Chapter Ten
Sam
The cursor blinked at Sam. He’d been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes while Basil groomed himself on the kitchen table, occasionally pausing to judge Sam’s lack of productivity.
Kieran leaned forward, moonlight catching in his eyes. “Michael. There’s something we need to tell you. Something about what we are. What you are to us.”
Michael set down his coffee cup. “What do you mean?”
Kieran looked to his brothers. Dante nodded. Alaric’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t protest.
“We’re…”
Sam deleted the last line. Typed it again. Deleted it.
“How do you tell someone you’re a vampire without sounding completely unhinged?” He glanced at Basil. “Do they just say it? ‘Hey, we’re immortal bloodsuckers, and also you’re our destined mate’? That’s ridiculous. Michael would run screaming.”
Basil licked his paw with exaggerated disinterest.
“Right. Not helpful.” Sam scrolled up through the document, rereading the careful courtship he’d constructed over twenty-five thousand words.
The lingering glances. The protective gestures.
The slowly building connection between three paranormal beings and one ordinary human who had no idea his entire world was about to be upended.
One thing was abundantly clear. He’d made a classic author’s mistake and written himself into a corner.
The vampires couldn’t just tell Michael the truth.
Michael would think they were dangerous or delusional.
But they also couldn’t keep pretending to be normal humans - the facade was already cracking.
How could Sam bridge that gap for them, making the impossible become believable?
Sam pushed his laptop away and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “See, in my book, they just tell the human they’re fated mates.” He looked at Basil again. The cat had moved on to washing his tail. “Why can’t real life be that simple?”
The words hung in the air, and Sam laughed. Real life? Why was he thinking about real life?
“I’m losing it,” he told Basil. “Three attractive men wander into the café, and suddenly I’m comparing them to my fictional vampires. That’s pathetic.”
Basil’s tail twitched.
“They’re just being friendly. That’s it. That’s all there is.”
The receipt with Rux’s number sat beneath his laptop, edges creased from being folded and unfolded too many times.
Sam pulled it out and smoothed it flat. He’d saved the number to his contacts. It’s not like he even needed the paper anymore. He hadn’t deleted the number, but he hadn’t called it either. What would he even say?
“They’re just lonely,” Sam said. “I’m reading too much into polite conversation because I haven’t had a date in forever, and I spend too much time thinking about my romance novels.”
Basil jumped down from the table and wound between Sam’s ankles, purring.
Sam bent to scratch behind his ears. “You’re right.
I should just call him. They’ve all been in since, and it hasn’t been too weird.
I should ask if they want to grab a pint at Pat’s.
Be normal about it instead of sitting here wondering if three gorgeous men are secretly supernatural beings who’ve decided I’m their… ”
He stopped and sat back up, looking at his laptop screen where Kieran, Dante, and Alaric waited in frozen confession.
“I’ve been writing this exact scenario for three weeks,” he said slowly. “Three beings. One human. Coffee shop meetings. Awkward courtship. And now three men show up in Dinetell and start acting…”
Basil meowed.
“No. That’s insane. This is fiction.” Sam tapped the laptop. “Fiction. Made up. Not real. Vampires don’t exist, and dragons definitely don’t exist, and fated mates are just a convenient plot device that lets me skip the messy parts of relationship building.”
The mysterious gifts flashed through his mind – the coffee beans, special edition books, chocolate coins…and that gold bar. That last one was definitely unusual.
“Lots of people give expensive gifts,” Sam said to the empty room. “Rich people do it all the time. There’s probably a simple, reasonable explanation that has nothing to do with supernatural courtship rituals.”
Basil settled into his lap, purring louder.
Sam absently stroked the cat’s fur while his brain spiraled through increasingly ridiculous connections.
The way Rux had stared at him. How Mabon’s attempt at teasing had seemed genuinely painful, like someone who’d never learned proper social interaction.
Urien’s insistence that Sam deserved beautiful things.
“They’re clearly eccentric,” Sam decided. “Wealthy and eccentric, probably homeschooled or something. That’s why their social skills are weird. There’s nothing supernatural about bad small talk.”
He looked back at his document and at the three vampires who’d spent weeks circling their mate, leaving gifts, and trying to find the best moment to reveal an impossible truth to a human who had no idea his entire world was about to change.
“Okay,” Sam said to Basil. “Here’s what I’m going to do.
I’m going to call Rux tomorrow, and I’m going to invite him and his friends for a pint.
We’re going to have a normal conversation like regular people, and when nothing supernatural happens, I’ll stop projecting my novel onto random strangers. ”
Basil purred agreement as Sam closed the laptop.
He didn’t need to figure out how his vampires revealed the truth tonight. Maybe some confessions took time. Maybe trust had to be built first, brick by careful brick, until the impossible started feeling almost reasonable.
Or maybe he was overthinking everything because his own life felt so empty that he’d started crafting elaborate fantasies around three men who were probably just trying to make friends.
“I know. I’m hopeless at making the first move, but tomorrow is the day,” he told Basil. “I’ll call Rux tomorrow.”
/~/~/~/~/
“Don’t look at me like that,” Sam said around his toothbrush an hour later. “I’m being rational.”
Basil’s tail swished.
Sam rinsed, spat, wiped his mouth, and met his own reflection in the mirror - round face, freckles, glasses slightly crooked. He had the same face he’d had at fifteen. Nothing special. Nothing that would make three men like Rux, Mabon, and Urien look twice.
Except they had looked…a lot.
Rux had stared at him with burning intensity, like Sam was the only person in the entire café – and okay, he had been at the time. But Rux had drunk six coffees just to stay longer. When he’d turned up the next time, he was dressed so smartly, Sam worried he’d get mugged in broad daylight.
Mabon was another one who dressed in a three-piece suit, although for him it seemed to be his daily outfit. But he was another one who had tried so hard to say the right thing that he’d fumbled it entirely.
Then there was Urien, who had brought flowers and said Sam deserved beautiful things…yet, he’d sat at the coffee shop window on a later visit looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Not even the cookie Sam offered had seemed to help.
“Stop,” Sam told his reflection.
But his brain wouldn’t stop. What if they were interested? Not as friends but as something more. The thought was so tempting.
All of the men were gorgeous in completely different ways. Rux, with his long red hair and broad shoulders, was full of energy. Mabon was sleek and sophisticated, his wealth worn like a second skin. Urien, tall and gentle, with dirt under his fingernails and flowers in his hands.
What would it be like? Sam’s reflection flushed pink. He’d never dated three people. Hell, he’d barely dated one person successfully. But the fantasies he wrote late at night, the scenes where his protagonist discovered he didn’t have to choose, that love could multiply instead of divide…
“It’s just a story,” Sam whispered.
But what if it wasn’t?
What if Rux’s awkward conversation was a case of nerves? What if Mabon’s excessive tipping was his form of courtship? What if Urien’s flowers meant I’m thinking of you instead of I’d like to be friends?
Sam’s heartbeat quickened. He imagined Rux’s boisterous laugh filling his tiny cottage, his big hands gentle on Sam’s waist. It was easy to dream of Mabon reading beside him on the sofa, occasionally glancing up to smile at something Sam wrote, or Urien, in his garden, dirt-smudged and so patient with him because he cared.
The warmth in his chest spread lower. Gods, what would it feel like to be wanted by three men at the same time? Rux’s intensity, Mabon’s careful attention, and Urien’s quiet devotion. Three different kinds of desire - all in pointing the same direction - at him.
Sam gripped the bathroom counter. You’re being pathetic.
He was spinning elaborate fantasies about three strangers who’d been polite to him.
They’d given him their numbers because they wanted friends – well, one of them had.
They’d complimented him because that’s what people did in coffee shops. They’d brought gifts because…
Because why, exactly? That part didn’t make sense.
Twenty thousand pounds worth of gold wasn’t friendly. Neither was cashmere, nor special edition books, nor gorgeous flowers…although, technically, Sam wasn’t a hundred percent sure they had left the gifts, but no one else in his life had mentioned them.
“Stop projecting,” Sam told himself firmly.
But the fantasy had hooks in him now. He imagined what it would be like coming home to three people instead of just Basil.
Cooking dinner with Rux, who’d probably critique his technique while simultaneously praising every bite.
Letting Mabon handle the bills Sam always stressed over.
Learning Urien’s garden secrets and getting dirt under his own fingernails.
Sharing a bed… Sam’s cheeks were burning just thinking about it.
He’d written scenes like that a dozen times. Three bodies, all different heights and builds, all fitting together like puzzle pieces around his protagonist. The contrast of temperatures, textures, and the way hands learned new territories…
“Enough.”
Sam splashed cold water on his face, gasping at the shock.
That was exactly the problem with writing romance.
It bled into everything until he couldn’t tell fiction from reality anymore.
Three attractive men showed him basic kindness, and suddenly he was imagining polyamorous domestic bliss like some kind of desperate…
His phone buzzed on the counter, and Sam’s heart stopped.
He picked it up with shaking hands and read the message.
Unknown Number: Are you interested in home insurance?
Sighing, Sam blocked the number and dried his face. He lived in the real world, where the only people getting in touch were salesmen.
/~/~/~/~/
Basil had started acting strange again.
Sam noticed it Thursday evening when he came home from work. The cat sat rigid at the living room window, tail puffed to twice its normal size, staring at the empty street like something lurked there.
“What’s gotten into you?”
Basil didn’t even twitch. He just kept staring, pupils blown wide - not the lazy afternoon watch he usually did, but the alert, predator-tracking stance he used when the neighbor’s dog got too close to the garden.
Except there was no dog. Sam checked the window, and there was nothing but parked cars and the streetlamp flickering to life in the dusk. No raccoons, no stray cats, nothing that warranted the Halloween-cat posture Basil had adopted.
“There’s nothing there, you maniac.”
Basil’s ears flattened.
Friday night, it was the same thing. Sam found the cat perched on the kitchen windowsill, fur standing on end, making that low growl that usually meant serious business.
The sound raised goosebumps on Sam’s arms - the kind of growl Basil usually reserved for actual threats, not shadows or rustling leaves.
“Basil, seriously. What…”
The cat bolted to the front window and pressed his face against the glass. His tail lashed with enough force to knock over the tiny plant on the sill.
Sam followed and peered out into the street. But all he could see was just the usual cars - Mrs. Patterson’s slightly rusted Volvo, the blue hatchback that belonged to the couple three doors down, a Range Rover that probably belonged to the new development on…
Wait. Sam squinted. Had that Range Rover been there yesterday? He couldn’t remember.
Basil growled again.
“It’s just a car,” Sam told him.
But Saturday brought more of the same. Basil abandoned his usual routine - demanding wet food, napping in sunbeams, knocking pens off Sam’s desk - to patrol the cottage windows like a furry security guard.
He’d station himself at one window, stare for twenty minutes, then march to the next one.
Living room. Kitchen. Bedroom. Bathroom. Repeat.
“You’re losing it,” Sam said, scratching behind Basil’s ears.
The cat pulled away and resumed his patrol.
Sunday evening, Sam tried everything to get Basil to calm down.
The fresh wet food was ignored, and the feather toy that usually sent Basil into zoomy mode got one contemptuous glance.
Sam pulled out the red laser pointer, but even that failed to break Basil’s concentration.
The cat just kept watching the street through the windows.
Sam stood beside him at the bedroom window and looked out at the quiet neighborhood. Dark houses, streetlamps, that same Range Rover parked in the same spot it had occupied for - how many days now? Three? Four?
Basil’s tail lashed.
“There’s nothing there,” Sam told the empty room.
But Basil didn’t relax. He just kept his vigil at the window like he was standing guard against something only he could sense.
Sam wondered if he should call someone. Emma, maybe. Or Pat. My cat’s acting weird seemed like a ridiculous reason to bother anyone, but the way Basil’s ears kept swiveling, tracking something Sam couldn’t see or hear...
“You’re being dramatic,” Sam said finally, but he checked the locks on his way to bed anyway. Whatever Basil sensed out there, it had him on high alert. He’s protecting his human from a threat he can’t explain, which was cute, but from what Sam could see, it was also totally unnecessary.