He could see the impatience in Aron’s clear gaze, his eagerness to leave this place and never look back. There were shadows as well in Aron’s eyes he didn’t understand. Was there a part of him, as well, that would miss this hall and its people? “Marcus, why don’t you join Aron and I?” Wulfgar’s voice was weary and resigned. Roman froze at the unnatural sound of his real name on Wulfgar’s lips. As far as he could remember, in all of the time he’d been a part of the thane’s household, Wulfgar had never referred to him as Marcus. It made him uncomfortable. Only Aron could call him that. Only Aron had seen the need to give him his own name. It had become a war between Aron and the thane, with Wulfgar insisting on calling him Roman and Aron answering back with his given name. At times, it had almost been amusing. It seemed Aron had won that particular battle. Roman’s eyes flickered to Aron’s as he made his way to the bed and sat down next to his lover, his fingers groping for Aron’s.
