Like safety. Or softness. Or the idea that maybe, just maybe, I'm allowed to enjoy this. Even if it won't last.
When I finish the last bite, I move to grab my plate and mug, out of habit more than anything. But Asher stops me with a quiet, firm gesture.
"You're our guest," he says.
"I can't let you do everything for me," I argue, half-standing. But he's already taken them from my hands, his movements precise, unhurried. There's something in the way he moves—measured, like a man used to being obeyed. He doesn't ask for compliance. He expects it.
And I give it without further protest.
He circles the table slowly, coming to stand near me. Not invading, but close enough to make the air shift. I can feel the tension crackling between us like static. His presence pulls at me in ways I don't know how to deal with.
"I know what happened the night before," he says, voice even, unreadable.
The words hit like a slap. Guilt coils in my stomach. My chest tightens.
"Kayden told you," I murmur, bracing myself.
"I noticed a few things out of place. Asked him about it. Didn't take much."
"I—" I start, fumbling. "I really am—"
He takes a single step closer. I shut my mouth.
"I'm not angry with you, Sage," he says, and somehow that's worse. "I understand why you ran. Why you stole. I know you've been surviving on instinct for a long time."
Another pang. It lands deep.
"You're welcome to stay here. As long as you want. As long as you need," he continues. "And I will keep my word—I will protect you. But I don't tolerate lies. Especially not under my roof, not when I've shown you hospitality. If you need anything—food, clothes, cash—you ask. Do we understand each other?"
His tone is calm but commanding.
I swallow hard. There's an instinct rising up to sayyes, sir, like I'm in some twisted version of boot camp, and he's the quiet commander who could undo me with a look.
I tamp it down and manage, "Yeah. We understand each other. And… I'm sorry. For all of it."
He nods once, accepting it. No dramatics. No moral high ground. Just a clear line drawn in the sand.
Then, just as he turns away, he adds with that faint, maddening smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, "And I think Kayden already made sure you felt some consequences."
I go red. Full-body red. The bastard told him everything.
I open my mouth, floundering for a comeback, but Asher beats me to it. "I can hear that Kayden's finally awake. Get ready. We're heading out to see our friend soon."
The words should land normally, but they don't. Not when I'm still burning.
"...Yes, sir," I mutter before I can stop myself.
He turns, amber gaze flicking over his shoulder. Something flashes in his eyes—something darker, more primal.
The corner of his mouth curves. "Dismissed," he says smoothly and walks away.
And I stand there, heat blooming all the way down.
We pile into Asher's car—him behind the wheel, Kayden in the passenger seat, and me alone in the back. Though alone is a stretch. I can feel both of them acutely, like they're sitting on either side of me. Heat and gravity and tension pressing in.
Why the hell do I have to feel something for a vampire?
Let alonetwo.
