Page 55

Eric

W hen Wolfe knocked politely on the bedroom door before opening it not as politely immediately after, Eric was still seated on the bed.

He was no longer even slightly tempted to go around fiddling with the windows, because apparently physical escape was pointless and might end with him murdering people (and besides that, the freaky fact that escape seemed to be, deep within him, completely unwanted).

So Eric sat there and took the vampire in— really took him in—for the first time, not as a detached professional, not as an unhinged kidnapper, but as a…potential partner?

As a mate ?

The idea seemed so preposterous. And yet the moment Wolfe set foot inside the bedroom, something in Eric finally unclenched, for the first time since Wolfe had left him there.

That restless agitation he’d been feeling from the outside—from Wolfe, according to Danny—finally eased as Wolfe looked him over in turn, a weird, covetous glint to his eyes.

And that inner part of Eric—that new, slinking, starving presence—finally seemed to relax. Well, relax was a relative term. It changed its focus from Want Wolfe back to Want to be touching Wolfe right this minute.

Eric could understand, even without the weird bond part.

His “mate” (he still couldn’t seem to take that word seriously) wasn’t exactly classically handsome, but he was striking.

High, sharp cheekbones. Those strange eyes, brown in some lights and almost red in others.

He was slighter and an inch or so shorter than Eric, but he held himself with the kind of steely posture that made boarding school instructors so intimidating.

Aristocratic—that was the aura he gave off. He even had a pocket square all artfully arranged in that crushed-velvet suit pocket.

Meanwhile, Eric was wearing a terry-cloth robe.

That didn’t seem to matter to Wolfe though. He was looking Eric over like he was something edible, and it was doing weird things to Eric’s junk.

Come to think of it, he sort of was edible. Or at least he had been. Did vampires bite each other?

Eric met Wolfe’s eyes and drew in a sharp breath as a wave of… something…washed over him, from the outside, in again, through their bond. A fierce sort of possessiveness that made all his nerve endings light up.

It was a little shocking in its intensity.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

Wolfe held still in the doorway, not a hint of that insane possessiveness showing in his expression, other than the gleam in his eyes. He hid the inner crazy well, this guy; that was for sure. “Did the young nurse overwhelm you?” he asked, searching Eric’s face for his answer.

You overwhelm me , Eric wanted to say. How much you seem to want me for no reason overwhelms me .

But that felt weird to admit out loud. Especially when the guy didn’t really want him, right?

It was just their inner vampire bits—their inner beasts, Wolfe had called them—connecting to each other or something.

When Eric didn’t answer him, Wolfe tipped his chin at the blood bag next to Eric on the bed. “You haven’t fed yet.”

Eric shrugged. “It’s cold.” He didn’t know how he even knew he had a preference for warm blood. It was just a feeling. The cold blood felt…wrong.

“Come, then. We’ll heat it up.” Wolfe turned in the doorway, presumably to head to the kitchen downstairs.

Eric considered staying where he was. He could enact some sort of hunger strike until any of this seemed remotely real. Or until Wolfe finally apologized for scaring him, for changing his life irrevocably without even asking.

But that day might never come, right? He tried to think back on his old psych classes in med school. Could Wolfe even feel guilt for what he’d done?

Eric had no idea. So he followed, blood bag in hand, docile as a fucking lamb.

It shouldn’t be surprising, really. Eric had seen this before, from an outside perspective: patients or families—ones who had just received some unexpected, horrible diagnosis—experiencing a strange period of calm, one where the information was just too huge to properly process.

He supposed he was in shock, more or less.

Add to that the strange satisfaction he felt coming from this new inner beast at Wolfe’s presence, and Eric was just…surprisingly chill.

He wondered how long that would last.

He stood dumbly and watched as Wolfe removed a saucepan from one of the cabinets, his movements all very precise—graceful, even. When Wolfe held up a hand, Eric placed the blood bag into it, watching as Wolfe sliced through the plastic and poured it into the pan.

This was weird, right? This was the weirdest fucking thing to ever happen to him, and he had once seen an attending reach into someone’s open chest cavity and massage their heart for CPR.

But he may as well use this opportunity to get some answers. “So you didn’t intend to turn me?”

Wolfe spun to face him, one hand still on the saucepan handle. “I did not.” When Eric only stared, he gave a small sigh, stirring the blood with a wooden spoon before continuing. “I wanted to observe up close, I suppose. I wanted a taste.”

Eric ignored how the blatant sexual undertones of that statement made his spine tingle and his cock thicken. His horny fucking body couldn’t be trusted, and the word observe triggered something in his brain. That feeling of being watched, standing on the porch. “The roses,” he said. “That was you?”

Wolfe nodded but didn’t bother to elaborate any further.

Well, at least that explained why Eric couldn’t figure out who the culprit was. He hadn’t really had “fate-designated vampire stalker” on the list of options, now had he?

He rubbed at his forehead. It was starting to get tiring, this pull to be closer to Wolfe on the one hand, his general pissed-off-ness on the other. “Tell me why people call you a psychopath.”

Wolfe stirred his blood calmly. “Because I believe I am one.”

“You’ve been officially diagnosed with ASPD?” Eric asked skeptically.

Wolfe shot him an almost amused look, the corners of his mouth tilting up only the slightest bit.

“I haven’t. But there are characteristics.

I’m perhaps not as impulsive as some of my like.

Too aware of the consequences from a young age.

But I’ve always been different.” He started ticking off symptoms like the items of a grocery list. “Lack of empathy. Inability to form emotional attachments. I don’t generally feel fear, not that I can remember, at least. And I don’t feel guilt. ”

There it was. “So you don’t feel bad about what you’ve done to me?”

Wolfe cocked his head, clearly considering his words. “I regret the challenge it will bring to our further connection.”

“You should be a politician, the way you talk.” Eric supposed he should be grateful Wolfe wasn’t sugarcoating it and lying to protect his feelings.

But rather than gratitude, the anger he’d been having such a hard time locating rose to the surface, strong enough to make his muscles quiver.

Wolfe didn’t feel bad. At all. and maybe that wasn’t his fault, if guilt wasn’t something he was capable of.

But it sure did leave Eric feeling shitty, that so much had been taken from him in one single moment, and his fated, destined boyfriend couldn’t give less of a shit about it.

If Wolfe was aware of his anger, if he felt it through the bond, he didn’t show it. “You should eat” was all he said, pouring the heated blood into a wineglass of all the fucking things.

Eric found himself reaching automatically for the glass, shivering slightly as their fingers brushed during the exchange.

With warm blood in front of him, he realized he was hungry.

It was just kind of secondary to that other feeling, that itch to be close to Wolfe, even when anger had him bristling.

All the while, Wolfe maintained unblinking eye contact. Eric could feel it even as he lowered his own gaze to study the red liquid. He was about to drink blood. Human fucking blood.

And what was more, Wolfe clearly wanted to watch him drink it. Maybe he wanted to see the change come over Eric. Maybe Wolfe’s inner beast wanted to meet Eric’s, the way Eric’s inner beast seemed to be yearning every second to be closer to Wolfe.

But all that did was make Eric not want to show him.

The anger was still going strong, speeding his pulse in a way where he could feel his heart pounding.

That Wolfe could change Eric’s life so suddenly and be so completely goddamn unperturbed about it?

Hand him blood in a wineglass like he was offering him a particularly lovely Chianti? That fucking sucked. It wasn’t fair.

So Eric protested the only way he felt he could. “Don’t look,” he ordered.

Wolfe’s only show of surprise was a slow blink. “I’ll close my eyes.”

Did he really think Eric was that easy of a mark? “No. Turn around.”

The flash of irritation—both on Wolfe’s face and through the bond—proved to Eric that Wolfe had intended to cheat. No guilt, right?

Eric raised his glass and motioned with one whirling finger for Wolfe to do as he asked. The amount of pleasure he took from the huff of irritation he got in return was kind of absurd.

Once Wolfe had his back to him—surprisingly broad shoulders, for such a slender man—Eric let his vampire face back out the way he had in that room with Danny. It was even easier here, with Wolfe in front of him and the coppery scent of blood in the air. Eric’s beast wanted to come out.

Eric took a large swallow. Because hey, if he was going for it, he was going for it all the way.

And oh, that was good. Like, really fucking good. It reminded him of the first real meal after a really long shift, one of the ones where he didn’t get a chance to eat any lunch at all. Satisfying on a whole different level.

He drank the rest down quickly, trying to figure out how he felt about it.

He still didn’t feel quite…sated. He wasn’t hungry anymore, but there was still that…

itching under the skin. It was really, really hard to push the beast back down.

It wanted to reach out, wanted to run their fingers along those broad shoulders, to breathe in that bergamot smell. To fucking bathe in it.

No. We are not doing that. We are mad at him.

Eric could almost hear the beast’s huff of irritation at those thoughts. But it retreated eventually, Eric’s regular face shifting back into place. And Eric just stood there, empty glass in hand, not sure what to do next.

Wolfe’s shoulders twitched, the only sign of his impatience. “May I turn around now?”

“Oh.” Eric reached up, just to double-check that his teeth were back to normal. “Okay. Um, yeah.”

Wolfe frowned at him slightly when they were face-to-face again. “Your vampire face is nothing to be ashamed of, Eric.”

“I’m not.” It wasn’t like Eric had processed any of it enough to be ashamed about anything.

“I see.” Wolfe’s gaze traveled over every inch of him again, slowly enough that it was practically a physical sensation, and eventually a small smirk graced his lips. “You wished to deny me something,” he surmised.

Eric glared at him. “Why does that make you smile?”

Wolfe’s smirk deepened. “I haven’t seen that side of you yet. Petty.”

“How many sides of me can you possibly have seen?” Eric asked, feeling petulant again. Just how long and how closely had Wolfe been watching him?

Wolfe half shrugged a single shoulder. He looked aristocratic even doing that. “Only the surface levels, I suppose. A friendly people pleaser, desperate to be liked. And yet no one truly close in your life, despite that desperation. ”

Well, ouch. It stung a bit, the accuracy of those words. But there wasn’t any cruelty in them; Wolfe didn’t seem to be intending to wound, just calling it like he saw it.

“But my pettiness makes you smile?” Eric asked, all sorts of confused.

Wolfe reached up a hand, as if to cup Eric’s face. Eric was half-certain he would let him. “All parts of you are precious to me. Because all parts of you are mine.” Wolfe lowered his arm. “I look forward to seeing each layer uncovered.”

Sweet mother of Mary. Eric swallowed hard as the bond pulsed, dark and covetous. “Uh…yeah,” he rasped. “I can feel that.”

Wolfe cocked his head. “That you are mine?” he purred, obviously delighted at the thought.

“No. Jesus. I can feel your psycho possessiveness, through the bond thing.”

“Ah, yes.” Wolfe seemed no less displeased by that.

I want to touch him. What the fuck? Was that Eric or his beast talking? Could their beasts talk to them? He had so many more questions, but he didn’t think he had the energy to ask them. He was just…exhausted.

He pressed two fingers to his forehead. “I’m kind of…tired?”

Wolfe’s brow furrowed the slightest bit. “You shouldn’t need much sleep as a vampire. But perhaps it’s the new transition, wearing you down.”

“Well, I’m gonna lie down again,” Eric said, putting his glass in the sink (Wolfe could have clean-the-blood duty) and turning to leave the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway when a thought came to him. “Where do you sleep?”

Wolfe clucked his tongue regretfully. “Our main bedroom is unfurnished at the moment, as it needs to be painted first. I’m afraid I had to delay the professionals due to your transitioning state. For now, where you awoke is the only furnished bedroom.”

Eric resisted the urge to scream. Was this guy really trying to pull some only-one-bed crap on him right now?

At Eric’s pissy look, Wolfe capitulated with a gracious nod. “But if I need to rest, I will of course do so on the sofa downstairs.”

“You bet your biting ass you will,” Eric grumbled, heading back to his bedroom, ignoring the way the beast inside him sulked at the increasing distance between them.

Maybe when he woke back up, it would all have been a dream.

Something told him he wouldn’t be so lucky.