Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
SAWYER
Sawyer’s dreams had been getting weird.
Since arriving in Tenebrae, his dreams had been more vivid and feeling all too real.
And last night...
Well, last night’s dream had been immersive to say the least. Interactive, even.
First it had been Fraser’s back tattoo with the goat-like eyes. Then there’d been the dream where he was underwater. The dream itself had been peaceful and beautiful, serene, but he’d woken up gasping for air because not even dream-Sawyer could breathe underwater, apparently.
Then the next night he was underwater again, light refracting into the dark depths of the bay as shadows danced around him.
He wasn’t scared. In fact, he’d found it fascinating.
Loved it, even.
He felt safe and enamoured, as if the shadows were enticing him, seducing him.
He still couldn’t breathe underwater, though, and he was disappointed every time he had to break the surface for air.
He wanted to know who the shadows were. He’d tried to follow them, but the water was too deep, too dark, and the shadows kept urging him deeper, but thankfully even dream-Sawyer knew not to listen.
Then there’d been the sensual dream. It was Ciaran, and dream-Ciaran was just as seething as real-life-Ciaran, and in that dream, they were in the antiques store, which was weird because Sawyer had never stepped foot into the antiques store. Yet it somehow felt familiar.
Dream-Ciaran was staring at him, eyes burning red, and he was yelling at Sawyer, sneering at him, livid.
Sexy as hell.
But Sawyer couldn’t hear what he was yelling, for it sounded garbled as if they were underwater. Ciaran was moving around him, neck corded as he strained to yell, and even though Sawyer couldn’t hear a word, he was certain Ciaran was telling him to stay near the surface.
The surface of what? Dream-Sawyer had no clue, like real-life Sawyer had no clue. Not the surface of the water, surely. Not when all he wanted to sink down deep. He wanted Ciaran to take him deeper....
But then, last night?
Well, last night’s dream was a little too real, and he woke up gasping for air... but for another reason altogether.
In this dream, they were in Sawyer’s small flat, in his bed, naked, fucking. Ciaran was on top of him, underneath and all around him.
Inside him.
Ciaran was somehow consuming him, emotionally and physically, playing his body like a musical instrument. And ohhhhh, how Sawyer wanted this.
He gave himself so completely, and he let Ciaran have him any way he wanted.
And apparently that was thoroughly.
Sawyer woke up as he orgasmed, his cock untouched, shooting come onto his belly and chest, his limbs spread out as if he’d been splayed and restrained.
As if Ciaran had too many arms and legs and they’d held him down and wrapped around him. Impaled him.
Sawyer couldn’t ever remember coming that hard.
He lay in his bed, his mind spinning, his heart hammering, feeling all floaty and heavy, trying really hard not to think about what his traitorous mind had just done to him.
He shouldn’t be thinking about Ciaran like that.
And it was all because Ciaran had come to his place last night when the Doc had kindly seen to his blistered hands. It was technically their first actual conversation, and Ciaran had only sneered at him once or twice and hadn’t looked at him as if he wanted to kill him.
Much.
That’s all it was. Just Sawyer’s mind playing tricks on him, conjuring up sexual fantasies.
Ciaran was an enigma, of sorts. A mystery. Someone who’d gotten under Sawyer’s skin.
Nothing more.
And that damn tattoo up his arm, the way those tentacles wrapped around him, much like Ciaran had wrapped around Sawyer in his dream. That was where his mind had conjured up that idea.
It was nothing else.
But Sawyer had to wonder if the weird dreams had happened to Ricky Carpenter and if that was why he’d started to lose his mind.
They felt so real.
So, freshly showered and dressed for the day in his woollen sweater and coat, beanie pulled down low, he took his second coffee and headed out to the pier. He wanted to look at the water from his dreams.
He needed to see it.
The wind howled in around him, biting his face, and he held his coffee in both hands, grateful he’d opted for gloves too.
It was fucking cold, but he loved it. Sawyer loved the low grey, solemn clouds, the promise of rain, and all things winter.
He always had.
Tobin’s boat was gone, but that wasn’t uncommon; it often was.
Sawyer hadn’t heard it go out, also not uncommon. He rarely did. He didn’t often hear the fishing boats come in to refuel either. Sometimes they bought some hot food from Otis’s store, but they never stayed long enough to chat.
No one ever did.
They couldn’t leave fast enough.
“Morning,” a gruff, gentle voice said as someone came to stand beside him.
Ciaran.
He was wearing jeans and a sweater, which was the most clothing Sawyer had seen on him. He wasn’t even disappointed because Ciaran looked as hot dressed like that as he did wearing nothing but wet board shorts.
Or naked, as he was in Sawyer’s dream last night....
Shit.
“Morning,” he replied, then cleared his throat as he tried to rid his head of those images.
“Sleep well?” Ciaran asked, his mouth twitching as if trying not to smile.
Sawyer’s gaze shot to his. Ciaran looked as if he somehow knew Sawyer had dreamed about him. Or... or that he’d given Sawyer the most intense orgasm.
Oh god. Had he somehow heard Sawyer cry out as he came...?
No. Impossible.
Sawyer cleared his throat again and focused on the view. “Not swimming this morning? Not that I’d blame you. That air has some bite.”
Ciaran chuckled as he looked out across the water. “Already been.”
Of course he had.
“You swim every morning? Even when it’s this cold?”
“It’s not even winter yet,” he replied. “And yes. Every morning.”
Sawyer could only shake his head in disbelief. He couldn’t imagine going in that inky black water even in summer.
“Is it too cold for you already?” Ciaran asked, still not looking at him.
“Nah,” Sawyer replied. “I love winter. I was only just thinking that very thing, you know. My perfect day is dreary, overcast and rainy weather, a good book, and being left alone.”
Ciaran flinched before his expression turned to stone. He began to step back. “Then I’ll leave you alone.”
Wait, what?
“No, that’s not.... I didn’t mean now,” Sawyer corrected quickly, and Ciaran stopped. “I just meant in general. I’m very much an introvert. Peace and quiet, overcast skies, coffee, and a book. That’s all I need.” Then he shrugged. “I reckon that’s why this town and I will get along just fine.”
Was that a hint of a smile?
Well, I’ll be damned.
“I’m glad you came over,” Sawyer added, looking out across the water and definitely not at Ciaran.
“I was just.... I was on my way....” He trailed off. He seemed particularly tortured this morning. But at least he wasn’t angry. He mumbled something and shook his head. “How is your hand today?”
Sawyer held up his gloved hand. “It’s fine. It really wasn’t a big deal. Just tore the skin off some blisters. Clearly don’t do enough manual labour.”
“Simple wounds can easily become infected,” Ciaran murmured seriously. “You should always have them seen to.”
It was literally some torn blisters, like he’d said, not a big deal at all, but okay....
Sawyer was going to say something smartarse back, but this was Ciaran Brenner making an effort to be nice, so he settled for a polite reply. “Yeah, thanks. I will.”
Ciaran was quiet for a second, frowning out to sea. “You mentioned books. What kind do you like to read?”
“Oh, I’ll read just about anything. I love fiction. Paranormal, fantasy, and sci-fi mostly.”
Ciaran turned to look at him then. “Paranormal? Fantasy? And science-fiction? You like those...”
Sawyer sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, say it. Tell me I’m a nerd. I’ve heard it all my life.”
“A nerd?” Ciaran scoffed out a laugh. He actually laughed. And if Sawyer thought he was sexy before.... “No. I wouldn’t.... I, uh... I didn’t see that coming.”
“Well, all those action-thriller books are okay, but I have a hard time suspending belief for most of it. It’s too far-fetched or implausible.”
Ciaran looked at Sawyer as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “But paranormal and science fiction aren’t too far-fetched or implausible?”
“Not at all. They’re supposed to be far-fetched, and great world-building makes anything plausible. Those true crime and non-fiction books aren’t my thing. You know, being a cop and all. I could go back to work in the city if I wanted that. Not my idea of escapism.”
Ciaran nodded slowly. “I can see that, with you being a cop. But paranormal, huh? Things that aren’t... of this world?” He frowned. “Like actual monsters?”
“Yep. I much prefer it when the monsters aren’t human. In my line of work, they always are. It’s nice to leave reality at the door.” Sawyer could talk about it for hours, but he doubted he should. “Do you read much?”
“Yes. I like human histories.”
“Ahh, the antiques. Makes sense.”
Ciaran smiled, but his eyes hardened as he stared out to the gloomy horizon. “So, these monsters that aren’t human—”
Sawyer’s phone rang in his pocket, and it startled them both. “Damn. Sorry.” He fumbled to retrieve it and checked the screen. HO for Head Office, but it could only be one person, and that was Hadeom. “I gotta take this.”
Ciaran turned without so much as a goodbye, or any kind of acknowledgement, really, and walked toward his shop. Sawyer swore he saw Otis and Fraser watching them through the window of the convenience store, but they disappeared too fast for Sawyer to be certain.
He answered the call as he began walking back to his station. “Tenebrae Cove Police.”
“Sawyer,” Hadeom said. “I thought I’d have heard from you by now. You were supposed to check in weekly. I might have thought you’d have bailed on me already.”
He tried to count back days.
“Has it been a week already?”