Page 17
Drew’s expression softened, but the strain was there—in the tight set of his jaw, the way he leaned back slightly as if Carson might be contagious. “Look, you’re one of my best. But I can’t keep covering for you. Joe and Tim have been asking what’s up too. They said you’ve been weird since that night you accused them of misremembering. If you need time off, take it. Doctor, therapist, whatever. But get it sorted.” He stood, tapping the cubicle wall once. “We’re friends, man. Don’t make me be the asshole boss here.”
The words landed like a punch. Carson nodded mutely, watching Drew walk away. Friendships fracturing, work slipping through his fingers—everything human in his life unraveling thread by thread. And the worst part? Part of him didn’t even care. Not when the memory of Mathias’ body fusing to his in that warehouse still burned so brightly.
By lunch the hallucinations crowded through him in earnest.
He blinked and saw cool, callused hands resting on the edge of his cubicle wall. The scent of spice and night air filled his nose. In his head, he still heard the low, rasping voice saying “Exquisite” against his ear. When he jerked his head up, the cubicle was empty. Only Ruthie’s soft humming drifted over the partition.
He spent the rest of the afternoon staring at the same paragraph, rewriting the same three sentences, and fighting the urge to leave, find Mathias, and beg.
***
Mathias
Mathias moved through the shadowed underbelly of the city like smoke, nostrils flared to catch the scent of suitable prey. He hunted alone tonight. He’d left the lair after the reaping, resisting the siren pull back to Carson’s apartment with every ounce of his considerable will. The blood drop he’d given the man should have eased the cravings for a time, but it was a dangerous bandage. One more step towards Renfieldism. One more thread binding Carson to ruin.
Hunger gnawed at him—that all too familiar rat deep in his belly—but it was secondary to the brutal ache. The soul-mate link paused the Sun’s Jealous Call, granting him precious warmth and clarity. Yet every night with Carson accelerated it too. Emotional vulnerability, the lore warned, would strengthen her Call. He could feel her now, a faint seductive tug at the edges of his mind even under the cover of darkness.
He cornered a lone mugger in an alley, the man’s fear-scent sharp and unappealing. Mathias fed efficiently, taking only what he needed, careful not to kill. As the blood flowed, a flashback slammed into him unbidden.
Elias. His lost lover, turned in a moment of desperate loneliness decades ago. Beautiful, fierce Elias, who had begged for the bite, eyes shining with trust. The turning ritual had taken him whole on the third night, but the bond had proven too volatile. Sun-madness claimed him within a year, unending emotional storms amplifying the Call until Elias walked into dawn screaming Mathias’ name. The memory still clawed at him. A vision of his lover’s blistering skin, howls of ecstasy twisted into agony, the final cinders scattering on the wind.
Mathias pulled back from his prey with a snarl, wiping blood from his lips. I will not do that to Carson. He wouldn’t turn him. Wouldn’t risk another beautiful soul shattered by the curse. But gods, the temptation grew with every shared breath, every quivering release Carson gave him so freely.
***
Carson
Back at his desk, Carson hunched forwards, forehead pressed to the cool surface as another hallucination washed over him. Mathias’ cock buried deep, bodies fused in inhuman rhythm, that perfect stretch and burn pulling aching releases from him again and again. His thighs clenched under the desk, a low whimper escaping before he bit it back.
The cravings were evolving, turning darker now. He found himself imagining the sharp sting of fangs, a possessive grip that bordered on bruising. Pain woven into the pleasure. The high that came with surrender.
Bitter bile rose again, but beneath it simmered something new, the knowledge that he hoarded a budding masochistic craving. The ruin called to him, seductive and inevitable. He desperately wanted the edge. Wanted to feel Mathias lose control and take him apart completely.
Carson lifted his head, eyes glassy, and reached for the edges of the desk with trembling fingers. One bite. One bite would help assuage the cacophony inside his head. He’d give anything just to hear that satin-gravel voice again. Even his humanity.
Yes, even that.
The withdrawal was winning.
Chapter Eight
Carson
The clock on Carson’s nightstand glowed an accusatory 2:17 a.m. when the soft knock came at his apartment door. He hadn’t been sleeping—couldn’t, not with the tremors still licking under his skin and the phantom press of Mathias’ body haunting every restless shift. The cravings had sharpened significantly since the blood exchange, a constant quivering need that made his cock twitch at nothing and his throat ache for the sharp bite of fangs.
He padded to the door in nothing but loose sleep pants, peering through the peephole. Gina stood in the hallway, her early-twenties face deceptively innocent under the harsh overhead light, untamed waves of hair framing a smile that promised secrets and sin.
“Carson, darling,” she called softly, her voice a gritty glove that slipped past wood and caution straight into his mind. “Let me in. We need to talk about our Mathias.”
Against every screaming instinct, he opened the door. She flowed inside like shadow given form, bringing with her the faint chill of the night and the metallic undercurrent of the camp. Her ancient eyes swept over him, noting the gooseflesh rising on his bare chest, the way his nipples tightened in the sudden cool, and the obvious bulge in his pants.
“You’re suffering,” she murmured, circling him slowly like a predator savoring prey. One cool fingertip trailed along his shoulder, raising cold spark that arrowed straight to his groin. “The link pulls at you, doesn’t it? That lovely, endless ache. Mathias gives you tiny drops of heaven and leaves you starving for the rest. Typical of him—always so careful with his toys until they break.”
Carson swallowed hard, fighting the hypnotic pull of her voice even as his body leaned traitorously towards her touch. “What do you want, Gina?”
“Only to help you see clearly, sweet boy.” She stopped in front of him, palms flattening on his chest. Her touch was ice and silk, a bruising hold that made his breath hitch. “He’s lost so many, you know. Whelps and chits, those unstable fledglings broken by the turning. Camp taboos exist for a reason. Turning without true consent, without perfect balance...it can shatter a human into sharp pieces of regret. But Mathias? He tried once with a lover named Elias. Beautiful man. Begged for the ritual—three nights of blood and ecstasy binding their souls. Elias survived the change, but then the bond drove him mad. The Sun’s Call grew too loud, amplified by love’s vulnerabilities. We all watched him walk into the bleeding light of dawn. So young in the turning it was only an instant of torture before he was nothing more than cinders on the wind. Our Mathias still carries that guilt like a shroud.”
The words landed like blows, tangling with Carson’s own budding cravings. Loyalty warred with horror—Mathias’ restraint suddenly made brutal, painful sense.
