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Summary
“Tell me, lyubimyy,” Ilya pushes, his hand crawling around to cradle the side of Shane’s face. His palm is brazen against Shane’s skin. He’s defeated against Ilya’s efforts; his sway and his strength against Shane.
Shane nudges into that hand, his nose running against the inside of Ilya’s wrist. Wafts of Ilya’s blood fill his nose, sweet with a biting edge. He pulls himself back mentally and berates that ache stinging his gums.
His eyes are shut as he says, “Just reading and thinking.”
Ilya glances at the book at the foot of the bed, “Naturally,” he chides, softness lacing around his tone.
Naturally, right.
Nothing he does is natural. It was never natural the moment he became what he was. Everything about him is questionable— uncanny.
Spending time with Shane at the cottage means many things, one of those being a secret that Ilya is determined to figure out.