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Summary
“You dare suggest one such as I might need your companionship?” Ice, sharper than any knife, laced every syllable. A warning if Hob were a smarter man. He was not a smarter man.
"Yes, yes I do."
He could feel the fall approaching yet do nothing to slow his momentum, too hell bent on proving his theory. One that had been gnawing away at his mind for the last century. Memories of his stranger’s barely there smile, words of concern for his safety that cracked his chest open like a walnut and left him hopelessly addicted with only the one taste to sustain him through a century of pining.