The knob turns eerily slow, and Day's breath hitches, eyes wide as he looks.
Then it opens, pushing soundlessly.
The scent hits him first.
dark, heavy syrup mixed with rain, creating such a strong musk that it coats the back of his throat.
Makes him feel drunk with every inhale, his lungs hungrily drinking it in, wanting to be coated and rolled in it.
Travis is dripping when he steps through the threshold.
Day immediately knows this isn't the Travis he's come to know. This is the one he was caught in when he was in his rut, when he was bitten and bonded temporarily to him.
Just thinking of it makes him want to touch his neck. It feels bare. Wrong.
To not have the mark on him, to not be linked with the beast that is now watching him.
It shouldn't make his heart race with excitement, though.
He should fear him. Run away screaming and screaming bloody murder.
But he is still. Seated on the edge of the bed, eyes locked with the dark ones, barely breathing, loud.
He is here.
