Page 117 of Map of Pain
Nick’s smile was small but real.“Yeah. I think we do.”
They sat together in the dim safety of the farmhouse, comfortable in each other’s presence, in the promise of days and weeks and months ahead of them. The boarded windows created a perpetual twilight that felt protective rather than oppressive. A place where they could heal without having to watch for threats.
His beast purred its agreement,Ours.Safe.Home.
Chapter forty-four
Less reverent worship...
Nick
Nick learned to find peace in small, ordinary tasks. Tonight it was dishes—the simple rhythm of washing, rinsing, and stacking clean plates in the rack beside the sink. The farmhouse was just stirring to life around him as evening settled in, everyone accustomed to the nocturnal schedule that came with living alongside vampires.
His movements had adapted over the past two months, muscle memory adjusting to compensate for his missing hand. He braced plates against his forearm, used his stump to steady larger items, moved with the efficient grace of someone who refused to see his limitation as defeat. His ears tracked the sounds of the house—Petrov’s heavy footsteps upstairs, the distant murmur of Vincent’s voice from the living room, the familiar creaks and settling that meant home.
Ophelia sat on the counter beside him, legs swinging, watching him work with that peculiar intensity she brought to everything. She’d been visiting for three days now,ostensiblytodiscuss some business matter with Vincent, but Nick suspected she just liked observing their strange household dynamics.
She didn’t offer to help. Nick didn’t expect her to.
A pasta bowl slipped as he transferred it from soapy water to rinse, his stump not quite catching it in time. The ceramic clattered against the sink basin but didn’t break. The sound made himglance toward the kitchen’s two exits, old habits checking for potential threats even though his shoulders remained relaxed.
Ophelia’s blank eyes tracked the near-miss with clinical interest.“Why haven’t you gotten a prosthetic?”
The question was delivered with her characteristic bluntness, no preamble or social cushioning. Nick found her directnessoddlyreassuring—there was never any hidden agenda with Ophelia, no need to parse subtext or search for manipulation.
“I don’t really need one,” Nick said, continuing his washing. “I’ve adapted.”
“It’s impractical. You drop things.”She tilted her head, studying his technique.“Dad cut your hand off. He’dprobablypay for a replacement if you asked. Guilt pays well.”
Nick considered this as he worked soap over a stubborn pot. Marcusprobablywould pay for a prosthetic without hesitation—the vampire had alreadyquietlyhandled Nick’s medical expenses, therapy costs, everything related to his recovery. But the idea of artificial fingers, plastic and metal trying to replace what was gone, felt wrong somehow.
“Maybe eventually,” Nick said. “It’s not a priority right now.”
Ophelia nodded once, accepting the answer without argument. She hopped down from the counter and picked up a dish towel, beginning to dry the clean plates without saying another word.
They worked in easy silence, Ophelia’s help offered without acknowledgment or expectation of gratitude. Caleb warned Nick about this weeks ago—Ophelia was kind to people she liked, but he couldn’t point it out or thank her for it. Her emotional wiring was different, and drawing attention to her gestures of care would only make her do the exact opposite.
Nick learned to accept her strange affection with the same quiet grace she offered it.
The last dish dried and put away, they drifted outside into the warm evening air. Nick’s eyesswept the property’s perimeter—old training that felt more like background awareness now rather than hypervigilance. The farmhouse sat surrounded by fields of young corn and soybeans, neat rows stretching toward the horizon under a sky deepening from gold to purple. In the distance, he caught the sound of a car on the county road, but it passed without slowing.
Nick wonderedinitiallyhow the crops got planted and harvested when none of the vampires could work in daylight.
“University agricultural program,”Ophelia had explained with typical brevity when he’d asked.“Vincent leases the land. Students do the work. Everyone wins.”
It was practical, profitable, and kept the property lookingauthenticallyagricultural—perfect cover for a house full of vampires who preferred their privacy.
Nick was approaching one of the old tractors parked near the barn when Adam’s voice cut through the evening quiet.
“I want to try driving it,”Adam announced, heading toward the massive machinery with obvious fascination.“Vincent always tells me no.”
“Get away from that thing,”Ophelia calledsharply, her voice carrying unusual venom.“You’ll fuck up the land and fuck up the lease if you crash it.”
“Come on,”Adam wheedled, already hauling himself up toward the driver’s seat.“How hard can it be? It’s just areallybig car, right?”
“Adam Nolan, I swear to god, if you so much as touch that ignition, I will steal your prosthetic while you sleep and hide it somewhere you’ll never find it.”
The threat was delivered with such deadpan sincerity that Nick burst into laughter. These people—his people now, he supposed—were chaotic and strange and wonderful in ways he was still discovering. Adam paused in his tractor exploration, grinning at Nick’s reaction.
