15. Chamomile tea, five sugars. #2
Luka picked up his notebook, considering his response. Possessiveness flared—they didn’t want Nick to leave yet. This felt unfinished, precious in its fragility.
He wrote:‘ We can leave whenever. Only about 30 minute drive.’
As he slid the notepad across the table, he caught something flickering across Nick’s features—a brief flash of what might have been disappointment before his expression returned to careful neutrality.
Interesting. Nick didn’t want to leave either.
Stay , his beast urged. More time . He’s healing here .
Luka pulled the notepad back, instinct guiding his pen: ‘ We can spend another day here if you need more rest. The antibiotics need time to work. We’re way out in Secor. Society unlikely to find us.’
Nick’s shoulders relaxed as he read the addition, his scent shifting toward warmth.“Maybe that’s smart,”he said, fingers tracing the rim of his coffee mug.“Just to make sure they cleared out of the area.”
Luka nodded, keeping his expression flat despite quiet satisfaction blooming in his chest. Contentment hummed through him. He wants to stay with us .
More time. The thought should have triggered anxiety about Ophelia’s three-day deadline, about the growing risk of discovery. Instead, Luka felt only relief. Whatever was growing between them needed space to breathe, to develop at Nick’s pace rather than external pressure.
They sat in comfortable silence before Nick stirred.“If something else happens, we need a way for you to warn me. Like a signal in case you’re far.”
Practical hunter thinking, but also trust—Nick planning for their continued partnership. Luka considered for a moment, then pursed his lips and whistled a single, clear note that hung in the air between them.
Nick tilted his head, expression contemplative.“That’s good. B-flat natural.”His eyebrows raised, as if surprised by his own knowledge.“We can have that mean “heads up or get down depending on context”.”
Luka nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting. The danger signal felt right—simple, distinctive, carrying meaning between them.
He reached for his pen:‘ Do you think they’ll keep coming for you?’
Nick read the note and paused, taking a long sip of coffee. The sweetness seemed to fortify him, his scent holding steady despite the difficult topic.
“Yes, they will,”he answered.“I’m surprised they didn’t come for me sooner after what happened with Henderson.”
Luka nodded, writing again:‘ I knew about the warehouse events. Not the full extent.’ He hesitated, then added with gentle invitation:‘ Share?’
Nick paused, darkness flickering across his eyes. The concrete scent strengthenedslightly, but Nick was staying present even while discussing tactical matters.
“I was doing what the Society trained me to do,”he saidflatly.“Find vampires and kill them. Use any leverage possible.”His fingers tightened around the mug.“I hadn’t prepared myself for that leverage being my own brother.”
“And I killed Henderson. It’s one of the Society’s greatest rules—don’t harm other operatives.”He stared into his coffee.“It’s likely they want me dead now. I’m just not sure how they found me.”
Luka studied Nick’s face, reading the tension there. The weight of having nowhere left to go, no allegiances except this fragile thing building between them.
Luka wanted to see something other than wariness and pain on Nick’s face. His beast nudgedgently, reminding him of sweeter observations. He pulled the notepad back, following impulse rather than logic: ‘ Do you always put a mountain of sugar in your coffee?’
The question caught Nick off guard and he laughed, his eyes becoming brighter as the perpetual guardedness lifted for just a moment.
There , his beast purred with satisfaction. That’s him . That’s ours .
“Yeah,”Nick admitted, looking down at his sugar-saturated coffee with a hint of embarrassment.“Always have. It drives people crazy.”
Luka found himself smiling at the reaction. He wanted to coax more of that lightness forward, to see Nick’s authentic self emerge without fear.
“I used to get those frappuccino things from Starbucks all the time,”Nick continued, his voice softening with memory.“My mom would tell me I was going to get diabetes if I kept it up.”
His fingers tightenedmomentarilyaround the mug before relaxing again. The memory didn’t trigger distress—just gentle melancholy mixed with something that might have been fondness.
Good memory , his beast observed. Not everything stolen from him .
Nick looked upsuddenly, curiosity replacing usual caution.“Do you like coffee?”He paused, correcting himself.“I mean, did you like coffee? Before you were... turned?”
The question was innocent, normal—the kind of thing one person might ask another without life-or-death stakes between them. Luka felt heat blooming in his core at this attempt at connection, this glimpse of Nick engaging with the world as himself rather than survivor or weapon.
He wrote:‘ Prefer tea, lots of sugar too.’
Nick’s eyebrows shot up as he read.“All vampires have refined palates, right? Lots of Earl Grey and Darjeeling.”
Luka snorted, shaking his head. He scribbledquickly:‘ Chamomile tea, five sugars.’
“Chamomile tea? Five sugars? You’re messing with me.”Nick sounded amused, the guarded look in his eyes fading.
Luka shrugged, tapping the pen against the notepad. He wrote:‘ Sweet tooth runs in the family. Big brother loves slushies, blue raspberry #1, wild cherry close #2.’ He paused, adding:‘ Don’t tell him I told you.’
Nick laughed again. It was pure and untainted in the air around them, and it smelled like roses.
That’s him , his beast purred with deep satisfaction. That’s who he really is .
Luka wanted to hear that sound again, wanted to see that unguarded expression more often. He wanted to protect this emerging lightness, to create spaces where Nick couldsimplyexist as himself.
The want was overwhelming. It should have scared him.
He wrote: ‘ More coffee?’
Nick shook his head, still smilingfaintly.“I think I’ve reached my limit for the day.”He hesitated, then added,“Thanks.”
The single word, spoken with genuine gratitude, warmed Luka more than he cared to admit. His beast purredcontentedly, satisfied by their mate’s—
The thought stopped him cold. Mate. When had he started thinking of Nick that way?
Since always , his beast repliedsmugly. Since the first night we held him .
Luka absorbed the thought, stewing in it. It felt right. Nick Walsh—broken hunter, trauma survivor, human with a jasmine-scented authentic self—had somehow become essential to his existence.
The three-day deadline pressed at his awareness. Soon they’d have to leave, deliver Nick to strangers who might help him heal but would take him away.
Not ready to let him go , his beast whispered. May never be ready .
Then we make the most of the time we have, Luka decided.
He reached across the table, covering Nick’s hand with his own. The contact was brief, gentle—a moment of connection without demand. Nick didn’t pull away or flinch. His scent warmed, and for just a moment, something like wonder flickered across his features.
When Luka withdrew his hand, the warmth lingered between them. Nick’s eyes met his, and in that shared gaze, Luka saw recognition—not of what they were, but of what they might become.
If they had enough time.
If Nick chose it.
If the world let them.
Luka nodded, content to sit in the quiet kitchen, the shared silence nolongerstrained but peaceful. Whatever came next, this moment was theirs. He would hold itcarefully like the precious thing it was.