Lance’s reflection was different today. Or maybe he just hadn’t seen the changes as they’d manifested. He looked used. Not well used – not sexed – used up. Golden eyes that once sparkled with constant mirth were coppery and flat. Dead. His laugh lines were more pronounced, but crisscrossed with marks of strain and stress.

He squinted at the man in his mirror, took note of his thin slash of lips – now also flat, no longer cocky or flirty.

Lance stared and knew that this was horrifying. Knew that he would be horrified except for the fact that what he felt was… nothing. He felt as flat as his reflection. That was scary. So scarily wrong. But he didn’t feel that, either.

His heart raced, reacting to the emotion that should exist, and his hands shook as he ran them through his hair. Empty. He was empty and he needed that back. That emotion. He needed emotion.

Panic. He should panic. Panic should be here.

But wait…

He could get emotion. Take it. He could. And then he’d have it back. He could… he just needed…

Someone else’s emotion.

That was all…

No problem.


Lance woke on a gasp. Holy… holy hell.