6
The silence brings Raider back into reality—sprawled bonelessly on his bed, jeans around his thighs. His pile of clean laundry isn’t clean anymore. Sweat dampens his brow. Raider’s mind is still so muddled that he probably hung up on accident.
Except when Raider calls back, Rune hangs up without answering. And Raider replays everything he just said.
Can I see you in person?
Fuck.
Regret shreds Raider’s postcoital wishful thinking. Hiking his jeans back up, he jumps out of bed to uselessly pace his bedroom. His heart races as he calls again.
This time, the call rings out, neither answered nor declined, for five minutes before falling silent. Not a good sign. But it’s better than an immediate rejection, and Raider seizes onto his pathetic, desperate hope to call a third time.
Rune rejects it on the third ring.
Raider flings his phone onto the bed before he does something stupid like call a fourth time. Dragging his clean hand over his face, he mutters, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” over and over.
Rune had one boundary. One very clearly defined boundary. And Raider had to fucking push it, right after Rune offered up the best phone sex of Raider’s life.
Quite possibly the best sex of Raider’s life, period.
Rune sounded even better than Raider imagined. He responded so beautifully to Raider’s every word, and Raider is a greedy man. He wants so much more. He wants to sink his fingers into Rune’s tight little ass. Shove all those baggy shirts and sweaters up his chest, explore every perfect inch of him.
Raider wants to bury his face in Rune’s hair and tell him how perfect he is, over and over. He wants to talk to Rune for long enough, tell Rune enough of himself, that someday Rune feels safe to talk about himself in return.
But Raider’s not selfish enough to push if Rune doesn’t want that too. Maybe Cupid was wrong, and Raider isn’t Rune’s perfect match. Even if Raider’s pretty sure Rune is his .
Taking a deep breath, Raider buttons his jeans. In the bathroom, he washes his hands and face. The cold water shakes his thoughts back in order. He stares into his immortal-gold eyes, then returns to his phone.
Praying Rune hasn’t blocked him, Raider sends a text message.
Raider: I’m sorry for asking to see you in person. I wasn’t thinking, and there’s no excuse. You’ve been totally clear, and I fucked up. I was calling to apologize and make sure you’re okay.
Raider: You’re such a sweet, clever, special person. You deserve to have exactly what you want. I’d love to be part of that, in whatever capacity you might let me.
Raider: Totally understand if you don’t want to talk tonight. Or ever. So I’ll let you be after this. I’ll message you again tomorrow night, but feel free to text or call whenever you want. I’ll be here.
When Raider lowers his phone, his room is emptier. Everything was refurbished according to his tastes, right before he moved in. He’s spent the better part of the past year setting up this home and shop as a new homebase. A project he believes in, something a little more stable and a lot more ethical than the treasure hunting gig.
Suddenly, Raider can’t see himself still living here a year from now. Five years from now. He won’t be able to stand the silence. Six more months, tops, and he’ll be ditching everything to race around the world again. Chasing something he’s never found in all his perilous adventures. A sense of purpose. A sense of self.
Raider scrubs his hand over his face. Fuck, it’s way too late at night to rethink his entire life. Time for bed, if he can fall asleep. “You’ve only known him for a few weeks,” Raider tells himself. “You haven’t even met in person.”
He’s halfway to the bathroom for a sad, cold shower when his phone buzzes.
Skidding across the floor, Raider stumbles over his laundry basket in his race to the bed. He scrambles for the phone and answers before realizing it isn’t a voice call.
A pair of flickering dark eyes fill the screen. They blink, then retreat, as Rune holds his phone far away enough that Raider can see more of him.
Dark hair loose over his bare shoulders, hunched in front of a bare gray wall. Even in the dim lighting, Rune is even more captivating in motion than in still photos.
Something burns deep in Rune’s eyes. Like he isn’t human.
“Hi,” Raider says stupidly, then sits on the floor. He leans back against the bed, cradling Rune’s image in his hands. “Are you okay?”
Rune’s shoulders rise with a deep breath. “No, I’m not okay. But that isn’t your fault.”
“I pushed. I forgot, and that’s my fault.”
Rune shakes his head. He’s so small and pitiful, Raider aches to reach through the screen and brush his hair behind his ear. “I want to meet you. I want it so badly, Raider. But I can’t.” The screen jostles as Rune covers his mouth with one hand. In a small voice through his fingers, he says, “I’m trapped here.”
Protective anger flares. Raider bites it back and says, as soothingly as he can through gritted teeth, “What do you mean, Rune? You can tell me anything.”
Rune takes another deep breath and starts talking.
Raider struggles to keep up. Rune’s story is rambling, fragmented. He’s clearly never relayed it to another person before—but the shattered pieces are razor-sharp. Raider’s worried anger only rises with each new detail.
That’s why Rune’s photos always looked off. His prison has no windows.
According to Rune, he’s a wicked demon. Unknown people led him into this empty chamber and sealed him inside. He doesn’t know how long he was alone in the darkness before the light appeared. A single lantern hanging from the wall. But over the years, more items appeared. Clothing. Furniture. A full-length mirror was Rune’s first true prize—a magic mirror that gave him glimpses of the outside world. He could even hear voices through it, but nobody could hear him.
Books. Paint. Items disappeared too. A clock, except Rune shattered the clock before it could disappear, because each tick hurt too much. One day, a television appeared in the parlor, and some of the pictures were the glimpses Rune was used to, but some were black and white and silent.
Raider has plenty of questions by the time Rune’s voice fades, but he’s certain of two things.
One, Rune isn’t a demon. Raider’s dealt with demons before. Rune is way better adjusted than any human would be in similar circumstances, but he’s not a demon.
Two, this is why Cupid matched them. Raider can’t resist one last treasure hunt.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Raider asks.
Drained by the story, Rune slumps against the wall. “I’m bad. I’m selfish. I can’t leave, but I thought I could at least… I just wanted to talk to someone. And once I met you, I wanted you to like me.”
“I do like you,” Raider says. “A lot. But even if I didn’t want to fuck you senseless, I would still help you.”
Rune pauses. His fiery dark gaze stills. “What do you mean?”
Raider grins. “Tell me everything you know, cutie. I’m breaking you out.”
At seven in the morning—after three hours of talking and four hours of sleep—Raider rolls out of bed. Rune says there’s no rush. He’s been trapped so long, what’s another day? Another month? Another year?
But Raider can’t stand the thought of Rune being trapped for a second longer than necessary. So really, Val should be grateful Raider waits until seven to call.
“You’re calling me at fuckface o’clock in the morning because you want me on a gig?” Val demands, entirely ungrateful.
“It’s the last time, I swear,” Raider says, plugging in his coffee maker.
“You said last time was the last time!” Val groans. “Ugh. Whatever. I have some free time. What are we digging up now?”
Raider grins. “My boyfriend.”