Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
But Miles definitely didn’t seem uncomfortable at all. He was clinging to Ian in his sleep, radiating contentment and peace, as if there wasn’t a place he’d rather be than in Ian’s arms.
Maybe that was why sharing a bed with another man was nowhere near as strange as one might have expected. It also probably helped that Ian didn’t really think of Miles as another man. Obviously, he didn’t think of him as a woman, either. Miles was just… Miles, a whole separate category of human being, who just happened to have a cock.
Ian had never really believed the notion that one could be attracted to a person without caring about their sex, but Miles really was a person for him first before he was his sex. A ridiculously endearing, likable sunshine of a boy who drew him in and looked at Ian as if he hung the moon and the stars.
Ian grimaced. Miles’s rapidly growing crush should have bothered him. Instead, he… fuck, he liked it. It was probably fucked up how much he liked it. If he were a better man, Miles’s obvious infatuation and growing trust would have concerned him instead of feeding his fixation on the guy.
Because Barbara had been absolutely correct: Ian was one greedy bastard. He’d always wanted for his partner to be his, body, heart, and soul—even though he himself had never felt the sort of commitment that he wanted from his women. It was selfish, greedy, and old-fashioned, as he’d been informed multiple times by his girlfriends. He’d tried to change himself for Regina, but after how that ended, he wasn’t doing it again. He was the way he was, flawed and problematic, but to hell with it. He was done pretending to be something he wasn’t. He was one fucked up asshole and he’d made peace with it.
Because he was fucked up. There had been women more than willing to give him what he wanted, women completely devoted to him and their relationship, but every time, it still hadn’t been enough. Ian had still felt dissatisfied, the bottomless hunger in the pit of his soul still there, restless and greedy. It could never be sated. Nothing was ever enough, his every attempt at a relationship failing to satisfy him.
It almost made Ian wonder if that old family tale had some truth to it.
The Caldwell curse, people called it in whispers.
Ian used to laugh at that story, calling it a fairytale for children, but with every failed relationship and the ever-present, growing feeling of dissatisfaction inside him, he couldn’t help but think of it and wonder.
His aunt had been the one to tell him that old story.
“Your great-great-great-great-great grandfather, Jonathan Caldwell, was one of the judges during the witch hunt of 1692,” Aunt Mary said. “Salem witch trials,” she clarified when she was met with his confused look. “He personally sentenced over a dozen witches to execution.”
Ian scoffed. “Witches aren’t real, Auntie.”
Aunt Mary hummed. “Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. Who knows? Personally, I don’t think there are any real witches left nowadays, but back then, people were much better connected to the earth and the old religion.”
Ian looked at her skeptically but chose not to argue. “And what happened?”
Aunt Mary frowned. “Among the people Jonathan sentenced to death, there was a handsome young man. When he was executed, his wife broke into hysterics and publicly cursed Jonathan and his line. She was arrested, but later she was found dead in her cell before her own hearing. There was no apparent reason for her death. Her cellmate said that the witch was muttering something about a curse before her death, too.”
As most boys were, Ian was fascinated by a mystery. “Really? So what exactly did she curse Jonathan with?”
Aunt Mary pursed her lips. “I believe it was something along these lines: ‘For what malice you have done, I curse you and your line to eternal hell and misery. May you never find peace until your loved ones grieve your loss as I grieve now.’” His aunt shivered, as if she were cold, and hugged herself. “It’s just a story, Ian,” she said with a weak smile, but even back then, as a boy of six, Ian had noticed that she didn’t seem all that sure.
The Caldwell family wasn’t exactly known for happiness or happy marriages. Divorce had been common for the Caldwells even when divorces hadn’t been common. Ian’s parents had barely talked to each other. His grandparents had been perfectly civil to each other—and that was the best thing that could be said about their marriage. Aunt Mary had never married. And then there was of course his own marriage to Regina.
Ian’s lips thinned at the thought. He pushed it away, not wanting to ruin the rare moment of peace and contentment. Christ, he hadn’t even known it was possible to feel this content. The restless beast under his skin was curiously quiet for now, satisfied for what felt like the first time in… ever.