4. There he is.
Chapter four
There he is...
Luka
T he transformation happened in a heartbeat, rippling through Nick like a stone through still water. One moment he’d been coiled for attack—all deadly precision and Society training—the next, something fundamental shifted beneath his skin. Not surrender.
Something else entirely.
Nick’s muscles released all at once, tension bleeding away with practiced ease. His posture melted from predator into something Luka couldn’t name, too controlled for defeat, too deliberate for collapse. The change felt manufactured, like watching a switch flip inside someone’s chest.
Luka’s beast stirred, curious and hungry. Prey submits , it purred, satisfaction rippling through him as Nick stopped fighting.
Pretty hunter . Take .
But beneath that instinctive response, wrongness clawed at Luka’s chest. Fear scent spiked through the air—acrid-sweet like hand sanitizer, climbing higher instead of plateauing. Nick’s heart raced while his exterior grew unnaturally calm.
Nick’s knees bent with impossible grace, lowering his body toward cold tile. His remaining hand positioned beneath one knee, his palm flat against the linoleum. The movement was fluid, practiced—muscle memory executing what must have taken years to perfect.
Luka heard the audible pops as Nick’s knuckles compressed under his own weight. Self-punishment. The hunter was deliberately making the position painful, creating unnecessary pressure points. Incorporating suffering into submission.
Conditioned.
Nick’s chin dropped to his chest and his breathing changed. Shallow, controlled, barely audible. Each exhale measured and regulated.
A physical ache burned in Luka as he watched the hunter retreat into himself.
His beast paced restlessly, matching Luka’s fierce desire to reverse whatever had caused this.
He wanted to hunt down whoever programmed this response into Nick Walsh, and tear them apart.
The intensity of his protective impulse was as immediate as it was utterly useless in the current moment.
Fix hunter ? His beast probed curiously.
He had no idea what to do.
Luka waved his hands desperately in Nick’s peripheral vision, trying to break through the trance-like state. No response. Nick’s gaze remained fixed downward, unmoving, unseeing. Luka moved closer, gestures becoming urgent, trying to penetrate whatever mental fortress Nick had retreated behind.
Silent tears leaked from beneath Nick’s lashes, hitting tile with tiny splashes. His whole body trembled with suppressed emotion while maintaining perfect positioning. Rigid control over the exterior while something inside seemed to shatter.
Luka had dealt with The Daylight Society more than once when he lived in Chicago. This wasn’t how their operatives responded to capture. The zealous hunters were trained to fight to the death, take their own lives rather than be taken.
How long had this taken to create? Who had done this?
The questions circled as he remembered similar broken people from his past—humans kept by the oldest vampires, conditioned over years into perfect servants. But Nick was a Society hunter. When had he been in vampire captivity long enough for this level of conditioning?
Luka knelt slowly, bringing himself to Nick’s level. He telegraphed each movement deliberately, avoiding anything that might read as threatening. He reached out and placed two fingers beneath Nick’s chin, lifting his face.
The eyes that met his were hollow, terrified pools—present but unreachable. He’d seen that exact expression before, on a young man in Chicago in 1987. An old one’s“pet”who’d been conditioned so long he’d forgotten his own name.
Luka mouthed words silently, not wanting to strain his damaged throat unless necessary. “It’s okay.” His lips shaped carefully. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He mouthed the phrases like a mantra, adding open-handed gestures that conveyed safety.
No response
After several failed attempts, Luka made a decision.
He placed his hands carefully on Nick’s shoulders, concentrating on activating his ability.
Energy transferred from him into Nick’s system, targeting pain receptors throughout the human’s body.
Fever, infection, joint strain, countless smaller hurts—all muted for the next twelve hours.
Nick’s eyes widened at the sudden absence of constant pain. Confusion flickered across his features as his body registered relief his mind couldn’t understand. The disorientation created the first crack in his conditioning—a moment of genuine reaction rather than programmed response.
Luka seized the opportunity, pointing to Nick’s hand trapped beneath his knee. He mimed a lifting motion, encouraging Nick to free himself from the painful position.
Nick remained motionless, maintaining eye contact but not moving. Fear seemed to paralyze him, that acrid scent pouring off him in a steady stream that choked the air around them.
Hold him ? His beast offered from a calm place.
No, that could make it worse. Patience, beastie. Luka told it.
Changing tactics, Luka sat cross-legged on the floor, deliberately making himself smaller, less imposing. His beast quieted, understanding the need for patience despite its rage at whoever had created this broken creature.
Minutes passed in silence. Nick’s breathing gradually slowed, some immediate terror in the air receding as no punishment came for his momentary confusion.
“I don’t know what you want me to do,”Nick finally whispered. The words carried desperate confusion, his voice so impossibly small compared to the snarling fighter he had seen just 7 hours before. Despite speaking, he maintained his submissive position, eyes fixed on Luka for cues.
Luka tapped his own palm softly, then extended it toward Nick, requesting his hand. The gesture was clear, simple—at least he hoped.
Nick’s compliance came with visible trembling, his hand pulled from beneath his knee and extending shakily toward Luka. His head bowed with the movement, as though he were too frightened to see what Luka would do with it.
Luka accepted the offered hand with exquisite care, cool fingers closing around Nick’s fevered ones with no sudden movements or excessive pressure. The human’s palm was calloused but surprisingly delicate—long fingers that might once have been elegant before hardship ravaged them.
Turning Nick’s arm carefully, Luka examined his wrist, finding what he’d suspected—multiple bite scars.
The marks weren’t random attacks; they showed systematic feeding over time with very little care for how the flesh healed.
Skin around the wrist bore weathered rope burns, evidence of chronic restraint.
Moving slowly, he pushed Nick’s sleeve up slightly, revealing more forearm. Intricate letter-like scarring became visible, a deliberate carving rather than accidental marking. Words, permanently etched into flesh.
Nick flinched violently, jerking backward.“Don’t —”Immediate terror flooded his face at his own objection.“I’m sorry, please just tell me what you want,”he begged, desperation replacing defiance.
Luka could feel rage, hot and insistent in normally cool veins, bubbling up in him. Both he and the beast were in agreement. Whoever did this needed to be destroyed. He fought to keep his expression neutral, not wanting Nick to misinterpret his rage as directed at him.
Seeking a different approach, Luka guided Nick’s hand to the hunter’s own throat, letting his fingers trace the rough, uneven scarring there. Nick’s eyes widened slightly in confusion, not understanding the purpose.
After giving Nick a moment to feel his own scar, Luka moved the human’s fingers toward his bearded throat. He guided Nick’s hand through thick facial hair, allowing him to discover what lay beneath—extensive scar tissue concealed for decades. Damage that mirrored Nick’s own.
Nick’s fingers moved hesitantly through coarse hair, finding ridged tissue hidden beneath. His touch was light, exploring the extent of throat damage with growing comprehension. Careful , his beast warned, hackles raised. Broken hunter , still hunter .
I don’t think he’s going to hurt us , Luka insisted, though he offered the beast no evidence.
Something shifted in Nick’s expression. The vacant submission receded slightly, replaced by genuine curiosity.
His fingers traced the hidden scar with careful attention, mapping its boundaries.
Consciousness flickered, beyond the fear and disgust Luka had seen on display before. A light turned on behind his eyes.
There he is.
Nick’s fingers stilled against Luka’s throat, resting lightly over damaged tissue. His eyes, now fully present, searched Luka’s face with newfound awareness. The emptiness receded, replaced by something fragile but unmistakably human.
Speaking would hurt, but this moment needed his voice. Luka pushed through the sensation of steel wool scraping his throat, forcing air passed damaged vocal cords.
“Hard to speak,”he rasped, each syllable feeling like razor wire dragging through his larynx. The pain flared bright and immediate, then faded as quickly as it came.“Let me help. Please.”
“Why?”Nick whispered, the question barely audible but genuine. His submissive position had relaxed, rigid compliance giving way to authentic curiosity.
Luka felt the familiar a calm settle over him, the rightness of this moment. Sometimes questions didn’t need analysis. Sometimes the answer was simply what it was.
I don’t know. He shrugged.