Lips pressed against Lyle’s cheek, his ear, his throat and with his eyes closed, Lyle absorbed the energy in them as if Rafe was his own personal charger. He lifted his hand to Rafe’s throat and touched, stroked, tried to soothe Rafe’s skin through touch and sheer desire. Only then did the shift that had given his left hand strength begin to shed its wolf accessories. Claws fell. Fur sloughed. Lyle did not bother to figure out if it was blood or tears that slicked Rafe’s cheek as Lyle touched it.
When he finally opened his eyes, Rafe kissed his mouth. It was the sweetest thing Lyle had ever tasted.
“Don’t you ever tell me you don’t know how to keep a promise,” Rafe whispered.
Lyle smiled. He closed his eyes again and rested his forehead against Rafe’s. “I’m learning,” he said. “I’m lear
