Page 19 of Soren

Oh. Of course.Gabe opened his mouth, then closed it again, not sure what to say. He knew from Danny that vampires often liked to mix sex and feedings (which was, frankly, more information than Gabe needed to hear from his own newly vampified brother).

So if Soren had fed recently…

Gabe wasn’t sure why the thought of Soren feeding off someone else in town made his gut clench.

Sure you do.He ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t cook,” Soren said out of nowhere, the words sounding like a challenge.

“Okay…?” Gabe frowned at him. “Yeah, why would you? You don’t have to eat.”

“Roman cooks for Danny.”

Gabe wasn’t sure why Soren was making that comparison. Roman was Danny’shusband.His fated mate. It was an entirely different situation.

“Don’t worry,” he found himself reassuring the vampire. “I don’t cook either. I’m well versed in ordering in though. You like Thai?”

Soren’s answering grin was…softer than usual. Less manic, more genuine. “I could be persuaded.”

An hour later, they were eating from takeout containers on the kitchen table, both having agreed that using real plates was just a way to create unnecessary dishes. Gabe had put on a shirt, not missing the way Soren had pouted in disappointment when he’d told the vampire he was going to go cover up.

Gabe had been nervous about living in the same house as Soren. Beyond nervous. He’d been half-convinced that without Danny or Roman to chaperone, Soren would try getting into his head again. That he’d try to mess with Gabe’s mind, manipulate his emotions. But Gabe was realizing he’d misjudged that risk.

Soren could have used his freaky compulsion to ease Gabe’s panic attack the other day. He could have easily coerced him into visiting the care home, to get their visit over with. But instead, he’d comforted Gabe with calm words and a steady presence. He’d taken him to breakfast and given him time to get his thoughts together.

And once Gabe let himself relax in Soren’s presence, it was weirdly…nice.

Gabe wasn’t used to having someone to eat dinner with. Someone like Soren, who had a million interesting stories. Who didn’t quiz Gabe on being a doctor or expect him to lead the conversation. So many people thought Gabe—high school football player, former prom king, ICU doctor—was some kind of alpha male or social butterfly, but in truth Gabe liked to listen more than he liked to talk. Liked being able to focus on someone else instead of pretending to have it all together.

Soren didn’t seem to mind that at all.

Gabe took a small bite of a ridiculously huge, ridiculously fancy cookie that Soren had insisted they get delivered in addition to dinner. According to him, they needed sweet to balance the spicy.

Gabe would never admit how delicious the cookie was. Nobody needed that kind of sugar on a regular basis.

“Tell me about your mom.”

Gabe choked on his bite. “What?”

Soren nibbled his own treat delicately, and Gabe tried not to stare as the vampire’s pink tongue darted out to lick a dab of frosting from the corner of his mouth. Tried to ignore the vague feelings of arousal sitting this close to Soren stirred in him. “The issue you’re having visiting her.”

Well, that did the trick.

Soren took one look at Gabe’s expression and clarified, “I’m not asking you to divulge all your emotional secrets. I just need to know. Is it me? Because I don’t need to go with you. You can visit her without me there for compulsion. Or I could go ahead of you, try to ease her mood, and then leave you to it.”

It would be an easy cop-out, to say the only issue was that Soren made Gabe uncomfortable. But for some reason, Gabe didn’t want to leave the little monster thinking this was all his fault. Not when he’d been so patient with Gabe the other day in the car.

“No, it’s not you,” Gabe murmured, sliding down a little in his chair.

Soren looked unconvinced.

“Notjustyou,” Gabe amended. “It brings up…a lot. Visiting her. I hate to think of someone else seeing…all that.”

Was that the lamest explanation in all of history? Probably.

Soren sighed and put down his cookie, clasping his hands together on the table in front of him. “Do you know how old I am, Highness?”

“Not exactly. Older than Roman, right?”

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