25. A man starved, finally being fed.
Chapter twenty-five
A man starved, finally being fed...
Nick
T he penthouse was nothing like Gianmarco’s sterile monument to wealth and control.
Nick stood in the middle of the open floor plan, trying to process the difference.
Worn carpeting showed obvious traffic patterns from years of use.
Mismatched furniture—a leather couch here, a fabric armchair there—spoke of pieces collected over time rather than curated.
Scorch marks on the range hood suggested someone learned to cook the hard way.
The lightingwaswarm and dim, coming from lamps rather than harsh overhead fixtures.
One entire wallwasfloor-to-ceiling bookshelves, packed.
Another wall held whathadto be the largest collection of VHS tapes, DVDs, and Blu-rays Nickhadever seen, organized with the kind of obsessive care that spoke of genuine love rather than display.
A massive 4k television was mounted in the corner, angled so it could be seen from both the couch and the kitchen island.
Thiswasa home. A place where people lived and laughed and made mistakes and burned dinner.
So why did his chest feel tight with building anxiety?
The kitchen and living room and dining area all flowed together—perfect for parties or staying connected to people, but terrible for someone who found comfort in smaller, contained spaces.
Then his gaze found what his subconscioushadbeen cataloging: one entrance. Up the elevator, down a short hallway, through a locked door. Thatwasit. The only way in or out of this floor.
All the windowshadbeen bricked up to block out the sun, but it also eliminated every other potential exit. The open floor plan that felt so welcoming suddenly felt like a trap. Beautiful, comfortable, but with no escape routes except the way he came in.
He tried to hide it, moving to examine the bookshelves like hewasjust curious about Marcus’s reading habits. But his eyes kept flicking back to that single door, calculating distances, timing how long it would take to reach it from various points in the room.
The door opened to reveal Ophelia Graves, looking exactly as Nick remembered her: perpetually bored expression, clothes that managed to be both expensive and somehow rumpled.
“I appreciate Luka asking my permission before showing you my bedroom,”she said without preamble.“There are fire exits through my French doors.”
Nick blinked, thrown off. It took him a moment to fill in the gaps. Luka must have noticed he was anxious and texted Ophelia about an additional exit? That was the best conclusion he could come up with. “I won’t tell anyone what I see,”he said, matching her matter-of-fact tone.
“Good. Because if you do, I’ll blind you.”She said it the same way someone might comment on the weather.“Luka mentioned you might need to know about alternate exits.”
She led him down a short hallway to a door painted the same neutral color as the rest of the penthouse walls. When she opened it, Nickhadto blink several times to process what hewasseeing.
The room exploded with pink. Not just pink walls, but pink bedding, pink curtains, stuffed animals and squishmallows in every pastel shade imaginable. It looked like the bedroom of any teenage girl, complete with a vanity covered in makeup and a bulletin board hung with photos and concert tickets.
The contrast between this soft, vulnerable space and the girl who committed brutal violence at the warehousewasso jarring Nick felt momentarily dizzy.
Ophelia stood in the doorway, watching his reaction with those unsettling blank eyes, tilting her head slightly in a gesture he recognized as vampiric—she must have picked up the habit from living with them for so long.
“French doors,”she said, pointing to the far wall.“Fire escape leads down to the alley. Only other way off this floor besides the front door.”
“Thank you,” Nick said.
Something that might have been a smile flickered across her face, gone so quickly hewasn’tsure he saw it it.“If you go out there, don’t fall,”she added, starting to head back toward the main room.“We haven’t had to file any bodily injury claims this year and I want to keep it that way.”
“Wait, I need to ask you something.”The words came out before Nick could stop them. “About Luka. Is he…okay? He sleeps a lot for a vampire.”
Ophelia stopped, studying him with new attention. When she spoke, her voice carried the same monotone as always, but therewasan edge to it.“He hasn’t fed in over two weeks. Too distracted by hunters. One hunter in particular.”
Nick’s stomach dropped. Two weeks. He knew what happened when vampires went too long without feeding—not from personal experience with Gianmarco, whohadalways been well-fed and strong, but from Society archives and observation. Weakness, slower reflexes, eventually something much worse.
“Maybe,”Ophelia continued, her voice growing sharper,“Luka, who I’ve never known to hesitate about anything, is hesitating about whether he wants to bring up the subject of his own survival with said hunter.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Lukawasstarving himself rather than risk triggering Nick’s trauma by feeding in front of him, even from a blood bag.
The vampire who saved his life, who held him through flashbacks and taught him ASL and made him laugh for the first time in years,wasslowly destroying himself to protect Nick’s fragile mental state.
“I have to get back to work,”Ophelia said, already moving toward the door.“Bartending doesn’t do itself.”
She left without another word, the lock clicking behind her with devastating finality.
Nick stood in the kitchen, processing the full scope of what he learned. The submissive whispered from the back of his mind, barely audible: You know what he needs.
He needs blood. And you have some. You’ve never been bitten by a vampire who didn’t want to hurt you. What would it feel like if the oppositeweretrue?
He thought about the bite marks he saw on Caleb at the warehouse—not tears or wounds, but something that looked almost... affectionate. Intimate. A weird, dark corner of his mind wondered what that sensation might be like.
Footsteps in the hallway made him look up.
Luka emerged from the guest room, hair damp from washing up, moving with careful precision that didn’t quite hide how much effort each movement cost him.
In the better lighting, the signswereimpossible to miss: dark circles under those eyes where therehadbeen none before, cheeks that looked slightly more sunken, a tremor in his hands that hewastrying very hard to hide.
Nick nodded, following him down the hallway. The guest room was smaller than the main space, which immediately made his chest feel looser. Lukahadrearrangedthe furniture—pushed the bed against one wall and created a cozy nest on the floor using pillows and blankets.
“Thank you,”Nick said, touched by the fact Lukarecognizedhis need for contained spaces without being asked.
Luka gestured to the clothes Marcus left for them—soft cotton t-shirts and sleep pants, everything in neutral colors that wouldn’t overwhelm. Nick grabbed the same button-down pajama top from the motel, something sentimental about keeping it despite having other options.
Hewasn’ttiredenough to sleep yet, but being in the smaller room made him feel infinitely better than the open expanse of the main penthouse. When Luka started to head back toward the door, Nick caught his wrist.
“Stay,”he said.“I want to talk. About you.”
Luka’s eyebrows rose in question, but he settled onto the floor beside the pillow nest. They sat in comfortable quiet for a few minutes, but the longer the silence stretched, the more Nick couldn’t get the insane idea of asking Luka to bite him out of his head. Or kissing him again.
“Can you help me with the buttons?”Nick asked, gesturing to the pajama top.
Luka nodded and moved closer, fingers working carefully up the shirt. When Luka’s hands reached the third button, Nick noticed the tremor again—subtle but unmistakable.
Nick caught Luka’s wrist gently, stopping him halfway up the shirt.“I know you haven’t fed in a long time.”
His eyes widened in surprise. He made the gesture for big hair, raising his eyebrows questioningly.
“Ophelia told me,”Nick confirmed.
Luka rolled his eyes and grabbed his phone:
Will get a bag soon. Before we meet Vincent.
Before he could lose his nerve, Nick offered his wrist.
The effectwasimmediate. Hunger flashed across Luka’s features, his pupils dilating, fangs pressing against his lips.
But he shook his head, even as his body betrayed how desperately he needed what Nick was offering.
Instead of answering, Luka traced the bite scars on Nick’s wrist with gentle fingers.
Then Luka bent his head and pressed his lips to the scarred skin, the kiss so soft and reverent it made Nick’s breath catch. When he pulled back, his expressionwasapologetic, almost stricken.
“It’s okay,”Nick said.“You don’t need to apologize.”He paused, heat rising in his cheeks.“I like when you touch me. Sometimes liking it is scary, but... I still like it.”
Luka nodded, understanding flickering across his features. His hands moved in simple gestures that Nick recognized as safe and choice.
Nick took a shaky breath, the honest part of him pushing him toward vulnerability.“I’m curious about…about being bitten by you.”The words came out in a rush.“I’ve only known bites that hurt. Thatweremeantto hurt. I wonder what it would feel like if...”
He trailed off, but Luka seemed to understand. The vampire reached for his phone, typing quickly:
Some people enjoy the sensation. Different for everyone.
Adam + Vincent = earplugs.