Sylvain stood frozen in the kitchen long after the sound of Silas's footsteps faded down the hallway. The ultimate Silas gave him still echoed in his ears—prepare yourself properly.
His hands trembled as he finished cleaning the last dish, the clink of porcelain sounding too loud in the quiet penthouse. Every nerve in his body was already alight with a sick mix of dread and unwanted anticipation.
He showered quickly in the guest bathroom, the hot water doing nothing to calm the racing of his heart. He dried himself with shaking hands, then hesitated in front of the mirror.
The fresh bite mark on his shoulder from the previous night was still dark and tender. He touched it lightly and shivered. There was no point in delaying.
When he finally stepped into the master bedroom, the lights were dimmed low. Silas was already waiting.
