Page 39 of His Eternal Temptation

So Lane waited, holding eye contact, trying to show he was open to being supportive. If Rowan were to ask.

Rowan returned his attention to his hands and twisted the covers on his lap. “It was a dream about my past.”

“Has something brought it up?” When Rowan didn’t answer, Lane hedged, “Hunger might not be the curse’s only effect.”

Rowan ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall to hide his face. “I’ll have another drink and see if it helps.”

They’d exchanged blood again that afternoon. Hunter had been around, so there’d been no need for biting. A disappointment, especially after the club, but it was for the best. Rowan had seemed relieved to go the clinical route.

He left the bed and poured himself a glass of blood from the supply he’d added to his drink cart. He didn’t linger over it, and soon returned beneath the sheets. “Sorry for waking you.”

“I don’t mind. Did the drink help?”

“With my hunger, yes.” In other words, not with whatever had him crying in his sleep.

Part of Lane wanted to shout let me help you. Instead, he lay down, taking his time getting comfortable, and focused on the ceiling.

Rowan hadn’t taken the easy out, blaming the curse, and hadn’t claimed nightmares never plagued him before. He wasn’t pushing Lane away. What if Lane opened up first? Rowan might share more if Lane showed he was comfortable doing the same.

“I moved away from my coven after we settled in Oregon.”

He felt Rowan shift, the mattress dipping. “Really?”

“Why would I want to be around people who didn’t trust me? Who didn’t value my input? I didn’t want to leave the coven officially, just do my own thing. Be my own person.”

“What did you do?”

Lane smiled to himself. “Opened a shop with a friend. She lived a few hours away, closer to a more populated area with a larger magic community than where my coven settled, so I moved. We made and sold portable spells. It was fun.” He couldn’t keep the tinge of remorse from his tone.

“Why aren’t you still there, running the shop with her?”

“Gale moved. Her whole coven went farther north. To go with them, I had to officially leave the Blackburns.”

It had been Lane’s coven’s rule, not Gale’s. Even for all their flaws, Lane hadn’t wanted to turn his back on his family. Which was exactly how they’d have seen leaving the coven. It had felt too final, like closing a door when he wasn’t ready.

“I can’t see why you stayed if you were already doing your own thing,” Rowan said carefully.

Gale had been of the same opinion. “For some reason, I was holding on to the idea of proving myself. Fixing things. But when I moved home, my father made it clear he saw the shop, nearly ten years of my life, as a rebellion. Not an accomplishment. Maybe I should have realized my mistake then.”

A pause. “What do you mean?”

Lane glanced sideways, but Rowan wasn’t looking at him. I shouldn’t have gone back. It was so fucking clear now. Why value his father’s opinion when he didn’t value Lane’s? “I should have realized I didn’t have to take on my father’s disappointment or treat it like something I needed to remedy. Instead, I tried to prove myself all over again and look where it got me.”

Rowan shifted onto his side, propping his head on a hand, hair falling over his arm like a silken waterfall. “Striving for a father’s approval is natural. Especially if you’ve been conditioned to crave it.”

His words rang true, all the way down to Lane’s bones. “Was your father like that?” The question slipped out before he could think.

“I have no idea.” Rowan abruptly turned away, settling on his back.

The loss was more staggering than it should’ve been. Lane lay frozen, praying Rowan would go on. Open up. If his father hadn’t been like Lane’s, had his sire? Was that why it sounded like he knew exactly how Lane felt?

Lane took a risk. “You have no idea because the memory of your father was taken?”

“Not only the memory of my father. Memory of my human life.” The words hung heavy. Rowan’s matter-of-fact tone added weight, as if something so devastating could ever be normal.

“I’m sorry.” Lane burned to grab Rowan’s hand and not let go. Pain cut through him even though he’d suspected this. Rowan admitting it—sharing with him—meant far more than Lane could express.

Rowan was almost too soft to hear as he said, “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, but I appreciate it all the same.”