"I know he's dangerous."
"That's not—" Robin sighs, running a hand through his powdered-sugar hair. "Okay, yes, he's dangerous. He's killed people. Probably a lot of people, doing whatever classified shit he was doing for five years. He can assess a room for threats in under two seconds and probably knows six ways to kill someone with a fork. But that's not what I'm worried about."
I finally look at him. "Then what?"
"Ash doesn't do relationships." Robin's face is serious, more serious than I've ever seen him. "He never has. Not real ones, not lasting ones. The longest I've ever seen him with anyone was maybe a month, and that was back in high school. Some guy on the wrestling team. Ash liked him, I think. Actually liked him, not just wanted to fuck him. And then one day it was just over, and Ash never mentioned him again."
"Maybe he just hadn't met the right person."
"That's exactly what I was afraid you'd say." Robin runs both hands through his hair now, frustrated. "Look, it's not his fault. Our parents were a disaster. Dad cheated constantly—like, constantly, different woman every few months, barely even tried to hide it. Mom pretended not to notice because noticing would mean doing something about it. They'd have screaming fights at two in the morning and then act like everything was fine over breakfast. Neither of them knew how to be a real partner. They just... performed at it, badly, and made each other miserable for twenty years before finally divorcing."
"That doesn't mean Ash—"
"It means neither of us learned what a healthy relationship looks like." Robin's voice cracks slightly, vulnerability bleeding through that he quickly covers with a wry smile. "I cope by keeping everything casual—it's just sex, never feelings, never expectations, never sticking around long enough for anyone to disappoint me. Ash copes by not letting anyone close enough to matter. We're both fucked up about it, just in different directions."
I turn back to the stove, start cleaning up. Scraping the test batches into containers, wiping down surfaces. My hands need something to do, something to focus on.
"It's just lunch," I say.
"Is it though?"
No. It's not. It's me wanting to feed him, take care of him, show him that someone can be soft for him. It's me lying awake last night imagining his hands on me, his voice in my ear, the weight of his body pressing me down. It's me feeling something slot into place when he touched me, something that felt like recognition.
"I'm not expecting anything," I say. "I know he's not going to fall in love with me over curry."
"But you want him to."
I don't answer. We both know the truth.
Robin sighs, leaning his hip against the counter. "He takes what he wants, enjoys it completely, and then moves on. It's not mean—he's always honest about it, never promises more than he can give, at least from what I've heard. But that's who he is. That's who he's always been."
"So what, I'm just supposed to not feel anything?"
"I'm saying go into it with your eyes open." Robin puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "Have fun tomorrow. Flirt with him. Maybe get spectacularly fucked if you're lucky—and from what I've heard, you'd be lucky. People don't tend to complain about Ash in that department. But don't start planning your mating ceremony."
"Lions don't have ceremonies."
"You know what I mean."
I do. He's warning me that Ash will destroy me if I let him. That wanting him is one thing, but expecting him to stay is another.
"Maybe I don't need keeping," I say.
Robin snorts. "Jason, you're literally the keeper of this entire pride. You feed everyone, take care of everyone, make sure Knox doesn't go feral and Vaughn actually eats vegetables and Silas emerges from his book corner occasionally. You're domestic as fuck. You probably have fantasies about someoneletting you cook for them every night." He pauses. "Actually, do you? Because that would explain a lot about this vindaloo situation."
"Shut up."
"And Ash is a hurricane. Gorgeous and powerful and he will level you. Fun to watch from a distance, but you don't want to be standing in the path when it makes landfall."
"Hurricanes eventually stop."
"Yeah, after they destroy everything."
The words hit harder than I want them to. I busy myself with dishes, scrubbing a pot that's probably beyond saving, the burned onion remnants clinging stubbornly to the bottom.
"I can handle it," I say.
Robin looks skeptical. "Can you? Because you look at him the way Toby looks at Knox, and that kind of wanting only ends two ways. Mated for life, or completely destroyed."
