fucked so good.
So damn good.
But this time there was a scent. A scent that was his. Not coming from Sawyer himself, but a scent that belonged to him, that some part of him recognised. It spoke to him, on a base level, in his bones. He wanted to drown in it.
Then he remembered...
Drowning.
Falling into the water and wanting to sink to the bottom, go deeper. Go with the hands that dragged him downward.
Then, as if the memory alone manifested reality, he coughed. His lungs burned, and the pain shook off the lingering tendrils of sleep.
He opened his eyes, and reality slowly came into focus.
He was groggy and confused... and not in his own bed.
