Steven Macklin wakes up in a ditch one morning in foul, wet weather with no idea where he is or how he came to be there. Seriously injured, he struggles across bleak heathland to find shelter. The only house he finds is weather-beaten and deserted, although he's too sensible a guy to fall for the cliche of a haunted mansion.<br><br>Isn't he?<br><br>When he collapses and is taken in by the handsome Eliot, Steven finds himself in a very disturbing situation -- and  in the bed of this strange, possessive man.

His Gift

The whole setting had the air of an idle country life, a privileged family riding to horse and hounds, a faded elegance. My stomach clenched again. I’d never been relaxed in the presence of either aristocracy or wealth. Call it jealousy; call it inverted snobbery; call it lack of my own confidence. Call it whatever you fucking well pleased, that was how I felt. 


Yet Eliot’s hand was secure around mine and I followed him willingly enough. He led me along a silent corridor, its windows draped with similar curtains as before, the doors of the same smooth wood, all tightly closed. There was no movement from the other rooms, and no sign of any other people that I could see. I fell a little way back, but never far enough to lose him: I never managed to break free of his grip. I was unnerved to realize I had no desire to. 


Chapter 5