After what feels like an eternity, longer than necessary, Lucan finally emerges from the bathroom.
His body is flushed, and by the way he looks and moves, Kyle can immediately tell what he's been doing in there.
He's been trying to relieve himself, and the tension in his body is a silent testament to it.
Kyle feigns sleep, turning his face to the side and even faking a low snore.
But when Lucan's gaze moves toward the other side of the room, Kyle can't help himself.
He opens one eye, barely a sliver, just enough to see him. The sight of Lucan, dripping wet, wiping himself dry, sends a shock through Kyle's body.
His skin burns with heat, every nerve in him screaming to feel Lucan, to have him touch him, to be pinned by him.
His body reacts without his consent, he wants it. He wants him. The hard tension in his chest tightens, makes him feel both desperate and ashamed all at once.
As Lucan turns, Kyle's gaze falls to him, and he sees Lucan's body in all its raw, glorious form.
His member is still as hard as before, standing proudly, demanding, pleading, silent in its need. The sight tears at Kyle, making him ache.
He sees the struggle in Lucan's every movement, in every muscle that tenses with effort, in the way his face contorts with frustration.
It fills Kyle with guilt, a sharp pang in his chest. He is Lucan's mate. He's supposed to help him with this.
That's what mates do, right? They ease the longing, they share the weight. But how can Kyle give that to him when he's drowning in his own torment?
He knows what Lucan needs, and yet, he cannot be the one to give it to him. The pain of that truth slices through him.
The fact that Lucan hasn't turned to someone else, despite clearly struggling, makes Kyle's ache even worse.
It shows him that Lucan doesn't want anyone else but him_ because if he did, he could have any woman he wanted.
Yet here he is, fighting his urges and holding back, waiting for Kyle to say he's ready to give him whatever he needs.
Lucan gazes at Kyle, a gaze so full of desire, yet tempered by something darker, sends a shiver down Kyle's spine. It's a look that makes him feel both wanted and utterly broken.
But Lucan doesn't climb into the bed. Instead, he turns away, his shoulders heavy with unspoken tension. He walks toward the couch, settling there in a silent retreat.
Lying on it, clearly not planning to share the bed with Kyle today.
The disappointment crashes into Kyle like a tidal wave.
It's sharp, bitter, and it rips through him, pulling him apart from the inside.
He was expecting Lucan to lie in bed with him. But he hasn't, he knows this is for the best, but it still disappoints him to tears.
Tears spring to his eyes, unbidden, and before he can stop them, they spill over. His chest tightens with the weight of it, and he's unable to keep the sobs at bay.
Why did it have to be him?
Why was he the one who had to suffer like this? Why couldn't he be the person Lucan needed him to be? It's more torturous than the thought of just confessing, of revealing to Lucan who he truly is.
At least then they would both know where they stood. Maybe Lucan would kill him, and they could end this madness, the constant pull between them, the unbearable weight of being someone he was never meant to be.
This makes him question why he is even living? Is it to wait for the witches to turn him into the beast he is?
Is he supposed to just sit here, waiting for them to twist him into a weapon of destruction, to tear apart everything Lucan cared about?
Or is he hoping, foolishly, that one day Lucan would know, that Lucan would see through the lies, would understand what he is and he would help him?
Help him fight this curse, fight whatever darkness is eating him from the inside out, and they could leave it all behind, together, in peace?
But no.
That's not possible, is it? Because everything Kyle has learned about the witches says they are the true evil.
They are the ones behind this war, the ones who've twisted everything. If they claim him, if he belongs to them... what's to stop him from being caught in the middle of their karma? Their vengeance? Death?
Kyle doesn't have a future. Not really. And he certainly doesn't have a place in Lucan's world.
Lucan will never accept him. Not like this. Not when he's not even the person he pretends to be.
The crushing weight of it all forces the sobs to come. They break free from his chest, raw and uncontrollable, no matter how hard he tries to keep them quiet.
He tries to breathe through the pain, but it's too much. He can't stop. The grief floods out of him, filling the room, thick and suffocating.
"Kyler?" Lucan's voice breaks through the storm in Kyle's mind, low and thick with concern.
Kyle freezes.
He hadn't realized how loud he was, how much he'd let his pain spill out. But now that Lucan has spoken, the reality of it all slams into him.
Kyle's entire body goes rigid. He can hear Lucan's footsteps approaching, slow but sure, each one a reminder that this moment, this fragile moment, is teetering on the edge of something irreversible.
His breath catches in his throat as Lucan comes closer, and all he can do is squeeze his eyes shut tighter, hoping that maybe, just maybe, Lucan won't see him, won't see the pain that's tearing him apart from the inside.
But Lucan's footsteps don't stop.