13. Show me what youve got, chef.
Chapter thirteen
Show me what you've got, chef...
Nick
N ick stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, the click of the latch offering a small measure of security. The shower beckoned with its promise of hot water and temporary peace.
A folded piece of paper sat on the bathroom counter, his name written in Luka’s neat handwriting across the front. Nick unfolded it, reading the brief message: ‘ Going to wash up in the other bathroom. Take your time. You’re safe here.’
The simple reassurance felt like permission to be vulnerable, to let his guard down for however long hot water lasted. Nick set the note aside and began stripping off his blood-stained shirt, the fabric stiff with dried gore from their escape.
The metallic scent clung to the cotton, a reminder of violence that felt both foreign and familiar. He killed vampires before—countless times for the Society—but this felt different. Personal. His jeans followed, and he kicked the pile of filthy clothes into the corner.
How long since either of them had beentrulyclean?
The hospital stay didn’t count—he’d been too afraid to shower, too vulnerable with IV lines and Luka nearby.
Gas station sinks and quick rinses with bottled water had been his only hygiene for months.
Even Luka carried the scent of too many days without proper bathing, though he’d been too polite to mention Nick’s far worse state.
The shower handle turned with a satisfying click, and hot water cascaded from the showerhead in a steady stream. Nick tested the temperature with his fingers—perfect. Not scalding like Gianmarco’s baths, not the punishing ice-cold spray the Society used for conditioning. Just warm, clean water.
He stepped under the stream andimmediatelygroaned with relief. The heat soaked into his muscles, washing away months of tension and grime. His mind tried to drift toward darker memories—cold Society showers, Gianmarco’s porcelain tub—but he pushed those voices down with deliberate force.
Just be here.
The quiet voice that felt like home grew stronger with each passing second under the spray. This was what he wanted—to be Nick again, to experience something as simple as hot water without cataloging threats or seeking approval.
He scrubbedmethodically, working suds across his chest and down his remaining arm.
The infection site looked better, pink and healthy instead of the angry red it had been.
Luka’s care hadliterallysaved his life.
The vampire could have let him die in that junkyard.
Instead, he chose to help a hunter who’d been trying to kill him.
From beyond the bathroom door came the faint sound of water running elsewhere in the house—Luka keeping his promise, giving Nick privacy while taking care of his own needs. The thoughtfulness of it struck him again, another small kindness that felt revolutionary.
Water cascaded down his torso, revealing the damage mapped across his skin. Raised scars along his ribs, markings that told a story he didn’t want to read right now. The part of him that was still Nick whisperedfirmly: Not today. Today you’re just Nick, taking a shower.
He didn’t linger on the examination, didn’t trace each mark or relive each memory. Instead, he focused on the sensation of becoming clean, of washing away layers of neglect and fear.
His hair needed cutting. The beard itching his jaw had grown wild. Nick shut off the water and stepped out, water dripping onto the bath mat as he approached the mirror.
The reflection that stared back made his breath catch. Wild eyes in a gaunt face, hair hanging past his shoulders in tangled waves. The beard covered half his features, uneven and unkempt. He looked like a man who’d been living rough for months—which, he supposed, he had been.
Nick dug through his pile of discarded clothes, retrieving his worn boots. Hidden in the left one, wrapped in plastic, was his old driver’s license. Expired now, but the photo showed a different person. Shorter hair, clean-shaven face. Still hollow-eyed but morerecognizablyhuman.
The bathroom had basic supplies—a pair of scissorsprobablymeant for first aid, and a disposable razor that had seen better days. Nick hefted the scissors, testing their sharpness against a strand of hair. They’d do.
He began cutting, working from the back forward. Clumps of dark hair fell into the sink as he carved away months of neglect. The result wasn’t professional, but it wasdefinitelybetter. More like the man in the photo.
The razor came next. Three passes with soap and hot water removed the worst of the beard, revealing sharp cheekbones and a jaw he’d almost forgotten he had.
The face in the mirror looked more familiar now instead of the broken thing from the penthouse or the feral creature from the truck bed, but something approaching Nick Walsh.
This is who I choose to be, said that quiet voice inside him, the one that sounded like home. Not their victim. Not their weapon. Me.
He allowed himself a moment to study the stranger in the mirror. His cheekbones looked sharper without the beard hiding them, his jaw more defined. The hollows beneath his eyes remained, but something in his gazechanged. Less hunted animal, more... person.
The towel wrapped around his waist felt secure, but as he turned toward his clothes, realization struck. In his rush to get clean, he left the bag of supplies Lukabrought out in the kitchen. His dirty clothes lay in a heap on the floor—unwearable, crusted with blood and sweat.
The hunter tried to resurface with warnings about exposure and vulnerability, but Nick pushed it down. He wasn’t interested in tactical analysis right now. He just needed to solve a practical problem.
The shower curtain caught his eye with its hideous nautical pattern with faded anchors and rope designs. It would work.
He climbed onto the closed toilet lid, reaching for the plastic rings holding the curtain to the rod. His balance wavered, his center of gravity still unfamiliar with the missing weight of his left hand. He managed to unhook several rings before yanking the whole thing free with one decisive pull.
Nick wrapped the curtain around his torso, holding the plastic closed at his neck with his hand. The material crinkledloudlywith each movement, the anchors and sailboats making him look ridiculous, but it served its purpose.
He cracked the bathroom door, peering into the hallway. Empty. He stepped out, the shower curtain rustling like leaves with each movement. Three steps toward the kitchen and he froze.
Luka stood in the living room, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his waist. Water droplets slid down his chest and shoulders, tiny soap suds still clinging to his skin. His hair hung in wet strands around his face, darker when wet. A trail of water marked his path across the wooden floor.
They stared at each other for a frozen moment. Luka looked startled rather than threatening—his eyes wide, body tense as if ready to flee. He’dclearlyrushed from wherever he’d been bathing, leaving puddles in his wake.
Nick recovered first, his practical mind cataloging the obvious: Luka was wet,in a towel, looking concerned rather than predatory. The vampire pointed to his ears and made an expansive gesture with his free hand, eyebrows raised in question.
“I didn’t have enough towels,”Nick explained.“Needed to get clothes from the bag.”
Relief washed over Luka’s features. He crossed to the duffel bag on the counter, retrieved two items of clothing for himself, then approached Nick with it.
Nick tucked his chin down to hold the shower curtain closed against his chest, extending his hand to reach the bag without letting the plastic slip. The awkward positioning made the exchange clumsy, but he managed to keep himself covered.
“Could you... not look?”Nick asked, hating how the request sounded but needing the boundary.“While I change?”
Luka nodded, turning to face the wall without hesitation. Something in his expression looked reluctant, though he didn’t pause to protest.
Nick clutched the bag to his chest, retreating back toward the bathroom. As he changed into clean clothes—soft, worn jeans and a faded t-shirt that smelled like laundry detergent—he found himself wondering about that look of reluctance.
The hunterimmediatelysupplied sinister possibilities, but Nick shut it down before it could gain momentum. The quiet voice inside offered a simpler explanation, Maybe he just wanted to make sure you were okay.
Nick finished dressing and headed back to the living room. Luka still faced the wall, pulling on a shirt, giving Nick an unobstructed view of his bare skin before the fabric covered it.
There were scars. Dozens of them scattered across Luka’s back and shoulders. Some formed crude patterns, others looked like puncture wounds, thick and puckered. None had the precise quality of more deliberate work. These were brutal, utilitarian marks of pain.
Luka said turning didn’t heal what was already there. These scars predated his transformation. Someone hurt him—badly—before he became a vampire.
Questions burned on Nick’s tongue, but he held them back. Not because of fear or conditioning, but because he recognized the moment wasn’t right. Instead, he cleared his throatsoftly, announcing his presence as Luka finished dressing.
Luka turned around, hands held out at waist level where Nick couldeasilysee them. The deliberate carefulness of the gesture wasn’t lost on Nick—not threatening, not hiding anything, just present and aware.
His eyes were that mesmerizing mixture of jade and emerald green, warm with something that looked like delight as he took in Nick’s cleaned up appearance.
Nick became aware that Luka was studying him with equal attention, something appreciative in his gaze that made Nick’s stomach flutter. He averted his eyes, heat rising to his cheeks.
This is normal. This is what it feels like to be human.
Luka waved his hand, catching Nick’s attention. When Nick looked back, the vampire gestured toward hisnewlyshorn hair and clean-shaven face, his expression curious and questioning.
“Does it look bad?”Nick asked, the words escaping before he could stop them. The vulnerability of the question surprised him, but it felt... honest. Real. The kind of thing someone might ask when they cared about another person’s opinion.
Luka’s face lit up. He began signingenthusiastically, his hands moving tooquicklyfor Nick to follow, but his excitement was unmistakable. His smile widened as his fingers danced through signs Nick couldn’t understand.
Nick staredblankly, unable to keep up. Luka paused mid-gesture, seeming to realize Nick was lost. His expression softened as he grabbed his notebook from the counter, scrawling quickly before turning the notebooktoward Nick:‘ It looksreallygood. I can see your whole face now.’
Nick’s hand roseunconsciouslyto touch his jaw, fingertips tracing the exposed skin. The compliment landedwarmlyin his chest, simple and genuine.
“Thanks,”Nick managed.“Had to get rid of all the... tangles.”
Luka nodded, understanding flickering across his features. He wrote:‘ Hungry? I can make eggs.’
The mention of food sparked a hollow ache in Nick’s gut. The protein bars earlier had been the first real sustenance he’d had in days, and his bodysuddenlyremembered what actual hunger felt like.
“You cook?”
Luka’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he nodded. He pantomimed cracking eggs, then pointed to himself and made an elaborate chef’s kiss gesture that was so theatrical it was impossible not to find charming.
A laugh bubbled up Nick’s throat, startling them both. The sound was still rusty, unfamiliar, but real in way that made his mind hum with satisfaction—this was what it had been waiting for, this moment of simple human connection.
“Okay,”Nick said.“Show me what you’ve got, chef.”