Page 58 of Map of Pain
Someone is whistling Jupiter.
The melody wrapped around him like a lifeline, pulling him up through layers of memory and pain. The whistling grew clearer, more insistent, cutting through Gianmarco’s voice like light through darkness.
That’s real. That’s happening now.
The marble floor beneath him wavered, becoming uncertain. Gianmarco’s face blurred at the edges, his voice fading.
Luka. Luka is whistling.
A sharp gasp tore from Nick’s throat, his lungs burning as air rushed back in. Fragments of memory and reality bled together.
Marble. Linoleum. Expensive silk. Cheap fabric.
His vision swam, unable to focus on any one thing. Wherewashe? Whenwashe? The scentswerewrong—too clean, missing the copper tang of blood and expensive cologne.
But the words spilled out anyway, conditioning overriding conscious thought.
“I’m a good boy.”
The phrase hung in stale air that didn’t smell like Gianmarco’s penthouse. Nick blinked hard, trying to force his vision to clear. Slowly, shapes began to resolve around him.
Cheap paneling. A small window. The smell of dust and old coffee.
Not Chicago. Not the penthouse.
The whistling stopped, but the melody still echoed in his mind, grounding him piece by piece. Nick became aware of arms that held him without restraint. He could move if he wanted to. The realization sent a shudder through his frame.
“Safe,”a damaged voice whispered against his ear.
Luka’s facewasa mess—red-rimmed eyes, bloody tear tracks staining his pale cheeks, nose running. But his expression held only gentleness, only patience.
Heat flooded his face, shame crawling up his neck as full awareness returned. The wetness on his cheeks. The shaking in his limbs. The way hecollapsed, the things he said.
Nick let the last of his resistance drain away, his rigid posture collapsing as he sagged fully into Luka’s embrace. The vampire’s arms tightened immediately, grounding him in the here and now. Nick’s hand came up, gripping Luka’s shirt with desperate fingers.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
The submissive tried to creep back in, whispering that he needed permission to speak, to move, to exist. Nick shoved it down, focusing instead on Luka’s strong arms around him.
Movement in his peripheral vision made his heart stutter. Nick turned his head—
Caleb knelt beside them both, his scarred face crumpled with anguish. Without hesitation, Caleb threw his arms around both Nick and Luka, pulling them into a fierce, desperate embrace.
“I’m so sorry Nick, I’m so sorry,”Caleb sobbed against his shoulder, the words muffled but clear.
Nick didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. The stubborn strength of the hunterwasn’tthere to keep his emotions in check, the fragments of his shattered selfweren’tthere to try and make things right, so he just did the only thing that he could.
He cried.
Chapter twenty-three
Fragile but real...
Nick
The concrete steps bit into Nick’s back through his torn shirt, but he didn’t move. Dawn painted the sky in soft oranges and pinks above the trailer, the kind of peaceful sunrise that felt like a lie after what his mind dragged him through. His eyes were probably still red and swollen from crying like a broken child in front of everyone.
That particular memory doesn’t usually surface,he thought, tugging absently at his torn collar. The brand underneath felt like itwasburning again, phantom pain from a wound two years healed.The hunter always made that one seem smaller. Less important than escape routes or weapon caches or kill orders.
