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Syrus almost wanted to laugh at the faint praise, but he also had the much more familiar urge to bare sharp teeth, to hiss and bite at whatever creature dared breach his defenses. An injured tail was not something to be trifled with, or trusted to a stranger.

But Luke’s hands were gentle, his movements slow and calm. He winced as he worked, as if Syrus’s wounds could harm him just by Luke looking at them.

It took a long time for him to work over each cut, and Syrus slowly calmed his instincts. This may have been a stranger, but it was an empathetic one, a tenderhearted father with no mate to protect him.

Not a threat, after all. More like a gift from the gods for a creature in need.

When Luke was finished, he set Syrus’s bandaged feet carefully back down on the mat. “What else can I get you?” he asked. “Water? I should have thought of that before, I’m sorry. And you probably need something to eat too.”

There was that unfamiliar dryness in Syrus’s throat—fresh water would be necessary in this form. And his stomach panged, tightly clenched with how empty it had gotten over the past few…days? Weeks?

How long had Syrus been out there, alone in the water?

Syrus hesitated. It wasn’t in his nature to show weakness, but he was undeniably weak. He was injured and underfed, and he’d been up for days without sleep, watching for humans and sea predators, trying to catch even a morsel of prey for himself. Just getting to Luke’s home had taken more out of him than he’d expected. He should have been able to bear the pain and walk regardless, but his legs had almost crumpled beneath him, even with Luke’s helpful weight holding him up.

“Rest,” Syrus finally answered. “I need rest.”

Luke nodded. “There’s a spare bedroom here on the first floor. You can rest there. And then we can talk about if there’s, um, anyone to call.”

“No one,” Syrus told him quickly. “There’s no one to call.” If he hadn’t been an outcast of his pod before, he certainly was one now. He doubted they would come for him, even if he were to find a way to send a message. Even if he’d wanted to.

Syrus didn’t miss the flash of panic that crossed Luke’s face. Poor thing, indeed. He was probably regretting bringing Syrus here. Too late though. Syrus was here, and there was an exchange to be had between the two of them.

Luke was a father with no mate and too much softness toward the outside world. He needed someone to mind him, and Syrus needed somewhere to heal and strengthen in safety.

Syrus hadn’t been sure of his next move after luring the right human to his side, but he was certain now.

Syrus would stay. And kind, tenderhearted Luke would let him.

5

LUKE

Luke left the spare bedroom and shut the door softly behind him.

After a slow, hobbling trudge from the bathroom, he’d finally gotten Syrus settled in bed. Or, more like, he’d gotten Syrus settled on top of the bed, since Syrus had refused the covers, insisting he didn’t need them.

Luke hadn’t fought him on it. Maybe Syrus naturally ran hot. His skin was warmer now, at least, although still cooler than Luke thought was probably normal. But he wasn’t feverish.

Syrus had wanted the curtains open, even though the view wasn’t much to take in, seeing as how it was only Luke’s badly overgrown backyard, full of waterlogged toddler toys. Syrus had mentioned opening the window too, but Luke had drawn the line there (“You almost drowned in the ocean, and it’s freezing outside!”). Syrus had gotten that amused little crinkle around his eyes again and acquiesced.

Luke had left water at Syrus’s bedside, but when he’d asked him what he wanted to eat, Syrus had only said, “Meat. Raw,” and then closed his eyes.

Luke frowned as he headed to the kitchen. Syrus must have been trying to say “rare,” which meant the chicken Luke was saving for dinner tonight was out. He had steaks he’d been saving for the weekend, though, buried somewhere in the back of his fridge.

Luke seared two of them, keeping one nice and bloody in the middle. He plated it and kept the other back for himself because, what the hell, he might as well. It was coming on midday now, and Luke’s stomach was rumbling. On a normal day, he’d have already worked, eaten, and would be getting ready to pick up Colby soon.

Luke missed him, even if they weren’t due for their usual reunion quite yet. It was just…Colby was always so happy to see him at pickup, running to Luke with that smile of his, proud that he could now wear his “pack-pack” on his back all by himself.

What would Colby think of the stranger in their house?

He’d be thrilled, of course. That was the ridiculous part. Colby was more extroverted than either of his parents, and seemed to like adult attention of any flavor. It wasn’t like toddlers had a great sense of stranger danger either—that was what parents were for.

Plus, there was the fact that Colby had an eye for pretty things. Luke already knew he would be fascinated by Syrus’s hair, so much longer and blonder than anyone else’s they knew.

Luke headed back to the spare room with the steak in hand, silverware and a napkin balanced on top. He knocked once before stepping inside. Syrus lay on top of the covers, his eyes closed.

He looked…out of place, lying there. He was too big and too handsome to be sprawled on top of Luke’s spare quilt, his blond waves spread over the pillow like some fairy-tale prince. The sense of disconnect from reality that had been plaguing Luke all morning was only growing.