Chapter 394: A Hunger Born of Fear
The sunny autumn afternoon had shifted into something dark and restless. Just an hour ago, the streets had been calm, couples strolling with shopping bags, families sitting in a cafe enjoying desserts, and children laughing with balloons in hand.
Now, dark, gloomy clouds covered the sky, and a harsh, cold wind lifted the yellow leaves on the ground into the air, scattering them through the high-end district. Bundled-up passersby clutched their coats tighter as they rushed back to their homes, eager to escape the upcoming storm.
All, except Micah.
He stood in the shadow of a narrow alley behind the restaurant, his back pressed to the damp brick wall, trying to steady himself. His mind buzzed with too many thoughts, eyes darting around. He clutched the phone Aidan had given him in one hand while his other hand pressed against his chest where a small white pouch rested beneath his blouse. The one Clyde had given him had been turned into a necklace, hanging like a talisman.
A few minutes ago, his hand brushed against it by accident, and to his surprise, the touch had calmed him. Clyde’s pouch. Even this small thing felt powerful, simply because it was tied to Clyde’s name.
Micah inhaled shakily. His wig, already damp from the drizzle, clung to his cheeks. A drop of rain slid down from the strands, rolling against his temple. He brushed away with trembling hands. He had forced his exhausted body to move to the back alley, irritated by people’s gaze. The high-end district had turned empty after the wind turned sharp. The bright side, no one was there to bother him. The downside, there was no one to help him either if things went wrong.
His body had gone far past its limit. Bruises throbbed beneath his blouse, and his legs wobbled under his weight. Still, he needed to move.
His gaze lifted to the back door of the restaurant. Clyde. He had to ask about Clyde. Was he still inside? Had he left without leaving a message for him? Either way, his only hope was that restaurant.
Step by step, Micah pushed forward, his hand gripping the wall for balance.
His vision turned blurry, his knees shook. Before he could reach the door, he tripped; his foot caught the uneven stone. His body leaned forward. Micah closed his eyes, bracing for the impact, but instead of the ground, two arms wrapped around him from behind, steady, firm, pulling him back into solid warmth.
Micah didn’t need to turn his head. The sandalwood scent wrapped around him like a shield. Micah inhaled sharply, savouring it.
The hands that steadied him shifted, turning him until Micah faced him.
Micah felt his throat tighten, eyes welling up. He didn’t care they were standing in the middle of an alley. He didn’t care that anyone might see. He lifted his trembling hand, ignoring the pain in his body, and clasped Clyde’s face. His palms met warm, wet skin.
He tilted his head up, wanting to see the man, but tears had turned his vision to a fog. He blinked rapidly, frustrated.
"Clyde..." he whispered. His lips quivered, ready to pour his grievance out. He wanted to scream, to curse Aidan, to tell how scared he was. But before he could speak another word, his mouth was sealed with hot lips, swallowing the rest of his words.
Micah froze. His tears blurred everything into light and shadow, but he felt everything from the press of Clyde’s lips, urgent and unyielding, to the warmth piercing into him like fire through ice. His palms still rested on Clyde’s face, and beneath them he felt wetness, not just rain, something thicker. But his mind refused to catch up.
His lips were captured. No, it wasn’t gentle per se. Nothing like the tender first kiss he had once imagined it should be. There was no gentleness here. No softness. Only heat, urgency, and a raw hunger that sent tingles racing through his body, filling him with a feeling he couldn’t name.
Then Clyde’s hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the damp strands of his wig. He tilted Micah’s head back, deepening the kiss.
The background world turned into silence as Micah’s focus narrowed to this point of contact. At first, he was rigid, overwhelmed, stunned. But then he met Clyde’s eyes, the intensity, the meaning behind them melted him. His lashes fluttered shut.
Micah’s breath caught in his throat, his body turning into a puddle of mush. His knees buckled under him, soft tremor ran through his body. Clyde pressed him against the wall, tilting his head to the side, and bit Micah’s bottom lip.
Micah hissed, mouth opened to protest, but he didn’t get a chance. The innocent brush of lips turned fierce, unrestrained. Clyde’s mouth moved hungrily against his, breath warm and quick. And then Clyde’s tongue brushed against his.
Micah gasped from the sudden invasion.
Clyde’s tongue wandering inside his mouth, desperate. Micah whimpered from the force of it.
The urgency in Clyde’s motions spoke of fear, of loss, of finding him again after too close a call.
Micah didn’t resist. The man had been pushed to the corner until he snapped. For someone as restrained as Clyde to lose his control like this... his disappearance had affected him too deeply.
At last, Clyde broke the kiss, his mouth pulling away with reluctant slowness. Micah leaned on the man’s chest, unable to stand on his own. He was breathless. Lips tingling. Tongue numb. Mind buzzing. For a moment, his mind had turned blank, nothing inside but white noise. He tilted his head upward, wanting to see the man’s face. The man was too quiet. Too still. He hadn’t spoken a word.
Micah’s gaze focused, and he gasped. A wound stood jarring on his forehead, blood dripping down. "What the hell?" Micah’s voice broke.
He reached out to it, noticing his own hands had smeared red. The dark clouds had concealed the bright colour.
Micah’s hands trembled. "What is this? Why are you injured?"
Micah stared at Clyde, those pale blue eyes met his, unfamiliar. Too intense. Too dark. Heavier than anything Micah had seen before.
It made him shiver.