Page 92 of Map of Pain
Matteo made a soft sound that might have been“aww”and pressed his hands to his heart in an exaggerated gesture ofapproval. Luka peeked through his fingers at Nick with a look of such grateful affection that Nickhadto look away.
“Well,”Marcus said into the sudden silence,“dinner’s ready.”
The dining room tablewasbigger than Nick remembered, but then he noticed Petrov’s massive form beneath it, fighting with what looked like a table leaf to expand it. He tried to remember what Society files said about the large vampire, but even their files were sparse. For a moment he felt overwhelmed by the idea of picking a place to sit. His mind ran through each option and trying to find the least dangerous permutation of his choice, but then Lukawasguiding him to a seat with his back to the wall—prime tactical position, Nick noted with quiet gratitude—and Calebwasclaiming the chair to his left with obvious delight.
“So,”Marcus said as he set down a massive bowl of pasta that smelled like heaven,“Matteo and Petrov have been experimenting with that garlic oil recipe.”
“Experimenting is generous term,”Petrov grumbled, emerging from the kitchen with what looked like a loaf of fresh bread.“Is too much garlic.”
Matteo and Petrov launched into whatappeared to be bickering, their hands flying in rapid gestures that Nick couldn’t begin to follow. The only words he caughtwereMarcus translating with obvious amusement: “Matteo says more garlic is always better. Petrov thinks Matteo is trying to deaden our tastebuds.”
Nick found himself watching the heated exchange with fascination. Even without understanding the signs, the dynamicwasclear—Matteo grinning and gesturing enthusiastically while Petrov threw his hands up in theatrical exasperation. Their argumenthadthe comfortable rhythm of somethingthey’ddone a thousand times before.
“They do this every time they cook together,”Caleb murmured.“Which is every time, since they run a diner together.”
“Nick,”Marcus said, settling into his seat at the head of the table,“Caleb tells me you used to cook?”
The questionwascasual, conversational, but Nick felt his shoulders tense. Then he made himself breathe. Thiswasn’tan interrogation. Marcuswasjust... talking to him.
“A little,”he said.“Before. I used to make dinner for Caleb sometimes when our mom worked late.”
“What kind of things?”Marcus asked, translating as Matteo’s hands moved in what Nick assumedwasthe same question.
“Nothing fancy. Spaghetti, grilled cheese, that kind of thing.”Nick paused.“Iwaspretty good at pancakes.”
“Pancakes are art form,”Petrov declared.“Batter consistency must be perfect.”
“Nick’s were perfect,” Caleb said loyally. “He used to make them shaped like animals for me when I was little.”
He’dforgottenabout that—standing at the stove with seven-year-old Caleb beside him on a stepstool, demanding elephant pancakes and giggling when the trunk came out horrible and misshapen.
Matteo’s hands moved in another series of gestures, and Marcus translated with a smile,“He says he could teach you some basics. Real cooking, not just survival food.”
“I’d like that,” Nick said.
Marcus began passing around the pasta, and Nick watched with fascination as he casually drizzled whatwasclearly blood over his portion like itwasolive oil. Vincent added some to his wine with the same nonchalance as he leaned over and whispered something into Adam’s ear that made his face immediately redden.
It should have been horrifying. Six months ago, it would have been. But now itwasjust... normal? Maybe not. But it was going to be his normal, right? He needed to get used to it.
«You okay?»Luka touched his hand beneath the table
“Yeah,”Nick said, glancing down at his plate of food.“Just thinking.”
The conversation flowed around him as he kept staring at his food, trying to convince his hand to pick up the fork, but he couldn’t make it move. There was too much data all around him, his mind struggling to catch everything with no one place to focus. Petrov complained about a supplier who kept sending subpar ingredients. Vincent was attempting to plan a double date with Marcus and Caleb, but Caleb looked like a lobster being boiled in slow motion with how red his face had gotten, which was making Adam laugh. Matteo seemed to be in the same headspace as Nick, staring down at his food with blood drizzled on it like it was going to bite him—he just sipped his wine while Luka translated the various conversations for him.
Come on Nick, be normal. You’ve done dinners before.
Nickwasreaching for the salt when Ophelia’s water glass tipped over. Nick’s hand shot out automatically, catching the glass before it could hit the table.
“Oops,”Ophelia said, her dark eyes glinting with something akin to mischief.“Clumsy me.”
Nick set the glass upright, watching her with growing suspicion.“Uh-huh.”
Ten minutes later, she“accidentally”dropped her napkin near his feet. Nick’s handwasalready moving before the fabric hit the floor, snatching it out of the air in one smooth motion.
“Thanks,”Ophelia said, wearing a wide-eyed innocent expression.
“You’re welcome,”Nick replied dryly.
