Chapter 11 #2
The familiar sound of a boat coming into the cove made them both turn. It broke whatever the hell kind of trance he’d been in, but before Sawyer could think of what to say, Ciaran turned on his heel and walked out.
Not just walked—fled. Like he couldn’t leave fast enough.
Sawyer almost sagged with relief, like someone had cocked the pressure valve, and he could breathe again.
He could think again.
It took him a second to realise his dick was hard.
His whole body felt charged.
He put the heel of his hand to his heart and tried to catch his breath.
What the actual fuck?
The town was quiet all afternoon. All inhabitants, apart from Sawyer, were nowhere to be found.
Ciaran’s store had the Closed sign flipped on the door. The convenience store was open, but Otis wasn’t behind the counter, and he didn’t come out of hiding when Sawyer called out. He needed a few things, so he made a list, left it on the counter with a twenty, and went back to his station.
Tobin’s boat was back at his mooring, so Sawyer just assumed they were all busy helping him.
Or something.
Actually, he had no fucking clue where they were or what they were doing.
Sawyer was so conflicted. He was confused, about a lot of things, and needed time to think. So, ignoring the freezing-cold wind, he took himself and his fishing rod over to the jetty, sat his arse at the end, dangled his legs over the edge, and threw in a line.
He didn’t expect to catch anything. That wasn’t the point of fishing. Not for him, anyway.
He liked the peace and quiet. He liked the solitude.
He loved the cold wind whipping him, his beanie pulled down and his jacket collar turned up, as he swung his heavy booted feet and the dark water lapped at the pylons.
He loved the salt air and how the sunshine tried to break through the low, gloomy clouds.
It was perfect thinking time.
Thinking about Ciaran, mostly. The tension between them earlier was suffocating—in a good way. His whole body felt afire, burning from within.
His eyes. Don’t forget about his eyes....
Or how he seemed to grapple with self-control. Which preened Sawyer’s ego, if he was being honest. Knowing he affected Ciaran like that...
And his eyes....
Sawyer didn’t want to think about that.
He knew what he saw.
He hadn’t imagined it.
Just like he hadn’t imagined the way that guy on Constitution Dock’s eyes had changed.
They weren’t entirely human.
The same with Fray’s tattoo in Sawyer’s dream.
Which was ludicrous. Right?
And Sawyer sat there, asking himself why he was so alarmed about none of them being around and the fact that all of them were somewhere, doing something. But if he were being honest, it wasn’t the cop in him that was troubled.
Were they doing something illegal? Were they doing something ethically questionable?
If they were, Sawyer had to ask himself why that didn’t bother him as much it should and why them doing something without him was the real issue.
They were off god-knew-where doing god-knew-what, and the real burr in Sawyer’s side was the fact that he wasn’t a part of it, or privy to it, or...
That he wasn’t one of them.
He wasn’t included.
And Sawyer had to sit there and think about what that meant.
Apparently he had to sit there and think about that for quite some time.
Think about why he wanted to be a part of a cliquey group when he’d never wanted to be a part of any group in his life.
Think about why all thoughts led back to Ciaran as if they were roads and he was Rome.
Think about why his body reacted to the man in ways unfamiliar to him.
He’d never wanted to get railed so hard by anyone before, but god, how he wanted all of that with Ciaran.
He could imagine so vividly the feel of Ciaran’s arms around him.
Sawyer wasn’t sure why he couldn’t get that damn impossible man out of his mind. The more he tried to not think about him, the more intense it became. As if his subconscious was trying to tell him something.
If Ricky Carpenter’s experience in Tenebrae was what made him decide to leave and get as far away as possible, Sawyer’s was the opposite.
Instead, he felt drawn to this town. A pull to be exactly where Ciaran was.
To never be anywhere else.
Which was confusing, given that it was so freaking weird here.
Like the water. Why was it so damn dark? It moved like shadows, layered and swirling. It was water, no doubt about that, but the way it seemed to move on itself was... not very waterlike.
Sawyer could have sworn something was down there, looking up and watching him.
He couldn’t see anything, of course.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, exactly, but long enough that his arse was numb and his face was so cold, it kinda hurt.
He couldn’t tell if it was getting dark, or if it was the clouds getting lower, or if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
He didn’t get a single bite on his rod. He’d almost forgotten he was even fishing; he was actually a little surprised he still had the rod in his hands.
Yeah, time to go in.
He brought his legs up and stood, but something glinted in the water. He stopped, startled, then leaned over to get a closer look. The dark water was impossible to see into. It made Sawyer think of glittery black jelly.
So strange....
Sawyer wasn’t sure what happened next.
Suddenly dizzy, his head felt as if it was on a rollercoaster while his feet were cemented to the pier. He tried to step back, to lift his head and get away from the edge, but his vision went dark, and he knew he was falling in.
He knew he was going into the water and was unable to stop it.
The shock of cold water almost stopped his heart, and the logical part of his brain screamed at him not to sink, to get to the surface. He needed air, of course he knew that, but the water was so quiet, deep and dark and lovely.
He wanted to stay.
He felt... peace.
The darkness seemed to swirl around him, caress him. He could see the surface way above his head, and he considered trying to push up toward it, but he wanted to stay, just for a moment...
Then darkness wrapped its arms around him, slick and winding, gentle and so encompassing. All over him, around him, so many arms....
Then human hands grabbed him, rough and violent, yanking him up to the surface. Then he was dragged onto the pier, coughing, gasping, freezing.
Faces looked down at him, Otis and... someone he didn’t recognise.
Wait. Yes, he did.
Holy shit.
They were talking, frantic, but Sawyer couldn’t hear the words, his ears and head so full of water. Then he was being carried, and he didn’t even mind. He just wanted to sleep.
He wanted to sleep in the water.
He wanted to go back....
He was thrown onto a chair in a room he’d never seen before—no, wait, was this the doctor’s office?—a blanket was wrapped around him and towels used to dry his hair, his face, and then Kellan was there, peering into his eyes and asking him questions.
He still couldn’t hear properly, his head was spinning, his lungs were too heavy and they burned, and he couldn’t stop coughing.
Then the door swung open with far too much force, protesting against the frame, and Ciaran was there, chest heaving, and he had the most gloriously livid expression on his face.
Kellan stood back, his hands raised as if he shouldn’t have been touching Sawyer, and Ciaran stalked into the room, his gaze landing on... on the man Sawyer recognised. Ciaran pointed at him. “You,” Ciaran said to him.
“I just got back,” the guy said, eyes wide.
Was it fear?
“I found him in the water.” He shook his head. “I-I-I didn’t—”
“We will talk about this later,” Ciaran said to him. He came over to Sawyer and cupped his jaw, lifting his face none too gently. His eyes were wild, and his voice was... tortured and soft as he said, “Sawyer, are you alright?”
Sawyer tried to pull his head back, but he was lightheaded and hazy, and he was starting to feel the cold now.
So cold....
“I pulled him out,” Otis said. “I saw him go in. He was looking at the water and just went in, headfirst. Like something invisible pulled him in or something.”
“I’m fine,” Sawyer tried to say, but it didn’t sound right. He was dizzier now and not really following what was going on.
“He needs to get out of those clothes and get warmed up,” Kellan said. Was he still here? Sawyer hadn’t realised. “His core temperature is dropping.”
“I’ll take him,” Ciaran said.
What?
Take him? Where?
“I’m fine,” Sawyer said again.
They ignored him. Or maybe he didn’t say it out loud. He wasn’t sure anymore.
Then Ciaran was yelling about something, and Sawyer could feel the energy rolling off him, like vibrations or something.
Or was Sawyer shaking? He wasn’t sure about that either.
Then Fraser and Tobin were there in the small room, and it was crowded and loud, and Sawyer couldn’t keep his eyes open or follow what was going on.
Until Otis roared over him, and the room fell silent. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Ciaran. If you’d shut up and listen! I know what he is to you. I know you can’t think straight. But he didn’t just fall in and sink. There was someone else in the water. Something was pulling him down.”
The room remained silent and still, and Sawyer tried to look up at Ciaran. He was vibrating with so much rage that it looked like he was shimmering.
Well, that’s not right.
Sawyer tried to shake his head, but everything felt wrong. The room, his head, the cold.
“Go find me whoever the fuck touched him,” Ciaran said, his voice cutting like a blade.
Who touched him? Who touched who?
Sawyer was done trying to follow. “Someone needs to start explaining what the fuck is going on,” he said, standing up, or trying to, but the room slanted and went sideways, and then strong arms were around him, carrying him as if he weighed nothing.
Sawyer tried to focus, but he couldn’t keep a hold of reality.
Ciaran was holding him, his arms strong, his chest warm, and dear god, how Sawyer wanted to stay right there. He strode along halls and corridors, lights passing overhead, but all Sawyer could see was Ciaran.
His jaw and neck, his chest—all so close up.
His scent.
It was divine. Like everything about Ciaran was made just for him.
This feeling was sensory overload, sight, smell, and touch.
It was so overwhelming, every part of him wanting, needing. It made Sawyer’s eyes roll back, and he wanted to climb inside whatever that feeling was and stay there.
Whatever this was.
Then he was in a strange room, a strange bed, but the scent was familiar. He couldn’t object to being stripped of his clothes. He didn’t want to object to any of it. He needed this.
Warm. Comfortable. Immersed in the heavenly scent that surrounded him. He was drowning in it, willingly.
“What’s wrong with him?” Ciaran asked. “The water affected him like this? How?”
Sawyer could have laughed if he’d been able. He barely managed a moan.
“Not the water,” someone replied. Kellan. “You affected him, Ciaran. You need to complete the mating bond—or sever it.”
Sawyer couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t think. He was overcome, delirious with this intoxicating scent. God, he was so turned on. Every part of him wanted whatever this was.
Then he remembered Carpenter’s warnings. “Don’t go in the water.” and “Leave while you still can.”
And that made Sawyer laugh. “Need to go back in,” he said, trying to sit up. Into the water, into Ciaran’s arms, into that smell.
A strong hand held him down, the intoxicating scent so much deeper now. The warmth of Ciaran’s touch burned Sawyer’s skin.
Pure ecstasy.
He’d never needed anything more in his life. Sawyer knew it was Ciaran. He knew it was. But he didn’t care. He needed him, consequences be damned. He reached blindly for him, grabbing the warmth, the scent, pulling him closer, but it wasn’t close enough.
“Stay,” Sawyer begged. His voice sounded strange, even to his own ears. “Please. I need you. Need you to have me. Please.”