Men of London 04 - Feat of Clay by Susan Mac Nicol

Author:Susan Mac Nicol [Mac Nicol, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: 'contemporary gay romance, a lost soul finds his way home, after suffering the fates of hell one lover cannot forgive himself his past and jeopardizes his future happiness, an elite investigation agency becomes home to two men meant to be together, an undercover cop is imprisoned and tortured, boyhood friends become lovers after a tragedy brings them back together, finding redemption with the one you love, learning to forgive yourself, nightmares and demons plague him, their attraction is undeniable'
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

The smell woke Tate up. It pervaded his nostrils with its stink and left a sour metallic taste in his mouth. He opened his eyes in disgust and panic, hands fumbling in front of his face as if trying to push someone away. He took a deep breath, imagining the lingering essence of blood on his tongue. In the darkness of the room Clay slept on, and Tate was glad he hadn’t shouted out this time and woken up his lover. He shivered in the aftermath of his nightmare and sighed tiredly.

I am so damn tired of this shit.

Tate had once again been dreaming about Lily—and Armerian. In the dream, he’d seen the young girl lying there still and cold, the blood pooling about her body. Tate lay next to her, drenched in blood, cold, shivering and hurting. In the shadows, a man lurked, invisible but Tate knew it was his dead tormentor. Deep in the pools of his mind, the deep, dark lakes of his psyche, Sonny Armerian always lurked, like a silent, grinning predator ready to eat his flesh.

At times like this Tate wished he smoked so he could light up a cigarette and sit by the window, staring out in the darkness beyond it, blowing plumes of smoke and focusing on it as it swirled in the still air. It always looked so cool in the movies.

He shivered, remembering the weariness in Lily’s young voice and the look of defeat on her face. The fact he’d not pushed her into accepting his help would always rankle with him. But he’d acknowledged, despite what everyone might have thought about him trying to blame himself, he was not to blame. He’d been spending more time at Castaways, trying to make sure he made a difference to kids who needed him. Trying to show them that people could be trusted and not everyone was an abuser. Jax was especially a delight for Tate. The young man was funny, occasionally moody, intelligent and one of the warmest and empathic people that Tate knew. He was like a little brother and that was something Tate could get on board with.

He sat up, leaning over to pick up his mobile on the nightstand. He flicked through the picture gallery and came to the picture he’d always carry around.

The photo of the note Lily had left him.

The police had taken the original but Tate had taken a picture of it with his mobile before it had disappeared. He wanted something to remember her by other than the dreams he had.

“Can’t you sleep?” Clay’s husky tones caused Tate to turn and look at him. His partner’s eyes were sleepy, and his face furrowed with sleep lines.

Tate smiled softly at him. “I had a bit of a bad dream. I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

Clay yawned and stretched, the covers slipping down until Tate could see the firm planes of his stomach and the treasure trail of dark hair that led down to his sleep shorts.

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