The blood still clung to him, phantom and persistent. It crawled over his skin even now.
And Ravok knew it.
Eric could hear him whining softly in the back of his mind, a low, wounded sound that echoed through their shared consciousness. Guilt. Ravok felt everything now. Eric's disappointment. His shame. His horror at what they had become together.
Hence the whining.
They had never been this synchronized before. Before, Ravok had been a storm behind a wall, contained, muted, tolerated. Now there was no wall. They were not two beings negotiating space. They were two truths occupying the same breath.
Separate souls, one body. And no pretending otherwise.
Eric stared out the window as trees rushed past.
He felt Cyril's eyes on him.
Persistent. Concerned. Annoyingly loyal.
He exhaled slowly. "Spit it out, Cyril," he muttered. "You look like you're about to combust."
