35. Pancakes are art form.
Chapter thirty-five
Pancakes are art form...
Nick
N ick stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror of Marcus’s penthouse, adjusting his collar for the third time. The shirt Luka brought him was soft blue cotton, nothing fancy, but it fit and didn’t have any bloodstains or holes. Small victories .
His hands shook, which felt ridiculous in the grand scope of things.He faceddown Society operatives, survived two years in a box, living through horrors that would break most people, but the thought of sitting at a dinner table with Luka’s family made his stomach churn with nerves.
The last timehe was in a room with all of them,he’dbeen catatonic on the club floor, lost somewhere in his own fractured memories while they watched. How the hell was he supposed to be normal?
What if he said the wrong thing? What if someone made a sudden movement and he reached for a weapon thatwasn’tthere? What if the submissive voice in his head took over and he ended up on his knees apologizing for existing?
“Stop,”he whispered to his reflection. The hunterwasstill quiet these days, the submissive even quieter. Most of the time now, itwasjust Nick. Just him, trying to figure out who thatwas.
A soft knock on the bathroom door made him jump. Three gentle taps, then a pause, then two more—their signal for“everything okay?”
Nick opened the door to find Luka leaning against the frame, and did a double-take.“Your beard. It’s gone.”
Luka’s hand flew self-consciously to his now-clean-shaven jaw, revealing the strong line of his chin and—Nick noticed with surprise—a constellation of freckles across his cheeks.
He looked younger, more vulnerable somehow.
His throat scarwasfully visible now, the raised tissue stark against his pale skin.
“You look...”Nick started, then stopped, suddenly shy.“You look really good.”
A flush of pink crept across Luka’s cheeks, highlighting those freckles even more. He ducked his head with a small smile, pleased but embarrassed.
“Why did you decide to shave it?”Nick asked.
Luka’s expression gentled. He reached out, giving Nick time to pull away, and brushed the scar across Nick’s throat. Then he touched his own scar. He pulled out his phone, typed quickly, and showed Nick the screen:
Brave like you.
Something warm and tight expanded in Nick’s chest.“Luka...”
But Lukawasalready taking his hand, tugging him toward the living room where the sounds of conversation and laughter drifted from Marcus’s kitchen.
?Ready?? Luka signed.
Nick took a deep breath.“Ready.”
The penthouse felt different tonight. Warmer somehow, filled with the scents of garlic and herbs and baking bread. Calebwasperchedon a barstool at the kitchen island, animated in conversation with Marcus, whowasstirring something in a large pot.
“Nick!”Caleb’s face lit up when he spotted them.“You made it! Marcus is making his famous—”
“It’s not famous,”Marcus interrupted with fond exasperation.“It’s just pasta.”
“With the good blood,”Caleb stage-whispered, making Nick snort with unexpected laughter.
“There he is,”Marcus called out warmly from the stove.
Movement caught Nick’s eye and he turned to see a man approaching from the kitchen. Matteo looked between Nick and Luka, pointed at Nick, then at Luka, and gave them both an enthusiastic double thumbs-up with a brilliant smile thatwasso much like Luka’s it made Nick feel uncomfortable.
Before Nick could process whatwashappening, Matteomoved toward him with arms spread wide, clearly intending to wrap Nick in what looked like a bone-crushing hug.
Nick’s hand moved toward the knife in his pocket, but Lukawasalready there, catching his brother’s arms with gentle urgency.
A rapid flurry of signing followed, too fast for Nick to catch more than fragments. Matteo’s expression shifted from enthusiasm to understanding to apologetic concern.
?Sorry,?Matteo said, his smile sheepish and genuine.
“It’s okay,”Nick managed, looking to Luka for a translation for Matteo.“I just... surprise contact is hard sometimes.”
Matteo nodded with such complete understanding that Nick felt something in his chest ease.
No judgment, no pity, just acceptance. From that moment on, Matteo made sure Nick could see him coming from across the room, telegraphing his movements with the same kind of consideration that Luka always gave him.
It was still a strange concept to him that the same vampires who had been listed in Society files as “deadly, dangerous, and kill on sight” were inexplicably accommodating.
“Holy shit,”Ophelia’s voice cut through the moment. Shestared at Luka with her mouth agape, showing the most emotion Nick had seen on her face yet.“What happened to your face?”
“He shaved,”Vincent said dryly, appearing from the direction of the wine cabinet with Adam close behind.“It’s called grooming, ‘Phelia. Some people do it.”
“But he looks exactly like Matteo now,”Ophelia insisted, looking back and forth between the twins.“It’s like someone hit copy-paste. I don’t like it.”
“They’re identical twins,”Adam pointed out.“They’re supposed to look the same.”
“Not this same,”Ophelia said, marching up to Luka and grabbing his face. She turned his face from side to side, continuing to look between him and Matteo. “Yeah, I don’t like it. Fix it.”
Lukawasturning red, his hand going to his bare jaw again.
“I think he looks distinguished,”Marcus said.
“Distinguished?”Vincent let out a bark of laughter as his hands moved to translate for Matteo.“He looks like he’s twelve. What’s next, are you going to ask for the kids’ menu?”
“Vincent,” Adam chided, but he was grinning.
Luka buried his face in his hands with a weak sound from his throat.
“I think he looks nice,”Nick said quietly, and the teasing stopped abruptly. Everyone turned to look at him, and he felt heat rise in his cheeks.“The freckles are... they’re nice.”
Matteo made a soft sound that might have been“aww”and pressed his hands to his heart in an exaggerated gesture of approval. Luka peeked through his fingers at Nick with a look of such grateful affection that Nickhadto look away.
“Well,”Marcus said into the sudden silence,“dinner’s ready.”
The dining room tablewasbigger than Nick remembered, but then he noticed Petrov’s massive form beneath it, fighting with what looked like a table leaf to expand it.
He tried to remember what Society files said about the large vampire, but even their files were sparse.
For a moment he felt overwhelmed by the idea of picking a place to sit.
His mind ran through each option and trying to find the least dangerous permutation of his choice, but then Lukawasguiding him to a seat with his back to the wall—prime tactical position, Nick noted with quiet gratitude—and Calebwasclaiming the chair to his left with obvious delight.
“So,”Marcus said as he set down a massive bowl of pasta that smelled like heaven,“Matteo and Petrov have been experimenting with that garlic oil recipe.”
“Experimenting is generous term,”Petrov grumbled, emerging from the kitchen with what looked like a loaf of fresh bread.“Is too much garlic.”
Matteo and Petrov launched into whatappeared to be bickering, their hands flying in rapid gestures that Nick couldn’t begin to follow.
The only words he caughtwereMarcus translating with obvious amusement: “Matteo says more garlic is always better. Petrov thinks Matteo is trying to deaden our tastebuds.”
Nick found himself watching the heated exchange with fascination.
Even without understanding the signs, the dynamicwasclear—Matteo grinning and gesturing enthusiastically while Petrov threw his hands up in theatrical exasperation.
Their argumenthadthe comfortable rhythm of somethingthey’ddone a thousand times before.
“They do this every time they cook together,”Caleb murmured.“Which is every time, since they run a diner together.”
“Nick,”Marcus said, settling into his seat at the head of the table,“Caleb tells me you used to cook?”
The questionwascasual, conversational, but Nick felt his shoulders tense. Then he made himself breathe. Thiswasn’tan interrogation. Marcuswasjust... talking to him.
“A little,”he said.“Before. I used to make dinner for Caleb sometimes when our mom worked late.”
“What kind of things?”Marcus asked, translating as Matteo’s hands moved in what Nick assumedwasthe same question.
“Nothing fancy. Spaghetti, grilled cheese, that kind of thing.”Nick paused.“Iwaspretty good at pancakes.”
“Pancakes are art form,”Petrov declared.“Batter consistency must be perfect.”
“Nick’s were perfect,” Caleb said loyally. “He used to make them shaped like animals for me when I was little.”
He’dforgottenabout that—standing at the stove with seven-year-old Caleb beside him on a stepstool, demanding elephant pancakes and giggling when the trunk came out horrible and misshapen.
Matteo’s hands moved in another series of gestures, and Marcus translated with a smile,“He says he could teach you some basics. Real cooking, not just survival food.”
“I’d like that,” Nick said.
Marcus began passing around the pasta, and Nick watched with fascination as he casually drizzled whatwasclearly blood over his portion like itwasolive oil.
Vincent added some to his wine with the same nonchalance as he leaned over and whispered something into Adam’s ear that made his face immediately redden.
It should have been horrifying. Six months ago, it would have been. But now itwasjust... normal? Maybe not. But it was going to be his normal, right? He needed to get used to it.
?You okay??Luka touched his hand beneath the table
“Yeah,”Nick said, glancing down at his plate of food.“Just thinking.”