Under the Surface

Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

SAWYER

Sawyer woke slowly from the heaviest sleep he’d ever had, and it had kept him safe and warm, this sleep that’d wrapped itself around him.

He didn’t want to wake. Such a wonderful, blissful, and comforting sleep.

And possibly the weirdest. Another sex dream, this time so vivid, so intoxicating, he could have sworn it was real.

Same sex dream he had been having since he arrived in Tenebrae.

Being held down by too many hands while being railed so thoroughly, face down, arms pinned, legs splayed and held apart, and fucked so good.

So damn good.

But this time there was a scent. A scent that was his. Not coming from Sawyer himself, but a scent that belonged to him, that some part of him recognised. It spoke to him, on a base level, in his bones. He wanted to drown in it.

Then he remembered...

Drowning.

Falling into the water and wanting to sink to the bottom, go deeper. Go with the hands that dragged him downward.

Then, as if the memory alone manifested reality, he coughed. His lungs burned, and the pain shook off the lingering tendrils of sleep.

He opened his eyes, and reality slowly came into focus.

He was groggy and confused... and not in his own bed.

He sat up, the movement making him cough again, and he noticed who was sitting in a chair across the room.

Ciaran.

He didn’t look particularly happy. Sawyer wasn’t sure if he ever was happy.

“You went into the water,” Ciaran said, voice low. “You were lucky you didn’t drown.”

Sawyer had a quick flashback of a strong hand pulling him up to the surface. Christ, had he almost died today?

He scrubbed a hand over his face, taking in the room. It was a decent size, white walls, a dresser, and a great bed. “Where am I?” he asked, voice raspy.

It made him cough again, and with a hand to his chest, he looked down at himself. The blankets were pooled around his waist and his very naked torso. He lifted the blankets and found the rest of him naked as well. He shot Ciaran a look. “Where the fuck are my clothes?”

“Drying,” he said, annoyed. He pointed his chin toward a pile of clothes on the end of the bed. “You can wear those. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Sawyer felt the pang of shame and regret deep down in his core. Why it bothered him so much to bicker with Ciaran, he wasn’t sure. “Sorry, I... I’m just not used to waking up naked in a strange bed.”

With a man sitting there, watching him....

“How long was I out of it?”

“Hours.”

Sawyer’s head swam, and he was dizzy again. Putting his hand to his forehead didn’t help much. “I think I need food, or—”

“You need to look after yourself better,” Ciaran snapped. Then he let out a burst of air and tried to compose himself. “Do you know how close you came to dying today?”

What the hell was he angry for?

“What do you remember?”

Sawyer reached down to the foot of the bed, careful to hold the blankets over his crotch. Not that it mattered; Ciaran had obviously seen him naked.

“Uh....” He pulled the T-shirt over his head. “I remember going fishing.”

Ciaran’s nostrils flared. “I said I would take you.”

He was legit mad at him, and Sawyer didn’t like it. It was like a splinter or a burr in his heart.

What the fuck?

Sawyer rubbed his hand over his chest, trying to ease whatever the fuck was happening to him. “I need to go,” he said. “I don’t feel... right.”

Ciaran let out a slow, stilted breath. “You can stay here. Sleep some more.”

Sawyer shot him a look. “Look, sorry for almost drowning. Sorry for sleeping in your bed—” Ciaran’s eyes flashed with fire at that, and Sawyer had just about had enough. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but—”

“What do you remember?” Ciaran barked.

“About what?”

“All of it!”

“Nothing. Everything, I don’t even fucking know.

I remember fishing. I remember thinking how much I loved it here.

I remember feeling like I needed to be here.

Then the water. I remember the water. Looking at it, how beautiful it was.

How it looked like a freaking galaxy, and then I was in it.

And I wanted to stay in it. It was calling to me.

I wanted to go deeper and never come out of it. I wanted—”

Sawyer’s words cut off when Ciaran looked as if Sawyer had slapped him.

The pain of it in his eyes.

He wanted to hurt and kill anything that caused Ciaran pain. It made Sawyer’s head swim again, and dear god, he needed to leave. He snatched up the trackpants and pulled them on, then almost fell when getting off of the bed.

Ciaran caught him and set him to rights. “Would you be careful,” he snapped. “Christ.”

Sawyer pulled his arm free, though he hated to do it, as Ciaran’s touch seemed to soothe his head, but his anger.... Well, the anger Ciaran was aiming at him just pissed Sawyer off.

Sawyer looked around, and, seeing nothing else of his—no clothes, no boots—he went for the door.

He had no idea where he was. He just knew he had to leave.

He needed to think clearly, and he couldn’t seem to do that around Ciaran. Especially not in his room, surrounded by that scent that was making him dizzy.

What the fuck?

Sawyer found himself in a hallway, and he followed it to the end to find Fraser standing there in a kitchen, clearly shocked to see him.

But there was a door to the outside, and Sawyer had to get to it.

For a second, Sawyer thought Fraser was going to stop him, and he might have but for Ciaran, who was now two steps behind him.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Ciaran yelled.

Sawyer pulled open the door, welcoming the fresh salt air. It seemed to clear his head a little. “Home,” he mumbled.

He needed to get home, where he could think...

That was all he knew.

Two steps outside, he stopped. It was pitch-black and freezing cold.

What time was it?

How long had he been out of it? Did Ciaran say hours?

Christ.

But then he realised where he was. At the back of the antiques store, he turned right and headed for his place. The cold under his feet should have hurt.

Maybe it did.

He knew the back door of his place would be closed, so he ran to the front, the cold wind and misty rain whipping at his face. Every step he took away from Ciaran felt so fucking wrong.

Sawyer didn’t know what was happening to him. He felt so wildly out of control, out of his own body.

Out of his damn mind.

There was a piercing ache behind his sternum, in his bones. Everything felt so terribly wrong. The further he got from Ciaran, from his room where his scent was cloying, the harder it was to breathe.

And that heavenly scent... my god, it sang to him.

He made it into the police station, the warmth and familiarity doing nothing to help him. He was losing his damn mind.

The door behind him opened with such force, it made him jump.

Ciaran stalked in, wild and livid.

And so fucking hot.

“You’ll break the door,” Sawyer said, breathless. He put his hand to his throat, his face, his chest. Everything was wrong, but Ciaran... Ciaran could make it right.

Ciaran spoke through clenched teeth. “The hell do you think you’re going?”

Sawyer pulled at his shirt. He couldn’t get his breath. “The fuck did you do to me?”

“Do to you?” Ciaran asked, his eyes burning fire. “What I could have done to you but didn’t....”

“The fuck does that mean?” Sawyer tried to swallow. The room tilted and spun.

Then Fraser was there, behind Ciaran. He looked worried. Scared, even. “Ciar,” he said, voice low. “I think he needs the doc—”

“No!” Ciaran roared. And then his skin shimmered, his eyes changing before he blinked it away.

But Sawyer had seen it.

“Someone better start explaining,” he tried. “What the fuck’s going on? What the fuck are you?” Again, he clawed at his shirt, at his throat. He needed.... God, he needed anything. Everything. “The fuck is happening to me?”

He needed air.

He needed Ciaran.

He shook that thought from his head, but it made him dizzier.

Ciaran grabbed him before he could fall. “Would you—”

“Fuck you,” Sawyer said, pushing Ciaran with both hands so hard, he hit the metal bars of the jail cell. Sawyer was so full of rage, so full of fury and desire, so confused and scared. And Ciaran’s skin shimmered again, tinged red, and his eyes changed, the pupils morphing into horizontal slits.

Sawyer should have been scared of that, but no.

He wasn’t scared of Ciaran or whatever he was. He was scared of the rabid desire he had for him. The burning need. He was scared of not having him.

There was no denying it. Sawyer wanted...

He wanted Ciaran. Actually, he wanted to kill him, and fuck him, and—

But Ciaran pushed off the metal bars, then fisted Sawyer’s shirt and pushed him hard against the desk, pressing his body against Sawyer’s.

Sawyer grunted at the force of it. Ciaran’s scent was divine, and his nonhuman eyes were blazing hot with rage and desire.

His erection hard against his own, undeniable.

And Sawyer was done resisting everything he’d been fighting against. The want, the need in his bones, in his blood, everything he craved, what he needed to survive—was right fucking there.

Ciaran’s eyes went from Sawyer’s to his mouth, the burning fire of rage giving way to desire. A desire that reflected his own, matched and mirrored everything he was feeling.

He wanted Sawyer as much as Sawyer wanted him.

Fuck yes.

Sawyer grabbed Ciaran’s face and crashed their mouths together, lips open, tongues colliding. Furious and scorching hot.

Heaven.

He tasted like saltwater and honey. Like... like heaven.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Fray mumbled, still in the room.

Sawyer hadn’t realised.

He didn’t care.

Fray could stand there and watch the whole show if he wanted. Sawyer wasn’t stopping—physically couldn’t, even if he’d wanted to.

And god help him, he didn’t want to.

“Okay, I’m out,” Fray mumbled, the door closing behind him.

Ciaran smiled as he wrapped his arms around Sawyer and held him, clawing at his back and pushing him harder against the desk. Sawyer’s feet came up off the floor.

He spread his legs, letting Ciaran fit himself between them. They both groaned at the contact.

Holy fuck.

Ciaran’s tongue was in his mouth, claiming it. Owning it.

He slid Sawyer’s hips to the edge of the desk, pulling him closer and grinding their erections together. Sawyer wrapped his legs around him.

The sound Ciaran made wasn’t human.

It was exquisite. Pure ecstasy and everything he needed.

It was also familiar.

In the dreams he’d had every night since he’d arrived here—the man who’d held him down and railed him so thoroughly in the most vivid sex dreams he’d ever had...

It was Ciaran.

Sawyer knew it. He knew him—his taste, his scent.

Everything about Ciaran called to him on a level he didn’t understand.

He didn’t need to understand it. He just needed to have it.

And right now, he needed more.

Sawyer brought his hands between them, fumbling with Ciaran’s fly, and it made Ciaran groan.

And pause.

He broke the kiss, his forehead against Sawyer’s, their breaths ragged, lips swollen. Sawyer chased his mouth, needing his tongue. He pulled at Ciaran’s button, needing his cock.

Ciaran dragged Sawyer’s hand away, a pained look in his eyes. “We need to talk.”

“We need to do a lot of things,” Sawyer murmured. “Talking ain’t one of them.”

Ciaran let out an agonised laugh. “I want this, I do. But...”

“But what? Why did you stop?” Sawyer slid his hand up to Ciaran’s neck, trying to pull him closer, but Ciaran didn’t budge.

He frowned and shook his head. “We need to talk. There’re things you should know.” He winced as if it caused him physical pain. “First. Before we...”

“Before we, what?”

Ciaran pulled back and readjusted himself, grimacing. He looked down at Sawyer, who was still leaning back on the desk, legs spread, and Ciaran groaned before he turned away and ran his hands through his hair.

“I have more self-control than I thought,” he murmured. But then he spared another raking glance at Sawyer, at the very pronounced erection in the very revealing sweatpants he was wearing. “Fuck. Can you sit up, please? My self-control isn’t that good.”

Sawyer dragged his protesting body upright, needing to adjust his aching dick. The insane feelings from before had simmered down a little—the desire, the pure need, the dizziness—but he just knew that if Ciaran were to take one more step away from him, they’d be back in full force.

They were still there, under the surface.

Barely.

At least now he could think a little clearer.

Again, barely.

“Talk about what?” Sawyer asked.

“Everything.”

Everything?

“You got a starting point? Or can you be a bit more specific?”

Ciaran sneered and ran a hand through his hand. “This isn’t easy for me, so I’ll need you to drop the sarcasm.”

Sawyer felt rebuked, probably rightly so. “Sorry. Lifelong self-defence thing.”

Ciaran’s gaze cut to his, pained, haunted. “You don’t need to be defensive with me,” he said, almost a whisper. “Not anymore. I’m sorry how I acted toward you before. I tried to fight this. Sawyer, I....”

Sawyer got to his feet and went to him, the need to touch him as visceral as the need to breathe.

He put a hand on his arm. “You’re going to tell me everything,” he said gently.

“About this town, about you. About whatever the hell this is. About why I need you, and why I’ve dreamed about you every night since I got here. ”

Ciaran’s eyes flashed with fire again, and it made Sawyer smile.

He put his hand to Ciaran’s jaw. “About why your eyes change and your skin shimmers. About the water, and why that kid on the pier looked familiar.”

Ciaran sighed and leaned his face into Sawyer’s palm. “Promise me,” he murmured. “Just one thing.”

In that moment, after the intense make-out session and the way his heart was thrumming, or maybe it was the pain on Ciaran’s face, Sawyer would have promised him anything. “Okay.”

“You won’t leave.” Ciaran swallowed thickly. “Until you’ve heard everything. Then you can... decide.”

Sawyer wasn’t leaving. Not for five years. And certainly not after finding Ciaran. He’d never felt anything so intense, and he doubted he could leave even if he wanted to. His body—his heart—wouldn’t let him. “Okay.”

Ciaran let out a deep breath, drawing his eyes up to Sawyer’s. “So, you like sci-fi, paranormal, and monsters that aren’t human. How good are you with weird?”