Page 29 of His Eternal Temptation

“What happened with the Sherwoods after you left?” He’d assumed they’d stayed allies, but Lane hadn’t mentioned them when talking about his coven’s current trouble.

Lane scowled at the book on his lap. “They dropped us like spoiled goods as soon as we were no use to them. I have no idea where they ended up. Didn’t keep track.”

Rowan would have to look into that.

Wet earth crunched under Rowan’s feet, the air thick with fog. Where was he?

That’s right, he’d left the house. He shouldn’t have, but he’d been alone for so long and couldn’t take it. This was better than endless waiting.

Rowan walked through dark woods, following the presence imbedded in his immortal soul. Searching.

At last, a figure appeared out of the mist. “Rowan,” Cris’s deep voice called. “I told you to stay.”

“I did. Everything is in order. But I needed⁠—”

Cris’s palm cracked across Rowan’s cheek. “Needy swine. I said to stay until I returned.”

Rowan trembled. “I sensed you coming.”

“And yet you were incapable of waiting. Damned useless.”

Rowan should have held out, but he’d been in the house for too long, drinking old blood. He was achingly hungry, and so alone he’d convinced himself this was better than nothing.

He’d been wrong.

Fog swelled. Cris was right in his face, fangs lengthening. Rowan braced himself for pain. When it came, he tried not to cry out. Emotional displays always made it worse. He held off for what felt like forever, but Cris never stopped until he broke.

“Rowan!” A firm grip tightened on Rowan’s shoulder. It wasn’t Cris’s voice.

Rowan choked, a scream lodged in his throat. He was in bed and hadn’t walked through that forest in a century.

He lurched forward, pushing Lane off.

Cris had been nothing but a dream. A memory. So why did hunger gnaw at his insides, setting his veins ablaze as if he’d fed on nothing but old blood for months? Why did Cris’s presence lurk in his soul as if the sire-bond were still alive?

“Rowan?” Lane sounded hesitant now. He didn’t touch Rowan again.

Heat crawled down his neck, and he brushed tangled hair from his face. “I’m fine. Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep.”

“What—”

“It’s not the curse. Go to sleep.”

Lane stared at him with defiant concern, his expression clear as day in the dark room. For once, Rowan wished he lacked vampire sight. He turned away and settled against his pillow. Eventually, Lane did the same.

There was a knock at the door.

Damn vampire hearing. Rowan snatched his phone off the bedside table. There was a message from Felix, checking on him. Instead of answering the door, Rowan replied to the message. Felix understood flashbacks and didn’t press once Rowan told him all was well.

Sleep didn’t return.

Rowan cursed himself. He hadn’t had a nightmare in decades. And of everyone, it had to be Lane who witnessed him screaming like a child, catching sight of the moisture threatening at the corners of his eyes as every emotion he suppressed exploded out of him.

Humiliation twisted Rowan’s insides. Was it over what Lane had witnessed, or what Cris had done all those years ago?

He feared it was both.

NINE