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I’m invigorated. Energy flows into me. Every pain, every ache, they all fade away.

He’s fucking beautiful too. I love looking at him. All I want to do is play with his black curls that seem so soft. I love how they shine against the light, teasing me with the promise of happiness.

When I walked through the door and smelled his lust, I knew I had to hurry out of the kitchen before I made Leo my next meal.

Plus, he’s asking questions he isn’t ready to hear the answers to.

He healed because of me, and I’m not sure he’d believe that. He complains about being sore when he shouldn’t be sore at all. He shouldn’t ache. He should have no pain at all. Leo should feel better than he ever has with vampire blood in his system. He should feel like he can conquer the world.

It’s because mine is polluted with death, and I’ve done a terrible thing and infected him with it. My blood isn’t working like it should. I just hope whatever injuries he had are fully healed and don’t reopen one day. Soren would have to come in to save him. I’m not sure if I can handle another man’s blood in my mate’s system.

I’m possessive of him even if I’m no good for him. He deserves the life he had planned for himself, not settling for a guy who is on his deathbed, and not just a guy, but a vampire.

And I don’t think Leo is gay either. His scent is filled with curiosity, lust, and confusion. A lot of confusion. It almost overpowers his desire. Almost.

How are two straight men, who apparently aren’t so straight, supposed to be together for eternity?

Fuck.

What am I supposed to do? I don’t know. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how to talk to him without making it obvious that I want him—that I need him. The instinctual voice in the back of my head is yelling at me to just pull him into my arms and kiss him.

Whatever happens next, we’ll figure it out.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared than when I found him dangling off that cliff. Even when I nearly died of consumption, coughing to the point where I couldn’t catch my breath, I wasn’t as scared as I am right now with my mate under the same roof.

I’m…terrified.

The thought of death is so much easier than the chance—a very good chance—of my mate denying me. I wouldn’t blame him. I’m not exactly a catch. I’m a fucking asshole on a good day and a bastard on a bad day. I’m cold-hearted. I’ve prepared myself to no longer be part of this world, and now I have Leo to keep me here.

I mean, what do I do with that?

All I want to do is cup his masculine jaw and lean down to kiss him. Keeping my hands to myself in the short time he has been here has been by far one of the hardest fucking things I’ve ever done.

Someone put me out of my misery.

And then there’s his eyes. Who has fucking eyes like that? They are the prettiest damn green I’ve ever seen, bright, filled with life and wonder. To really punch me in the gut, his lashes are thick and just as dark as his hair, long with a slight curl. They are feminine with the perfect amount of masculinity as well.

He’s fucking perfect.

Don’t get me started on his skin. Oh my god, it’s perfectly golden with a deep olive hue. It’s taken all I’ve had not to touch his arm to see if he is as soft as he looks. Then, there are his lips. They are plump and light pink; my mind whirls with the image of him on his knees, mouth stretched wide while he sucks my dick.

Opening my eyes, I stare down at my engorged cock. The entire shaft seems furious, the tip a blush red, precome leaking vigorously from the slit, the clear fluid pooling until it drips down and over the crown.

I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want him.

I close my eyes again, dreaming up his image, wishing I knew what he looked like shirtless. I have no doubt he is beautiful. I bet he is lean and in shape, defined but not bulging with muscle.

Groaning, the imaginary image of him peels away the clothes. I noticed he has a broad chest. Not like mine, where I’m a bit bulky from all the years of ranch work, but impressive, nevertheless.

In my dream, I imagine tracing the edges of his collarbone, exploring his body, a man’s body, for the first time. I know both of us are going to be nervous, and there’s a fear he might not like it.

I’m not worried about that on my end with how hard my cock is right now.

I’ve never touched myself to the idea of another man. With a nervous hand, I tighten my hand around my aching shaft, gasping from the first touch. I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to feel pleasure. It’s been decades since I’ve had an orgasm.

I stopped caring about feeling good a very long time ago.

And why?