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“He’s a very strong swimmer.”

Luke was aware he sounded like an idiot. But his wariness and rising anxiety were taking over, and it was the best he could do to have a half-normal conversation without shooing this guy off the goddamn beach.

“I’m Luke. This is Colby.”

He wasn’t sure why he bothered introducing himself, other than a sense that he might pull off a vibe that said, Nothing to see here. Just a boring dad and his son having quality time while an invisible boyfriend drowns off to the side.

The guy gave Colby the vaguely repulsed look adults who weren’t fond of children took on when they met someone Colby’s age making a mess.

“And your boyfriend?”

Luke went through a slew of equally inappropriate answers: None of your fucking business. Could take your fingers off in one bite. Needs to get here before I have an ill-timed panic attack and start shouting about vampires to distract you.

He was saved from voicing any of them by the sound of Syrus calling his name.

Luke whipped around to face the water. There was Syrus, and relief flooded through Luke when he saw that Syrus was standing on two legs, the water just coming up to cover his hips.

“Syrus!” Luke called, probably a bit too giddily.

Syrus gave him a small grin. “Dearest, will you bring me my clothes?” His gaze went over Luke’s shoulder, and in a much cooler tone, he added, “Hello. I’m naked.”

The stranger stared back at Syrus, wide-eyed, his veneer of mild affability finally gone. Luke supposed a giant, beautiful man rising naked out of the water could do that to a person.

“Excuse me,” Luke said, leaning down to grab Syrus’s clothes off the rocks. “Nordic roots, you know.”

He still sounded like an idiot, he was pretty sure, but it was hard to care now that Syrus was finally back and walking on two legs.

Luke didn’t know why he was so relieved to have backup. It wasn’t like Syrus was a natural at dealing with humans—his coming out of the freezing ocean in the buff was probably proof enough of that. But the relief was there, anyway, too powerful to be subdued by a silly thing like logic.

Luke hurried down the beach to the edge of the shoreline, covering Syrus’s modesty as best he could with his body as Syrus came closer.

“I didn’t know if you could come back like this,” Luke murmured quietly when Syrus was finally right in front of him, a rising wind whipping water off Syrus’s skin in a faint mist.

Syrus’s gaze remained over Luke’s shoulder—keeping an eye on the stranger, no doubt—as he answered with an alarmingly bright smile, “I have but a minute left. Give me your hand.”

Luke held out a hand. Syrus shook his head. “Your other hand.”

Oh. Right. The one where Luke had been knifing at his own thumb. Luke surreptitiously ripped off his bandage and lifted his hand to Syrus’s mouth. Syrus made a show of taking his clothes from Luke while pressing a kiss first to Luke’s palm, then his fingers, then the pad of his thumb. His mouth was cool and damp, and his gaze never wavered from over Luke’s shoulder.

Luke hissed at a sudden sharp sting. Syrus had forced the cut open again with his lips and was tonguing at the open wound. He still couldn’t have gotten more than a little taste of blood like that, but he seemed satisfied enough as he let Luke’s hand drop, Syrus’s smile dropping with it.

“He’s gone.”

Luke turned.

Colby was toddling toward them, his arms already outstretched in a plea to be lifted, but he was alone on the sand.

The stranger had left the beach.

They were on their way back to the car within ten minutes, and it didn’t take long for Luke to realize Syrus was limping through the sand. And not in the ungainly way of someone unused to two legs managing uneven ground.

No, Syrus was really limping.

Luke shifted Colby on his hip and glanced down at Syrus’s feet. He gasped. “Syrus!”

“Yes, sweet Luke?” Syrus asked distractedly. He’d been looking severe and thoughtful since he’d come out of the water, but now Luke wondered if the furrow on his brow was partly due to pain.

“Your feet!” Luke accused.