Mac looked at him.
The answer came slower this time. “Now I keep thinking about what it’s going to feel like when we get back,” he said quietly. “Going back to pretending none of this exists.”
Melvin understood what he meant without needing it explained. Mac wasn’t talking about the Veil or the Council. He meant them.
For a moment neither of them spoke, the contact steady and unhurried between them while the city moved on without noticing. Mac was quiet for a while, watching the broken reflections move across the river. After a minute he said, almost like an afterthought, “Your sister got me in trouble.”
Melvin groaned softly. “Of course she did.”
“The poetry thing.”
Melvin turned toward him. “Oh no.”
Mac kept his eyes on the water. “You’re gonna regret this,” he said.
Melvin smiled. “Probably.”
Mac took a breath. “Steel holds the line when the world starts reeling, but it’s you that steadies everything I’m feeling.”
Melvin stared at him. “You really did rhyme steel with feelings.”
Mac huffed a quiet breath. “Don’t spread that around.”
Melvin’s smile didn’t fade. He stared at him. “That’s… actually not terrible.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Melvin squeezed his hand once. “Too late.”
Mac shook his head, but the quiet warmth stayed with him, something steady settling beneath the surface where doubt had lived before. Mac let out a breath. For the first time the future didn’t feel like an empty space waiting to be filled by orders.
It felt like something they might build.
Together.
Later that night, back at the hotel, the city pulsed outside, sirens, car horns, voices muffled by glass, while inside everything slowed into something quieter than either of them had known how to expect.
The hotel room was dark, the only light the sodium orange glow of the city bleeding around the edges of the curtains. The distant pulse of traffic was a heartbeat beneath the silence.
Mac stood by the window, his back to the room, to the bed, to Melvin. He could feel the weight of the future they’d spoken of sitting in his chest like a living thing. It made the wolf restless.
He heard the soft rustle of sheets. Felt the shift in the air. The scent of honey and amber deepened, drawing him in.
“Mac.”
Melvin’s voice was quiet, invitation and surrender all at once.
Mac turned. Melvin was propped on an elbow, the sheet pooled at his waist. The city’s faint light traced the line of his shoulder, the dip of his collarbone, the flat plane of his stomach. He was watching Mac, his expression open, waiting. There was no hesitation in his eyes. Only certainty.
That certainty undid him. Mac crossed the room in three silent strides. He didn’t speak. Words were gone, burned away by a need older than language. He caged Melvin with his body, one knee on the mattress, his hands framing Melvin’s face. He just looked, drinking in the sight of him like a man coming home after a long drought.
Melvin’s hand came up, his fingers curling around Mac’s wrist. His thumb stroked the frantic pulse there. “I know,” he whispered.
Mac bent and took his mouth. It wasn’t like the kiss by the river. This one was deeper and consuming, like a slow fuse catching flame. He tasted the coffee they’d shared, the familiar flavor that was just Melvin. He felt the soft groan vibrate through Melvin’s chest and into his own.
His hands moved from Melvin’s face, down the strong column of his throat, over the steady beat of his heart. He pushed the sheet away, baring him completely. The sight hit Mac like a physical blow: the lean muscle, the dark trail of hair leading down, the hard length of him already lying thick against his stomach. Mac’s own cock throbbed with a painful, eager ache.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Mac breathed against his lips, the words rough, torn from a place he usually kept locked.
