Page 43 of Darkness

Slowly, he increased the warmth, driving back the external chill while doing nothing for the internal cold. Farren needed Morrisey James at that moment like he needed breath. But why?

He took himself in hand, imagining what Morrisey’s body might look like. He was tall, so possibly a long, slender cock. His muscles appeared firm without being bulky. Darkness shadowed his cheeks, indicating a man who’d likely grow a beard in only a few days.

Farren imagined those whiskers brushing his cheeks, his chest… his inner thighs. Those callused hands would cause delicious friction against bare skin.

But while Farren’s body sought release, his mind had nowhere to go, no way to bond in the old, familiar way.

No. This was madness. Farren ignored his needy flesh, extending his consciousness, reaching, reaching...

He shouldn’t do this. If someone ever discovered…

Farren’s mind brushed against warmth in the darkness, a welcoming presence that didn’t even know why it wasn’t afraid.

Farren reveled in the contact, longing to push, blend his essence with Morrisey’s, to find sweet relief he hadn’t known since leaving Domus.

No. He couldn’t do this. Not without Morrisey’s consent.

Once they bonded, there’d be no going back.

A traveler had never bonded with a human before, to Farren’s knowledge, not even those who took human mates.

Something Leary once said came back to him: There's always a first time for everything.

Chapter Sixteen

Morrisey bolted upright, nearly falling off the couch. Ah, so he’d passed out in the living room again. What strange dreams. He rubbed sleep from his eyes. He’d dreamed of Austen, those blue eyes boring into him, deeper and deeper.

Then deeper still. They'd stood at the brink of... something. Austen pulled away. “You are my missing piece.”

Too much to take in, especially with a hangover jackhammering away in Morrisey’s brain. His entire world had flipped upside down. Too fast. Too much.

No wonder he dreamed of Farren. But missing piece?

Ridiculous.

Accepting the job might be a mistake. Or maybe the start of Morrisey’s redemption. Would the task force put him to work immediately or insist on keeping him on leave?

He needed to be out there, damn it! Finding the sonofabitches who invaded a birthday party for sadistic sport. Or the asshole who’d killed Craig.

Just like Morrisey had found Bob’s killer. And now needed to find him again.

Morrisey might be no one's notion of a respectable person, but he knew scum, how to catch them, how to bring them down.

His only talent.

Actually, one of two. Now fully awake at five a.m., he retrieved a rarely-used-at-home sketch pad and a pencil, shading and drawing random lines until a likeness of Farren Austen appeared.

***

“You’ll be working with Austen,” Leary said much too loudly for this early in the morning—or anytime, really. Morrisey finished signing a massive amount of paperwork after completing orientation and a psych evaluation. He’d kind of worried about that part. No one with sound judgment would consider him even remotely stable.

That the evaluation hadn’t disqualified him only underscored the belief of emotional instability being a requirement for this new job, whatever the hell Task Force Agent entailed.

Morrisey glanced up from his place at a table in the—you guessed it, gray—conference room, which hid behind yet another unmarked door and smelled of furniture polish.

He remembered the furniture polish gathering dust in his kitchen cabinet, unused since Craig left. Gray walls, gray carpet. If Morrisey hadn’t lost his mind yet, the color scheme might soon send him around the bend.

Close proximity to Farren Austen wasn’t helping.

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