Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
CIARAN
Seeing Sawyer in such a state was the most harrowing thing Ciaran had ever experienced.
He was shaking from the cold, writhing and groaning in a mix of pleasure and pain, and Ciaran wanted to let his instinct take over.
“You have to complete the mating bond, or sever it,” Kellan said again.
“Sever it?” Ciaran hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the thought alone had spiked such a visceral all-body reaction. He’d rather die than sever it.
Actually, severing it would kill him.
That’s how it felt. The thought alone was painful.
He turned to Kellan. “Will it not subside on its own?”
Kellan’s expression was grim. “From what I read, it would have been possible, but...”
“But what?”
“One of you would have had to leave. Separation, in the beginning. Or outright denial.” He winced. “But that didn’t happen.”
“I should have stayed away,” Ciaran mumbled, knowing he couldn’t have.
Wouldn’t have.
Outright denial.... He hadn’t managed to do that either.
Oh, he’d said he didn’t want it. He’d tried to mean it.
But the truth was evident now.
The man was now naked in his bed, in some kind of state of delirium. A state of arousal too.... There was no denying that either. The pheromones coming off him were stifling.
Ciaran struggled to contain himself. He wanted to do obscene things to Sawyer, action only outweighed by his concern for him.
“What’s happening to him?” Ciaran could barely stand to watch.
Kellan scrubbed a hand over his face. “This is all so new. I’m trying to learn as much as I can.”
“Doc, please.”
“I think....” He winced again. “I think he’s experiencing what we’d call being in heat, maybe?”
Ciaran shot him a look. “He’s... what?”
“I don’t know! Humans are not supposed to go through this.” He shook his head. “Or the beginning of a heat. It hasn’t fully set in, I don’t think. Maybe it’s because he’s human? I just don’t know. But you can feel the pheromones coming off him, right?”
“Of course I can.” Christ, Ciaran could hardly breathe. “It’s killing me. Do you know what I want to do to him? How bad I want....”
Kellan winced again. “I can guess.”
Ciaran shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. Sawyer was in heat? How the hell was that possible? “It was from the water, no? Not me. Not this....” He gestured to Sawyer... who was in his bed.
Naked.
Covered by blankets, but still.
Naked underneath.
Naked and murmuring, groaning, pleading.
Ciaran fisted his hands tightly to stop himself from touching Sawyer or clawing at his own face.
Kellan shrugged. “I think the proximity to you and the pull of the water have got to be related to this condition. It has to come back to you.” Then he frowned. “You need to make a decision, Ciaran. I don’t know what will happen to him if this continues.”
“I don’t....” He couldn’t even bring himself to say he didn’t want it.
Because he did.
But it was so complicated. And dangerous.
And unknown.
Ciaran didn’t like unknowns.
“The timing is wrong,” he whispered, strained.
“That wasn’t a no.”
“I cannot do anything without his consent. I will not.” He groaned with the pain of restraint. “He needs to know first... what I am. Then, if he doesn’t hate me....”
Kellan gave him a sad smile that morphed into a grimace. “You’re a good one, Ciaran. But if it becomes a life and death decision....”
Ciaran’s eyes met his, and fear coursed through him. He let out a rush of air and tried to absorb the emotions. He was too on edge, too wound up. “It hurts me. His pain. I feel it. His... arousal. It calls to me.”
Kellan’s face fell. “Do you want to leave? I’ll sit with him.”
Ciaran shot him a wild look. The thought of leaving him was painful enough, but leaving him with another man?
Never.
Kellan put his hands up in surrender. “I know. Sorry.”
But then Sawyer let out a loud moan, more pain than arousal, and he began to shiver and tremble, and Ciaran sat on the edge of the bed. He put his hand on Sawyer’s forehead, then his neck. “He’s hot and cold.”
“He needs to get warm,” Kellan said. “Body heat is best. Skin to skin contact, lying down in bed under blankets, preferably. I know that’s worse for you. Sorry.”
“You want me to get into bed with him?” Because that would end well. Jesus fucking Christ.
Kellan grimaced. “I’d offer to do it—”
The look Ciaran aimed at him was enough said. Kellan nodded and clapped Ciaran’s arm. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll go see what the others have found, and I’m telling them to leave you alone. We’ll deal with that. You deal with this.”
Ciaran hated that he wasn’t there for them when his consortium needed him, but he simply couldn’t be anywhere else.
He gave a nod. “Tell Dylan not to go anywhere until I see him.”
Kellan left without another word, the door clicking closed behind him.
Ciaran knew the doc was right. He had to make a decision.
Not about completing or severing the bond—that decision had been made, apparently—but whether to get naked in bed with Sawyer or to let Kellan do it. Ciaran trusted Kellan implicitly.
But still...
The idea of being near naked in bed with him was, sweet mercy, so appealing. But Ciaran knew the scent of pheromones on his naked skin would do him in. It would take a level of self-control he wasn’t sure he had.
But to let Kellan get into bed with him?
Out of the fucking question.
Ciaran would kill someone for sure.
So getting into bed with Sawyer, it was. He’d keep his shorts on, though.
Which was another special kind of hell, made even worse by the way Sawyer sought him out when Ciaran was barely under the covers with his back against the headboard. Sawyer clung to him as if his life depended on it, even in his state of delusion, half climbing on top of him.
Ciaran stayed very still, his self-control barely hanging by a thread. He reminded himself that Sawyer was unaware of his actions, that Sawyer wasn’t well. He needed warmth and care, not to be splayed face down on the bed, getting railed...
Don’t think about that, don’t think about that....
Yeah. Ciaran needed to not think about that.
Especially when Sawyer climbed further up his body, mumbling and whimpering, wrapping his arms around Ciaran’s chest, seeking out his warmth.
Sawyer was still both simultaneously scorching hot and freezing cold in patches all over his torso, his limbs more cold than hot.
Ciaran could feel Sawyer’s erection against his thigh, and heaven help him, he wanted nothing more than to. ..
No.
Not without his consent.
His own desire, pure want and need, raged through every cell in his body. He wanted to shift. His body and mind fought each other for dominance, a civil war within.
“Need warm. So cold,” Sawyer mumbled, wriggling up and snuggling in. It was a timely reminder that Sawyer needed care right now, not sexual advances.
And Ciaran would always be what Sawyer needed. Put Sawyer’s needs above his own. Whatever he needed or wanted, that’s what Ciaran would do.
Even if it meant breaking the bond before it began.
Ciaran closed his eyes and wound his arms around him, relishing this connection for however brief it would last.
This might be all Ciaran ever got, so he allowed himself a moment to believe Sawyer was willingly, happily, in his arms. Ciaran’s hearts beat in sync, thrumming like never before. Then Sawyer put his head right above where Ciaran’s human heart should be.
That was the reminder Ciaran needed.
He wasn’t human, and Sawyer was.
And he was a cop. Cops were forged by logic and reason. Mostly. How would he react to knowing the world wasn’t as he knew it, that humans weren’t the superior beings, that others walked amongst them?
Shifters.
Ciaran didn’t particularly like that term, but it was something humans understood. In their fantasy and paranormal fictions and movies, they knew what shifters were. Mostly wolves, for some pop-cultural reason, but they knew what it meant: humans who could shift into a different form.
Ciaran didn’t really care about any of that right now.
How Sawyer would react was beside the point.
He had to survive this first.
Was he really in heat, as Kellan had thought?
How was it possible for a human? Had simply being around Ciaran triggered it?
If Kellan didn’t know how it would end, then no one would. Kellan was the most intelligent of their kind. He had a wealth of knowledge about all kinds of shit, and he’d no doubt been seeking out all he could.
Ciaran couldn’t think about anything while Sawyer was lying in his arms. In his bed.
Naked.
Chriiiiist.
In a vain attempt at distraction, Ciaran imagined what the guys were doing outside, what they’d found, what Dylan had said, and where the hell he’d been.
Then, when that began to make him mad, he imagined himself in freeform in the depths of the ocean, where the immense pressure of the water made him feel safe.
At home.
He wished he was there now.
Almost as much as he wished to be right where he was.
Ciaran wished, too, that Sawyer knew his secret and that he accepted him. Wished he could have a mate and be happy for...
For as long as Sawyer lived.
He didn’t want to get ahead of himself because Ciaran knew that as soon Sawyer found out about Ciaran—his kind, his world—it’d all be over. Sawyer would be gone, and Ciaran would be left to pick up the pieces of a bond he wanted but had never completed.
It made him hold Sawyer a little tighter.
While he could.
While he had the chance.
Sawyer had stopped trembling and shivering.
He’d also stopped murmuring and writhing, and his breathing had evened out.
He was sound asleep, and Ciaran rubbed his back, savouring every moment.
Committing it all to memory so he could pluck it from obscurity years from now and relive what it felt like.
Sawyer’s body, his weight as he half lay on top of him. His breathing, his scent.
He would remember forever the beat of Sawyer’s heart thumping against his own.
The feel of his hair when Ciaran ran his hand through it. His strong back as Ciaran traced patterns over it. His steady breathing and the quiet murmurs he made as he slept.
The feel of his hard cock pressing against Ciaran’s thigh. The scent of his arousal....
Yeah.
Ciaran would never forget that.
But when it was clear Sawyer was okay and sleeping soundly, his body temperature regulated so he was no longer shivering or trembling, and he was no longer in a state of unbidden arousal, Ciaran peeled himself away and got up.
He was loath to do it, but he didn’t want Sawyer to wake up and find himself very naked in bed with Ciaran, who was wearing only shorts. He’d have enough to explain already without adding to it unnecessarily.
He considered going into the bathroom and taking care of his hard-on, but he knew from years of experience that if he ignored it long enough, it would go away on its own.
Sawyer mumbled something about water and grabbed Ciaran’s pillow. He pulled it to his chest, hugging it, and after the sweetest little sigh, he began to snore.
Ciaran put some folded clothes on the end of the bed, then parked his arse in the chair near his chest of drawers and decided watching Sawyer sleep was his best course of action.
He certainly couldn’t leave him alone. Not now.
Probably not ever.
After a while—Ciaran wasn’t sure how long—he heard some familiar steps coming down the hall. He knew it was Fray before he heard a whispered, “Hey, Ciar, it’s me.”
Fray.
Ciaran needed his best friend now more than ever.
Ciaran cracked the door, Fray’s concerned face exactly what he needed to see. “Hey.”
“Oof,” he said, then grimaced. “Sorry. Pheromones. Wow. Did you... Are you two...? It smells like you...”
Ciaran shook his head. “I need to talk to him first.”
“How is he?”
“Better, I think. He’s asleep.” Ciaran moved aside so Fray could see the bed.
“How are you?”
That made Ciaran smile. “I....” He was about to lie and say he was fine, but he didn’t have it in him. “I don’t know. How are things out there? Did you find anyone in the Cove?”
Fray shook his head. “If there was anyone there before, they’re long gone.”
Ciaran had assumed as much.
Fray’s eyes met his, and Ciaran knew whatever he was about to say wasn’t good.
“We’ve got another problem.”
“What is it?”
“Dylan,” Fray murmured, his eyes darting to where Sawyer was still asleep.
“What about him? What’s wrong?”
Fray looked him right in the eye. “He recognised Sawyer.”
Ciaran’s defences bloomed and he barely contained a shiver. “He what? From where?”
“From Hobart.”
Ciaran’s blood ran cold, and jealousy coursed through him. It made his stomach roll. “Did he...? Have they...?”
Christ, if they’d fucked—
“No,” Fray said quickly. “Nothing like that.”
The relief Ciaran felt almost made him sag. “Then what is it? He recognises him how?”
“He was the cop who chased him. Along the dock.”
Oh shit.
“He chased him?”
Fray nodded and made a face. “And that’s not the worst part.”
Ciaran held his breath.
“Dylan shifted in front of him. He didn’t mean to. He was panicked. You know how he gets.”
Ciaran let out a slow breath in hopes it would calm him.
It didn’t.
Fray’s expression became sad, pensive. “Sawyer knows about us,” he whispered. “About our kind. And Ciar, I’m guessing that’s why he’s here. To spy on us, uncover our truth.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Ciaran couldn’t begin to name everything he felt in that moment. Starting with fear, then anger, but mostly betrayal.
Fuck.