63. Sina
Hours passed before I moved from the bed. I wasn’t even sure what time it was now. All I knew was the deep, aching loneliness settling into my bones.
I missed my guys.
How had it been just yesterday morning that I’d woken up between Ki, Low, and Rafe in this very room, their bodies warm and solid around me?
My body felt like it had lived a week in a single day.
God , no wonder I was still exhausted.
The sun was already well into the sky, which meant it was probably close to noon.
I’d woken once late last night, starving, the smell of chicken noodle soup dragging me out of a night terror.
At the time, I hadn’t questioned who brought it.
I’d practically scarfed it down where I sat and fallen straight back onto the pillows before I could think about how it got there or why.
In the light of day, though, I knew exactly who it had been.
Nikolai.
Now the tray was gone, which meant someone had been in here twice while I slept.
Quiet enough not to disturb me. That thought warmed my chest. Why it didn’t bother me I wasn't sure. I flopped back against the mattress and stared at the ceiling, my chest tight. I couldn’t hide in here forever.
Sleeping through the aftermath didn’t make it disappear.
I was going to have to deal with it. With Dr. Bloom… Elias. Fuck .
How was it that my only friend had turned out to be Nik’s decades-old boyfriend?
I pushed a hand over my face and sat up, the sheets twisting around my legs. Now that I was fully awake, the room felt too still, my spiraling thoughts pressing in from every side. My stomach growled, and my bladder screamed for attention.
I crossed to the window and pulled the curtain back just enough to let light spill in.
Afternoon, or close to it. The sky was pale and washed out, that gray-blue that made it hard to tell how much time had really passed.
I watched it for a moment, grounding myself, before my bladder won the internal argument.
I stumbled into the walk-in closet and was immediately overwhelmed by the choices.
Even though I was grateful for the fully stocked wardrobe, courtesy of Nik, the sheer excess made my head spin.
I didn’t want options. I wanted familiar.
Comfort. I quickly got ready, slipping into a pair of expensive jeans I did not want to think about the price of and Harlow’s sweatshirt he’d left behind yesterday.
I lifted the fabric to my nose and breathed in, letting his scent wash over me.
God, how was it possible to miss someone this much?
Tears burned behind my eyes. I blinked them back and fought the urge to crawl right back into bed.
I grabbed my phone off the dresser. Missed calls and texts. All from Jackson. My chest tightened instantly. Shit . My shift yesterday. I’d completely forgotten. Panic flared hot and sharp.
Had something happened? Had Keith gone there looking for me?
“No no no,” I muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed as I opened the most recent message.
Jackson :
Don’t worry about coming in.
I’m closing the bar through the weekend.
Take care of yourself.
I read it twice.
Closing Jack’s through the weekend didn’t make sense. I’d never known him to shut the bar down, not even on a holiday. Not unless—
Understanding slid into place. My guys. They’d influenced this. A way to keep Keith from harming them. Relief hit so hard it stole the breath from my lungs, and I had to close my eyes for a second. I hadn’t even realized how tightly I’d been bracing until I didn’t have to anymore.
“One less thing to worry about.” I slipped the phone into my pocket and took a steadying breath.
I couldn’t hide forever.
Sliding my feet into the comfiest pair of slippers, I opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
My gaze immediately locked on the closed door across the hall.
Nik’s office. Heat flared sharp and bitter in my chest as my jaw clenched.
I glared at the door as I passed, fury simmering low.
He’d been right across the hall from me this whole time.
Jerk.
He had some serious groveling to do. Food wasn’t going to erase everything between us. He was going to have to prove, really prove, that he wouldn’t just abandon me again.
I paused at the top of the stairs, one hand gripping the banister, and let myself breathe before taking the first step down. Because now that I knew monsters were real, my mind wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone.
The panther dream crept in uninvited. Keith’s body changing.
The spray of blood. The way he tried to claim me as his, curled through the memory like a brand burned too deep to fade.
I’d spent the past year convincing myself it wasn’t real.
Just a trauma response. Symbolism. My mind trying to survive violence by turning it into something else.
Bloom had explained it so calmly, so reasonably, until I’d accepted it as fact.
I’d believed him because it let me sleep.
But now I lived in a house full of vampires who carried beasts under their skin. Fuck . Monsters existed. Which meant I couldn’t keep pretending my memory was wrong.
Keith was the rogue. He was a vampire. He was the panther who slaughtered his own brother just to claim me .
So why did I remember it wrong?
The thought hit like ice sliding down my spine. Because someone made me remember it wrong. The realization hit hard enough that my foot slipped on the step. I caught myself on the railing, heart slamming, anger flaring hot and immediate.
Elias had compelled me.
There was no other explanation. I stood there gripping the banister, letting the thought settle even as it burned.
I’d trusted him. Trusted the certainty in his voice when he told me my mind was protecting itself. That nothing supernatural had happened. That Keith was just a man.
My stomach twisted, sharp and mean.
What else did he compel from me?
The question wouldn’t fuck off. I wasn’t ready to confront him. Not yet. But the trust I’d once had cracked clean down the middle, and there was no fitting it back together the way it had been.
I forced myself down the rest of the stairs.
The kitchen was already lit when I stepped into it, and Nik sat at the bartop with a glass of blood in his hand, his posture loose but alert, his gaze fixed somewhere past the counter.
He looked up the moment he sensed me and set his drink aside without a word and crossed the space between us in a few measured steps, stopping just short of touching me.
Like he wanted to pull me into his arms and was choosing not to.
“How did you sleep, little mate?”
“Uh… fine, I guess? As well as anyone would after finding out everything I did yesterday.”
Nik hummed softly. “Do you need anything?”
The genuine look of concern threw me for a loop .
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I narrowed my eyes. “It’s suspicious.”
He sighed, like I was being deliberately difficult. “You asked me to give this a chance. So I am. If you still want that.”
He sounded… unsure . I didn’t like it. I stared at him for a beat.
“Okay, enough. Who are you and what did you do with my Nik?”
His body went still. Just for a second, but I saw it.
“Yours?” he echoed.
My cheeks flamed. Shit . I hadn’t meant to say it like that, but it was how I felt. No matter how much the man infuriated me, no matter how angry I was, he was still mine.
“Yes,” I lifted my chin. “Even if I am still mad at you.”
Something in his expression shifted. The tension eased. Then he smiled, lazy and slow and breathtaking, and for a moment the permanent scowl he wore like armor disappeared entirely.
God , why was he so fucking gorgeous?
I shifted my weight, suddenly too aware of how close he was standing, of how the air between us felt warmer, heavier.
“You’re being weird. Don’t smile like that.”
Chuckling, he turned to the fridge and started pulling things out.
Eggs. Vanilla. Bread. Cinnamon. He moved with quiet purpose around the kitchen gathering ingredients, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that should’ve been illegal, and every few seconds his gaze flicked in my direction like he wanted to say something and didn’t quite know how to start.
It made my chest ache in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” I rubbed at my temples, “can you for once just say it, Nik? Please . I don’t have the energy for your brand of control today. ”
He froze for half a second, thinking. His jaw tightened as he reached for a mixing bowl and started cracking eggs into it, movements precise, a little too careful.
“When you left my office yesterday,” he said, not looking at me, “I was sure you’d run.” I opened my mouth to argue, because of course he wanted to have this tired conversation, but he lifted one hand without turning around. “Let me finish.”
I shut my mouth, exhaled through my nose, and slid onto one of the stools at the bartop. The same one I’d sat on the first day I’d come here for lunch, back when I’d been oblivious to everything but the fact Nik was a fake therapist.
God, that was a lifetime ago.
“I was worried we pushed you too far,” he continued, while whisking the eggs. I had to force myself not to stare at the corded muscles in his forearms as they flexed with the motion. “And I realized how much I would hate it if you left us.” His shoulders shifted just slightly. “ If you left me. ”
That got my attention.
“What? I might be pissed at you, but I’m not leaving.”
He smirked, but it didn’t have any of that usual mischief in it. It was softer, like he was easing around the edges. For me . Fuck, this man had way too much charisma for his own good.
Nikolai set the bowl down and dropped a slab of butter into the pan. It sizzled immediately, his ears reddening in a way that had to be a vampire thing because there was no way in hell the man was blushing.
Was he?
“And I guess what I’m trying to say...” He dipped bread into the batter. “I'm relieved to see some of your fire coming back.”
I stared at him. Really stared. Because this wasn’t control. This wasn’t manipulation or strategy or him trying to steer me somewhere. This was honesty. Awkward, uncomfortable honesty that clearly hadn’t been rehearsed. Something in my chest loosened.
“I’m still mad at you. But I’m glad you finally pulled your head out of your ass,” I teased him, despite myself.
His mouth twitched. “I know.”
I looked away before he could see how close that answer came to undoing me.
“Just don’t burn the french toast.”
“I would never.” He slid a plate across the bar to me, then went to the fridge and poured me a glass of apple juice. “It would’ve been freshly squeezed orange juice,” he added dryly, “but someone decided it was better used as a weapon.”
I snorted and took my first bite. I moaned at the maple and brown sugar sweetness. And for the first time since I’d walked downstairs, the kitchen didn’t feel like a battlefield.
It felt like hope. A fragile one. But one I wanted to let myself imagine.