He wanted to hurt and kill anything that caused Ciaran pain. It made Sawyer’s head swim again, and dear god, he needed to leave. He snatched up the trackpants and pulled them on, then almost fell when getting off of the bed.
Ciaran caught him and set him to rights. “Would you be careful,” he snapped. “Christ.”
Sawyer pulled his arm free, though he hated to do it, as Ciaran’s touch seemed to soothe his head, but his anger.... Well, the anger Ciaran was aiming at him just pissed Sawyer off.
Sawyer looked around, and, seeing nothing else of his—no clothes, no boots—he went for the door.
He had no idea where he was. He just knew he had to leave.
He needed to think clearly, and he couldn’t seem to do that around Ciaran. Especially not in his room, surrounded by that scent that was making him dizzy.
What the fuck?
Sawyer found himself in a hallway, and he followed it to the end to find Fraser standing there in a kitchen, clearly shocked to see him. But there was a door to the outside, and Sawyer had to get to it. For a second, Sawyer thought Fraser was going to stop him, and he might have but for Ciaran, who was now two steps behind him.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Ciaran yelled.
Sawyer pulled open the door, welcoming the fresh salt air. It seemed to clear his head a little. “Home,” he mumbled.
He needed to get home, where he could think...
That was all he knew.
Two steps outside, he stopped. It was pitch-black and freezing cold.
What time was it?
How long had he been out of it? Did Ciaran say hours?
Christ.
But then he realised where he was. At the back of the antiques store, he turned right and headed for his place. The cold under his feet should have hurt.
Maybe it did.
He knew the back door of his place would be closed, so he ran to the front, the cold wind and misty rain whipping at his face. Every step he took away from Ciaran felt so fucking wrong.
Sawyer didn’t know what was happening to him. He felt so wildly out of control, out of his own body.
Out of his damn mind.
There was a piercing ache behind his sternum, in his bones. Everything felt so terribly wrong. The further he got from Ciaran, from his room where his scent was cloying, the harder it was to breathe.
And that heavenly scent... my god, it sang to him.
He made it into the police station, the warmth and familiarity doing nothing to help him. He was losing his damn mind.
The door behind him opened with such force, it made him jump.
Ciaran stalked in, wild and livid.
And so fucking hot.
“You’ll break the door,” Sawyer said, breathless. He put his hand to his throat, his face, his chest. Everything was wrong, but Ciaran... Ciaran could make it right.
Ciaran spoke through clenched teeth. “The hell do you think you’re going?”
Sawyer pulled at his shirt. He couldn’t get his breath. “The fuck did youdo to me?”
