Page 138 of Shadowman

This is the real you, Byron. Stop hiding from it.

Pulling in air, I recognize the moment the high begins to wear off. Because it’s the moment I look up and see Trevel’s dick, retreating back into his bed, rather than the sexy British stranger who just came in my mouth.

Tucking myself away, I glance down at the cum all over my blanket and sigh.Goddamnit…

“Byron, you are—”

“I told younotto say my name,” I hiss, whipping the blanket away and curling up into a ball. Insecurities are screaming inside me. “Just… stop talking.”

He stays quiet, while I feel the weight of all this nagging bullshit raining down on me like a monsoon. But somehow, I can still hear him, over all the noise in my head.

Don’t be angry. You’re perfect, Raphael.

Closing my eyes, I listen for his voice. Eventually, he whispers, “Goodnight.”

I can still hear him in my mind, smooth and soulful, with an accent that comforts me. I see violet eyes in my dreams.

Funny how things can feel so familiar when everything around you is different.

New location, new circumstances, new process… And yet the simple action of sitting across from him is exactly the same as it was for three years.

Up until the moment he left.

He slants his head to the side, perfectly unreadable expression on his face. Taps the tip of his pen against the notepad he’s holding.Staresat me, those full lips I used to think about way too often firmly planted shut. As if he has every intention of staying fully silent for the entirety of whatever the hell this is.

Just like old times.

Well, notexactly. Before, he would have made an attempt to get me speaking, and I would’ve gladly obliged.Now, we’re locked in a stubborn and hostile game of conversational chicken. And Iwon’tbreak first.

Mainly because I refuse to be the one engaging him when heowes mewords, in the form of an explanation. But also because I fear the moment I do open my mouth, months of belligerent rage will come spewing out like projectile vomit.

No, no.I will continue to stew in silence, using my glare and calculated body language to convey every bit of hatred I have for this man until he chooses to put us both out of our misery.

“Trevel…” Dr. Love finally says my name, the first sound to be uttered in this room in approximately eleven minutes.Aha! See? I win.“Is there anything you’d like to say about why you’re here?”

The aloof tone of his deep voice stirs up more anger than I even know what to do with, as does his barmy fucking question. As if it’smyresponsibility to do his job for him, despite him being the reason I’m here in the bloody first place.

My jaw clenches in a pretty obvious way, but of course it gets no reaction. Since the moment I set foot in here, I’ve been met with the stone wall of his indifference, and it’s enraging me.

Tilting my head to mirror his, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, hands clasped beneath my chin. “What do you think I’d like to say about my being here, Doctor? After all, you’re theprofessional.”

“I think there’s a lot you’d like to say,” he replies blankly. “And I think you should voice it. That is why we’re here.”

“Is it?” I hiss, frustrations bubbling over the patience-pot. “Is that why we’rehere, Doctor??”

He stares impassively, giving me that look I’ve seen so many times over the years.You know, the one that says absolutelynothingwhilestillsomehow overflowing with condescension. It makes me hate him more than even seems feasible. As does the fact that he somehow looks so muchbetterthan he used to.

He’s just as big as he ever was; muscles equally close to bursting out of his tailored clothes. His dreadlocks are a bit longer and tied back in that half-ponytail I would occasionally imagine grabbing a fistful of. Facial hair still short and immaculately trimmed.

But his amber eyes glow with less fascination and more boredom that has me simmering on this ugly velvet couch.

Because he’s not intrigued by me anymore.And why would he be??He has a new, more popular monster under his care. Unfortunately, I think it’s this one detail that’s accentuating his sheer gorgeousness more than ever. Knowing that he’s sleeping with a man now—a man who’s not me—thus making him just my type.

Bisexual and unavailable, both emotionally and physically.

I’m moments from erupting, ready to give him a taste of the old Trevel. But my mind flashes back to our early days at Riverwoods…

Strapped down to a slab after biting a nurse and spitting in an orderly’s face. Roaring and screaming and laughing in such hysterics that tears and snot threatened to choke me.