Page 11

CHAPTER

SIX

Avery

All Avery knows is seconds, inhales, heartbeats.

Sascha’s hand resting at the small of Avery’s back.

Just there, setting fire to those nerves.

Fire that matches the heat in his mouth, which Sascha is exploring without invading.

Avery could map out the ridges of Sascha’s bottom lip just from how painstakingly he brushes against him, letting the skin catch before falling apart.

Then he comes back, again and again and again, until Avery is whimpering for him to open up.

He flicks his tongue over Sascha’s philtrum, feels the answering smile.

Just when he thinks Sascha is ready to deepen the kiss, a ghost of a laugh warms his skin.

Sascha noses the underside of his jaw, drops chaste kisses up his chin, worries the corner of his mouth with his teeth until Avery keens with need.

Opening dialogue of the horror film filters through the speaker. The sound crackles over old wires, electricity charging the air until a spark lights inside him, setting that nest of furious hornets aflame. If Avery opens his mouth, his tongue might scorch Sascha’s, but he tries anyway.

Another laugh, and Avery thinks Sascha’s going to further deny what he needs, until Sascha darts in with firm, claiming pressure.

Avery gasps, pliant and willing to be rolled onto his back with the hard plastic seat digging into his spine.

Finally, his chest a tight line against Avery’s, Sascha meets Avery’s tongue in the threshold between their mouths, curling around it in invitation.

Avery shudders—once, twice. On the third, he pries himself open to take whatever Sascha has to offer.

Cradling Sascha’s face, Avery takes and takes, arching his hips into the empty space above him.

Sascha hasn’t fully covered him, but Avery wants it, wants to be stripped of his dirty jeans and fucked in the back of a tiny hatchback while some ghost or demon terrorizes its onscreen victims. Don’t even need to put the speaker back.

The screams are more than welcome to drown out his own.

Anything to make him feel human again. Just for a few minutes. At least let him be enough of a human for someone to willingly come inside him.

Before Avery can meditate on the way touch starvation and isolation have eroded his self-respect, he’s distracted by Sascha pulling away to curse under his breath.

Confused, Avery opens his eyes just in time to see Sascha grab his head with a soft moan.

Blood spurts in a wide arc behind him, an unrealistic, graphic red upon the theater screen.

Then Sascha goes limp.

For a horrified moment, Avery thinks the blood came from Sascha. He doesn’t have time to feel foolish when the shot changes on the screen, revealing an uninspiring slasher villain. More concerning is the very real, very heavy man on top of him, who is not responding to his name or being shaken.

Time was, Avery wouldn’t have been able to do much about being crushed by a body much bigger than him, but the grace of enhanced werecreature strength allows him to heave Sascha onto his side.

He tries to be careful as he squirms out from under Sascha’s dead weight, taking pains not to let him flop on his stomach or back.

Could he be having a seizure? An aneurysm?

Avery desperately tries to recall the acronym to help identify a stroke, but just when F.A.S.T.

pops into his brain, Sascha moans softly and blinks his eyes open.

Unsure if touch will confuse or startle him but unable to suppress the desire, Avery brushes his fingertips against Sascha’s cheek. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Are you okay?”

At first, Sascha only blinks at him, pupils dilated and eyes unfocused.

Maybe Avery should have spoken louder? A sudden ear-splitting shriek ejected from the speaker grates at Avery’s frazzled nerves.

It can’t be good for Sascha’s recovery, either, prompting Avery to hurl the speaker out of the car, leaving it to hang miserably from its coiled wire.

“Sascha, can you hear me? Do you understand?” Avery frets, pawing at his shoulder. “Do I need to call a?—”

“No,” Sascha wheezes. “I’m fine. Sorry. No doctor. Fuck.” He grabs his face, moaning.

“Should I get an ice pack or something?”

“No,” Sascha says again. “Please, I just need a second.”

Avery withers against the side of the car, voice small as he acknowledges Sascha’s request. He watches Sascha slowly circle his head, bending his neck to either side and then back before flexing his hands and sitting up.

Something pops between his shoulder blades, prompting a hiss of discomfort.

Avery swallows the desire to ask once more if he’s okay.

Slowly, Sascha works each of his limbs, still blinking rapidly.

He massages his temples, then slumps onto his back with a great sigh.

The heels of his hands push hard against his closed eyes.

When he removes them, he frowns at the ceiling, then turns toward Avery.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. ”

“What was it?”

Sascha winces. “Just… vertigo. I’ll be fine. ”

Less afraid and more annoyed, Avery arches an eyebrow. “You passed out on top of me.”

“Sometimes I lose consciousness, yeah,” Sascha says, a hint of edge in his voice.

If Avery weren’t already pressed against the side of the car, he’d have inched back farther.

The warning in Sascha’s tone isn’t unlike the threats he’s received from other alphas, defending their territory or mate or, sometimes, merely their pride.

As if Avery knew how to steal someone’s mate or fight an established alpha with a dedicated pack.

He can’t even control his fucking shift.

Alpha or not, Sascha could kill him right now if he wanted to, and Avery wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing to defend himself.

Instead of unleashing the predatory growl Avery has come to expect, Sascha furrows his brow. He scans Avery up and down, then reaches for him, fingernails still blunt, canines hidden behind his lips. Despite the lack of visible threat, Avery flinches.

Sascha jerks his hand back, moving so quickly the gesture bowls him over, causing his head to glance off the driver’s seat headrest. Avery squeaks and crawls to him, no longer caring for his own safety.

He cradles Sascha’s head in his hands, holding him steady as he sinks downward.

On impulse, Avery guides Sascha to rest his cheek upon his thigh.

The work jeans are covered in farm gunk, but Avery’s lap is softer than plastic.

Trying to be soothing, he combs his fingers through Sascha’s blond hair, taking care not to touch his scalp.

Avery freezes when Sascha catches his hand. Fear gathers in his throat, though he doesn’t try to resist when Sascha draws him in to…

Place a delicate kiss across his knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” Sascha says, lips brushing Avery’s trembling fingers. “Irritability is… a symptom, after episodes. I should have warned you.”

Still faint, Avery asks, “What would you have warned me about?”

“I was born with a condition called the spinning sickness. It’s a disease that can be disabling to shifters.

” Sascha doesn’t look at him while he speaks.

“I have episodes where I lose coordination or consciousness. Shouldn’t have shifted twice today, I guess.

” He snorts, hot breath puffing against Avery’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

Avery has never received an apology from a shifter before, nor a werecreature alpha of any shape. He’s briefly compelled to thank Sascha, but that would be weird and complicated to explain, so he merely says, “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

It’s mostly not a lie. The adrenaline is slow to dissipate, even with Sascha resting docile in his lap. Avery still feels the ache of panic, but it is easing its grip.

“I can feel your heart pounding,” Sascha rebuts. “I scared you.”

“Only a little.”

“Shouldn’t have done it at all.” Finally, Sascha meets Avery’s eyes, brows knotted in pain and, possibly, concern. “You thought I’d hurt you?”

Uncomfortable with the direct question, Avery shrugs. “Sorry, I guess.”

“No.” Sascha grips his hand tighter. “Me. It’s Sascha’s time to be sorry. Avery didn’t do anything wrong.”

The use of third person brings a smile to Avery’s lips. “Thank you.”

“Thank you .” Groaning, he rubs at his eyes. “I’m sorry. You probably want to go home, but I don’t think I can drive us back to Bliss.”

“That stupid farm isn’t my home,” Avery says bitterly.

“But, um. I know how to drive.” He looks around the nicely kept hatchback.

“If you’d trust me with your car.” He wouldn’t blame Sascha for not trusting him, considering he hasn’t had access to a car in over eight months. There’s no guarantee he won’t fuck up.

But Sascha says, “Okay,” and tries to rise from Avery’s lap. He sways, but Avery catches him before he can knock into anything again.

“Let’s go slow.”

They make a painstaking trip from the trunk to the passenger seat, into which Sascha drops with a sigh of relief.

Avery returns the speaker to its post, then neatens the remaining mess from their little nest before slamming the back door and crossing to the driver’s seat.

He offers Sascha his backpack, stuffed with the bag of snacks.

“I could swing by to get you a water bottle,” Avery offers.

Sascha flaps his hand weakly. “No, I’d rather just… get home. Sorry.”

Though Avery wants to tell him to stop apologizing, and thinks maybe he should, he doesn’t. It’s probably wicked to relish each moment of Sascha treating him like a person with feelings, but Avery can’t help it. This is his price for being fainted on instead of fucked.