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“I don’t think I’ve ever spit on someone in my life, for any reason,” Sascha says, thoughtful. “And the first time I slapped someone in bed,Iwas the one who almost cried. That was also the last time, so I think we’ll be okay.”

Thinking about Sascha weakly slapping a sex partner in the face, trying to give them what they want only to break down afterward, brings a reluctant smile to Avery’s lips. That must have been a major boner-kill for both of them. “Anythingyoudon’t like?” he wonders.

“Don’t worry about me. I will say ‘no’ to anything I’m not comfortable with.” Sascha’s tone brooks no argument, so Avery moves on.

“I got a hysterectomy during bottom surgery,” he saysnext, letting the implication hang. Sascha’s breath catches, chest twitching beneath Avery’s arm. He pets gently over Sascha’s heart, feeling it pound. “Werecreatures supposedly can’t contract human diseases, but everyone is tested for drugs and STIs before getting hired at the farm, just in case. And I’ve never not-used protection.” With all his casual encounters Avery hasn’t ever been fucked raw, but mentioning that feels crass.

Imagining going that far with Sascha—the hot, slick glide of skin-on-skin—sends a pulse of arousal straight to his core. Nothing between them. Just this beautiful man easing every velvet-soft inch inside him.

Avery gets lost in his head imagining it, and the way Sascha squirms suggests he’s going through the same. In other circumstances, Avery would have climbed on top of him immediately, but he exercises restraint. He doesn’t know how long the heat will last, or how intense it’ll be. Even with Sascha seeming fine right now, he’s been running around for days, and his illness could flare up at any time. Speaking of which.

“What if you pass out?”

“Like, on top of you? Again?” Sascha sounds amused. “If I have an episode, I assume we’ll just stop fucking until I’m better. I’ll give you Petra’s number if it seems like an emergency.”

“I am somehow not reassured,” Avery says dryly, but he lets it go. Sascha seems adamant it’s going to be okay, and has thus far refused to bite the hook Avery’s been casting, in which he manages to convince Sascha to fear this as much as he does.

Sascha presses his lips to the top of Avery’s head again, leaving them there to kiss and nuzzle him over and over. “Go to sleep, Avery. I’ll be here when you wake up, and I’m not leaving your side until you’ve gotten through this. Don’t be afraid.”

Averywantsto be afraid, but as Sascha begins to rock him gently, he loses the will to keep fighting. He settles into an uneasy rest, dragged further down when Sascha begins to hum sweetly. The soft, soothing rumble under Avery’s ear lulls him into unconsciousness. Peacefully drifting?—

—until the moment he bolts upright in bed, panting and soaked in sweat.

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Avery

At first, Avery has no awareness of what is happening to his body, or why. His immediate instinct is to think he’s on fire, but when he flings himself out of bed, the flames are only inside. Distantly, he’s aware of Sascha calling his name, shifting from sleep to wakefulness in response to Avery’s distress. Sascha climbs out of bed, talking to him, but Avery can’t process the words.

Burning in a way he’s never felt before, Avery staggers naked to the bathroom cubby, catching sight of himself in the mirror under the low light Sascha left on. He doesn’t look different, which seems almost impossible because hefeelsas if he’s being ripped apart by hooks. Is this supposed to be arousing? He can’t imagine how.

In an act of pure desperation, Avery turns on the shower, sets it to blast cold water at full strength, and jumps into the tub. His mostly healed wound sites twinge, but it’s buried by other sensations, so he doesn’t slow.

Sascha hurries in a moment later. He feels the water, then sighs. “Avery, you’re going to get yourself sick.”

“I’m already fucking sick!” Avery says, way too loudly. Hegrasps his face and moans, swooning directly into the spray. The freezing water does nothing to alleviate the inner flames, so he doesn’t protest when the cascade stops.

Avery doesn’t uncover his face when Sascha climbs into the tub and crowds him against the tiled wall, his body still warm from sleep. After a few moments in Sascha’s solid arms, the fire within Avery steadies into an even crackle.

Sascha noses at Avery’s neck, brushing his lips under his ear and whispering, “Tell me how I can help.”

A broken sound escapes him. “I don’t know. I don’tknow!”

“Shhhh.” Sascha strokes Avery’s shoulders, his hips, his cheeks. He continues making sweet, soft sounds, lips tracing the shell of Avery’s ear until he shivers.

Then he’s shivering everywhere, tipping forward to bury himself in Sascha’s warmth, colder than he’s ever been. Colder than roughing it all winter in Southern Michigan. Colder than not being touched for eight months. Now he’s here, early summer, moaning Sascha’s name and doing his best to thaw. He realizes in that moment that the burning within him wasn’t from flames, but skin-searing ice.

“Bring me down,” he whispers, stretching to clutch Sascha’s short, blond hair. “Take me to wherever you are.”

A faint smile flits over Sascha’s lips, which drop a kiss on the tip of Avery’s nose. “Gladly,” he says, then carefully scoops Avery into his arms and steps out of the tub. Avery clings, refusing to let go even when Sascha sets him on the counter next to the sink and grabs a hand towel. Laughing, he wipes away the cold water gathering on Avery’s skin.

Before Sascha finishes drying him, Avery’s body is wet again, this time from nervous sweat. Just as he’s about to have a tantrum over all the fussing when he’s going to be a wreck regardless, Sascha takes him by the jaw and claims his mouth. It’s the most direct kiss he’s ever received, lips and tongue taking him apart right there on the counter, like Sascha’s made it his mission to streamline the chaos takingover Avery’s body. Sascha bites at the corner of Avery’s mouth, then puts his hand on either of Avery’s knees, slowly spreading them to make room for his hips.

Avery digs his nails into Sascha’s shoulders, thankful he can’t pop claws as easily as a shifter would. The marks Sascha bestowed upon him the morning after the full moon faded, but Sascha recreates them now, mindful to keep his fangs tucked away. He pushes Avery’s legs higher, forcing him to lean against the large mirror, and drops to his knees.

Scrambling to get a grip on the edge of the counter, Avery stares into Sascha’s eyes, pupils blown until his irises are only rings of piercing gold. Expression shifting to a mischievous smile, Sascha brushes a faint kiss against Avery’s knee, then drags his tongue a few torturous inches up the inside of his thigh. Avery makes a high, frustrated sound, which grows even more petulant when Sascha laughs, only to die entirely when that breath ghosts over Avery’s center.