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“I know.”

“You’re telling me I’m your— your soulmate. “

“I am telling you that you smell like my mother’s kitchen. Yes.”

“Because of bread. “

“Because of what the bread means.” I leaned forward, forearms on the chair back. “There is more, and I need you to hear it. It is not romantic. It is dangerous.”

His smile faded.

“A bond can only be sealed by a bite. And a bite must be given with a yes. Not a look. Not a nod. A yes from a person who understands what he is agreeing to, and is free to say no.” I held his eyes. “If I bite you without it, the bond does not simply fail. It turns. It becomes a poison, for both of us. It kills slowly. It killed the Karpov brothers in 1802, and it killed their mates, and nobody could stop it.”

“So that’s why—” Lex said slowly. “The alley. You walked away.”

“Yes.”

“And the locker room. You let me go.”

“Yes.”

“And just now, you—” He made a gesture at the bed.

“I lost control for three seconds,” I said. “I am not proud of it. It is the first time in a century, and I will not do it again. You said let go, and I let go, and I will always let go, Lex, whenever you say. That is the whole of the law. It is the only thing I have to offer you.” My mouth twisted. “That, and a very good pension plan.”

For an instant he stared at me. Then, against his will, I think, he snorted.

“That was a joke,” he said. “You made a joke.”

“I have been told I am funny in Russian.”

“Say something in Russian.”

“ Ty durak, “ I said, gravely.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means, ‘you have a beautiful mind.’”

“It does not. “

“It means ‘you are an idiot.’ But affectionately.”

He grinned. It was there and gone, like sun on water, and my chest ached with it.

Then it faded. He looked down at his hands, and his shoulders dropped. “I’m not gay,” he said quietly. It sounded less like a statement and more like something he’d said so many times it had gone smooth.

“I did not ask you to be.”

“I’m— I mean it. I’ve never— it’s not a thing I—”

“Lex.” I said it as gently as I have ever said anything. “I did not ask what you are. I have no interest in what you are. I have said only what you are to me. What you do with it is yours.”

He was silent for a long moment.

“That dream,” he said at last, very low, staring at the floor. “That wasn’t a coincidence.”

“I do not know what you dreamed.”