Talvace

The far side of the bed was cold, the blankets drawn up and tucked beneath the lip of the bed. When Dominic’s hand reached for the man who had been lying there the night before, it found only cold fabric and empty space. A pang of panic? Disappointment? Hurt? Went through the man’s chest, but was soon drowned out by a wave of nausea and the stab of mistakes he always swore he’d never make again.  An undignified groan pulled itself from the mage’s chest as his eyes slowly creaked open like twin drawbridges stiff with neglect and stuck shut with moss and rust. A sliver of sun snuck through a moth-eaten hole in one of the curtains, illuminating a myriad of dustmotes waltzing toward the floor. If the sun was up, then so was Jochi, and so Dominic would have to be if he wanted to claim the man’s company. When had he gotten so domestic that a hangover would send him crawling into the lap of a man like the farmer who’s bed he’d taken to sharing? He snorted, squeezed his eyes shut, took a