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

He shook his head, and I saw his expression twist with rare anger. “Sometimes I do. Visitors…they’re not for you to worry about, not for you to see. They go away again, eventually. And friends aren’t easy for me to come by, I’ve told you that. Don’t concern yourself with such things, Steven. I have you, now. We have each other. That’s all I need. All I want.”


“What are you, Eliot?” I repeated myself in my frustration, I knew. “Why am I so bound to you? This isn’t reality, is it?”


He laughed, although it sounded unusually brittle. “What you think is real, is real. Steven, I know this to be true. I’ve lived with it all my life. When life has been cruel to me, I’ve created my own reality. You are here, in my house, my bed, my heart. You’re as real as…” He looked around the room but his gaze returned to me. “Tell me what you see on the table.”


I frowned, but I glanced over. “The water jug. My glass.”


Chapter 14