Gabriel's breath was steady only because he forced it to be. The dull thrum in his veins and the faint drag of weakness through his muscles told him this wasn't a clean memory. It wasn't a dream he could wake from with a curse and a breathless laugh.
He was drawn into something ancient and unfinished by the living shard.
Olivier's gloved fingers lingered against Gabriel's neck, brushing the skin just above the bond mark Damian had left. The touch was deceptively gentle, a drag of leather over sensitive skin, intimate in a way that did not belong to the man Gabriel had buried years ago. The pressure wasn't enough to hurt, not yet, but it was enough to pin him in place, enough to tell him that whatever this was would not let him simply drift free.
