Chapter 13 Vidar
Chapter thirteen
Vidar
As Kai tells us about his unwelcome visit from Emma, I itch to stay close, as if that witch lurks in every corner until I’m all but hovering over him, my heart beating painfully against my ribs, useless fists shaking instead of around her neck.
But what bothers me most is the light, near-humorous way Kai talks about his encounter—as if he’s recounting some terrible movie when he’s clearly shaken.
Ramy plays along, nodding at all the right moments, but Golden wears his heart on his sleeve, and even as he forces a smile, he grimaces too often and too obviously.
So Kai tries even harder to reassure him, creating a vicious cycle; Golden’s face twists with worry, and Kai buries his pain for no one’s benefit.
“Out,” I growl when I’ve finally had enough of Kai’s fake laughter. “Everyone but Kai. Out.”
Golden is about to say something, but Ramy stops him. “Come on, let’s leave them to it.”
Golden stares at Kai, mouth half open, then squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry.” From the softness of those words, it sounds like Golden is apologising for more than just the obvious. My youngest throws me a severe look, saying with a glare to be careful, then turns on his heel to leave silently.
Ramy’s warning stings, but the truth often does.
When Golden and Ramy leave, there’s a small amount of relief I see in Kai, as if the mask he’d been wearing was a heavy one. He lifts his chin, his weary jade eyes taking me in while his limbs hang at his side, one hand clamped around his other wrist.
Since the soulmate bond formed, I assumed that if I finally indulged my need to be close to Kai and feel his smooth, heated skin, it would soothe nothing more than my curiosity.
Instead, when I reach for my soulmate—my heart breaking when he flinches—and wrap an arm around his middle, pulling him securely under my chin, the only thing that matters is keeping Kai safe and offering comfort.
Whether our souls are bound or not, Kai is mine to protect.
“We’re alone now,” I whisper into his ear, and this close, I feel him shake with the force it takes to resist his hair-tugging. I rub gentle circles between his tense shoulder blades. “Just you and me. So let out whatever you need to, little prince. No one is watching.”
Kai’s shoulders tremble.
A low, strangled noise, which sounds like my name and feels like a release, escapes his chest and after a beat, wetness soaks through my shirt.
My mate doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t need to; my embrace is strong enough to hold him up as small sounds force their way out between his clamped lips.
Light rain pits against the window. Water drips into the sink. The soft overhead light casts a gentle glow, creating a world that is ours alone, as if Kai and I are the only two people left in it.
And really, is there any need for more?
I forget he is a man—or that I am one, too. We are simply soulmates, and in that simplicity, how easy it is to love Kai, and the only wish I have for his body is that it never leaves my arms.
All too soon, the kitchen comes back into focus when Kai sniffles and steps back, still hiding when he turns to rub away any remaining tears. The loss of his body leaves me colder than any winter, every fibre of my being demanding I keep him close and safe, forever.
But then a stronger instinct takes over when his stomach grumbles. I need to feed him.
“Sit,” I order, taking him by the shoulders and guiding him into one of the high chairs at the kitchen island.
He huffs at my handling, but doesn’t complain. He really must be tired and hungry. I pour two glasses of water and hold them out, watching as he drinks both. Kai shakes his head and chuckles, as if being taken care of is amusing to him, and is doing it to please me.
I don’t correct him and make him drink a third glass. Once done, I get to feeding him. I pour water into a pan, salt it, and set it on the hob to heat.
“You’re cooking?” Kai asks, voice hesitant.
Pulling open the door to the monster of a fridge, I inspect what we have inside.
For a house full of vampires who hardly eat—Lucero having given up human food long ago, and Rurik only eating salted meats when he’s not drowning himself in vodka—it’s beyond me why Ramy even bought the thing, let alone keeps it fully stocked.
“I like cooking, and you need to eat.”
I grab an onion, mushrooms, and thick slices of bacon.
“Like a house plant?” Kai jokes.
I take the chopping board and a sharp knife. “Like someone who deserves to be looked after.”
He says nothing as I slice the onion into small pieces.
When I’m finished and reach for a pan to pour in the oil, he says, “I like cooking, too.”
“Stay seated,” is my reply, and I grab a second chopping board and knife for him.
“Who’s the prince now?” he snorts.
Leaning over him to place the meat down, I say close to his ear, “Still you, little prince.” And fill my lungs with his lavender and pencil shaving scent. “Still you.”
He glances at me from over his shoulder, Kai’s pretty bow lips tilting up. “The only friend I’ve had who likes to sniff me so much was a dog.”
Drawn to him, I lower my forehead so it rests against his, our noses brushing, our lips…close. And the kitchen melts away again. Every sound, every sense, every touch—even air—becomes inconsequential; all I need is jade and bow lips and lavender.
His gaze is unwavering, curious, and then he smirks. Daring me.
I see that glint in him that tempts and challenges and invites me closer. Lips parted, I catch a glimpse of pink as his tongue runs along the pillow of his lower lip. If anything is going to happen, his eyes say, he won’t be the first to make a move.
Uncertainty is for lesser men, I always thought. Yet here I am. Kai isn’t like trying a sword only to find I prefer the axe; he is more than a curiosity to be tested, then forgotten about. He is everything.
“Woof.”
My reward for being ridiculous is Kai tossing his head back and laughing at me.
“Cut up the bacon, little prince,” I chuckle, and briefly cup his jaw before pulling away. He smiles to himself as he begins his task.
The onions sizzle when I toss them into the heated oil. I bring my board beside his, quartering the mushrooms while Kai slices the meat into strips, both of us working in companionable silence.
Once everything has been tossed into the pan with a tomato sauce, I collect the items to be washed up. Cupping his cheek and thanking him with a stroke of my thumb when he hands over his utensils, Kai then sprays the counter to wipe it clean.
It’s domestic work, things I haven’t done even when I had a wife. My mind goes to a future with more nights exactly like this one, where we are more to each other than the friends I insist we must be.
“Vampires can eat, right?” he asks while I drain the pasta. “Do you?”
“We can, though I don’t eat much. Mostly just marshmallows.”
“Marshmallows?” he laughs, bending down to grab bowls from the cupboard. The fabric tightening around his ass before he stands back up to set the table.
“They’re soft,” I reply, swallowing deep. “I like soft things.”
“And…” Grabbing forks, he hesitates. “You’ll eat with me, right?”
“Of course.”
He nods. “Good.”
Soon, we’re sitting next to each other. The scent of salty bacon, earthy mushrooms and sweet tomatoes in the steam that rises from the meal we made side-by-side.
And only when Kai has taken a bite and sighs as if a soul-deep need has been fulfilled, does a wave of warm satisfaction rush through me. Finally, I’ve gotten something right.