Page 36 of Wolfgang

“I don’t know, do you?”

“I most certainly don’t. There’s nothing wrong with you, Eric. Maybe you’re selfish.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I find most people are. If I had to do the job you do, I would last barely an hour before murdering every patient on my caseload and fleeing into the night, off to find a better use of my time.”

It was a horrifying statement, so why couldn’t Eric find it in himself to be horrified?

Eric’s head found its way onto Wolfe’s shoulder, like it had a mind of its own. He didn’t have the will to pick it back up. “If you lack empathy, why are you being so comforting right now?”

Wolfe’s head came to rest on top of his. “But I’m not. I’m only speaking logically. It’s just your anxieties happen to be very illogical.”

What a dick.

“But you came for me, when I needed you.”

“I take care of what’s mine. And you’re mine, Eric. You may take your time to adjust, you may throw fits or try to hide in your work or deny it all completely, but you’re already mine. You have been since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

The thought was overwhelming, mainly in how appealing it was. That new beast inside him surged in agreement, a strange feeling like a cat’s purr rumbling in Eric’s chest.

He forced himself to let go of that hand, to stand up from the bed. “I’m going to shower again. I feel all grimy from the hospital.”

And he needed space. For just a minute, even if it was painful. Because he was realizing fully that this was real. This was happening: he was bonded to a vampire he didn’t know, who drew him in and frightened him with his intensity in equal measure. Who claimed he didn’t know how to care, not in the traditional sense, but was still there when Eric needed him.

And while Eric wasn’t perfect—wasn’t even very good—he wasn’t a complete coward.

He was going to shower. He was going to take some deep, steady breaths before possibly screaming into a towel. And then he was going to get this vampire’s hands all over him.

They were going tobond, goddamn it.

twelve

Wolfe

Wolfemadegooduseof his time while Eric was in the shower.

He first poured more wine for both of them, then removed his shoes as well as his suit jacket and set them both aside, undoing the top three buttons on his dress shirt as he did so.

There was a large part of him that wished to strip off completely, to stride into that bathroom and take what was his—bend that big, gorgeous body over and plunge his cock into that muscled ass, the one that had felt so wonderful under his hands in that tacky massage parlor.

Patience, he reminded both himself and the beast within him.Patience.

His careful approach was paying off, if they could both just rein themselves in long enough to let it. Wolfe had sensed a surrender of sorts from Eric just now. And all Wolfe had to do to keep the doctor’s walls from bouncing right back up was keep the beast under control a little while longer.

It wasn’t easy, with how keyed up they both were. Eric’s distress had been…well, it had beendistressing. Wolfe had never before been so unsettled by someone else’s discomfort, and he couldn’t say he was a fan of the feeling. He should have—if anything—felt triumphant; it was proof, after all, that Eric needed him. Payback, even, for his leaving their home and insisting on his independence. But Wolfe had only felt agitated. Helpless. Angry. He’d wanted to burn that hospital down for the offense of being the obstacle between him and his mate.

It seemed as if Eric wasn’t the only one who was unstable.

But they were going to fix that, weren’t they? And it seemed that it might not be as difficult as Wolfe had first imagined. Eric had responded to Wolfe’s coming to fetch him like Wolfe had slain a literal dragon for him, a response completely at odds with the simplicity of the act itself. Wolfe’s mate was clearly unused to receiving care of any kind.

Really, for someone who gave off the impression of an empty-headed, baby-faced playboy, Eric had been displaying a wonderfully potent mix of neuroses: a need to be liked, a need to be useful, both coupled with a deep-seated belief that he was inherently neither. That he was, for some reason, unworthy at his core.

Idly, Wolfe picked up Eric’s phone, which he’d tossed so carelessly on the bed on the way to his shower. He pressed the pass code he’d watched Eric enter earlier that morning and went through a cursory inspection of his missed calls and messages.

And there. Just as he’d thought. An overbearing mother who wasn’t at all afraid to insult her son in written messages. It really was marvelous, the damage a parent could do to a child’s psyche, well into that child’s adulthood. Wolfe wasn’t sure if he wanted to tear her head off her shoulders for troubling his mate so, or send her a gift basket for creating such a toxic familial environment that even Wolfe’s particular brand of caring would seem golden in comparison. He had no doubt there was some absent, unemotional, possibly toxically masculine father in the background to thank as well. No wonder Eric was so deliciously needy, greedy for affection in whatever form he could get it.

And Wolfe would oblige.

But first, he would devour.

His ears perking up at the sound of the shower shutting off, Wolfe set the phone neatly on the nightstand, next to their wine, then relaxed back against the headboard with his legs crossed at the ankles, his own glass of wine in hand.

---