A Shadow of Wings by Linda Gayle Page B

that voice that calmed savage beasts. He lifted a hand and stroked it over Cam’s chest, settled the palm over his racing heart. “What’s got you so scared, huh? You’re safe here.”
    To Cam’s horror, a great ball of emotion rose up to choke him. He swallowed it down and knotted his fists by his side. The desperation with which he wanted this connection with Dylan rocked him to his core. It was unnatural, what he was feeling. Sinful. “You saw what happened to your neighbor. That’s nothing. Nothing compared to…what I can do.”
    “I told you”—Dylan continued his gentle stroking, moving closer still—“I’m not afraid of you.”
    “You should be,” Cam whispered just as Dylan kissed him. Soft, soft lips, light and undemanding. Then again, openmouthed, tongue touching Cam’s lower lip. Cam shivered, every ounce of his being focused on that light, damp pressure.
    Just as he started to lean into it, hands sliding around Dylan’s hips, Dylan drew back. “Let’s eat. First,” he said, and with a sly smile, took Cam by the hand and gently led him like a lamb to the mattress.
     
    Dylan lit a candle in a jar and set it off to one side while Cam tried to get comfortable on the air mattress. He blew out the match. In the yellow glow, Cam looked supremely uneasy, eyes darting beneath the hank of dark hair that fell over his forehead, his fingers lacing and unlacing. Probably if he could have gotten up and started pacing, he would have. The gold collar gleamed. Without a word, Dylan went to get plastic-ware for them and a couple of leftover microwave dishes he’d saved from the times he’d gotten frozen dinners. He pulled open the minifridge. “I got beer and water. Pick your poison.”
    “Beer. Please.” That soft, lilting voice wavered with uncertainty. Dylan liked it. He planned to keep Cam off balance all night, tipping, teetering until he fell right into Dylan’s arms. He knew he’d nearly lost him a minute ago. Cam had been ready to run. This issue would need to be approached delicately, sidelong, with quiet steps and whispered words to convince Cam to stay. Dylan wanted more of those trembling kisses and fingers clutching at him as if Dylan was Cam’s lifeline. He needed to understand what had Cam so freaked. Okay, so maybe Dr. M was right and Dylan had a hell of a rescuer streak. So what?
    He took the caps off the bottles of two Bud Lights and brought them over to the mattress. “It’s all right, baby. It really is. Your brother doesn’t know where I live, and if you’re worried about old Jose, trust me, even if he called the cops, they wouldn’t show. Only thing that would bring them down to this neighborhood would be a murder.”
    “Are there many of those?”
    “Enough. There’re a few gangs around here. Cops can’t keep a lid on ’em.” He shrugged and sat cross-legged across from him on the air mattress, which whistled under his weight. “Much as I don’t like Jose, him and that shotgun keep us safer.” He took a drink of his beer and watched Cam roll his bottle between his palms, his gaze focused on the candle in the jar. Gently, Dylan reached out and rubbed his fingers across Cam’s knee. 
    Cam startled a little, then visibly relaxed under the soft pressure. Dylan spread his palm over Cam’s thigh, stroking, watching his face, where a dozen conflicting emotions roiled. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
    Cam closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know.”
    He didn’t know what he wanted. That was the real message. Suddenly, Dylan didn’t care if they ate either. Nothing intrigued him more than this shy, complicated kid sitting across from him. But he knew if he rushed things, he might scare Cam off, so instead of doing what his dick demanded, he leaned back and opened the Chinese food bag.
    “Can you get the plates? There—” He nodded toward where he’d left the old microwave-dinner dishes, and Cam picked them up. Dylan served out the rice and lo mein. The