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Violet spoke up. “He thinks you’re acting like a lunatic. Maybe because you kind of are.”

Seth coughed, either in protest or agreement; it was hard to tell. And Luke…didn’t have anything to say to that. Because yeah, maybe he had a certain frazzled energy this morning that was a little unlike him, but that was just…

Well, Luke didn’t really know what it was. Too many worries for one morning, maybe, and fussing over Syrus’s feet seemed to be the only actionable one to manage.

A warm hand covered Luke’s where he’d rested it on the table. “My Luke worries over me,” Syrus said proudly.

And there was definitely nothing to say to that. Luke focused back on Seth, unable to meet his niece’s eye for the moment. “Syrus was wondering if Riley’s moms had found the address Daphne mentioned,” he said, in what was definitely a calm and dignified manner.

Seth stopped fiddling with his pastries and brightened. “Oh, yeah. They texted it to Riley. Figured we might see you first. Although, maybe don’t be surprised one day if they show up and invite themselves over for tea. Let me grab Riley’s phone from the back.”

“He’s back there?” Luke asked with surprise. Riley wasn’t usually far from Seth’s side, especially if they were already in the same building. He tended to gravitate around his boyfriend like some kind of fierce, circling moon.

“Um, yeah. He’s reading in the kitchen. He was…distracting me up here.” Seth’s blooming pink cheeks gave away exactly what kind of distraction Riley might have been. “But it bodes well for future friendship that he didn’t come rushing out when Syrus arrived.” Seth’s brow furrowed thoughtfully under his cupcake-printed headband. “Or maybe he just can’t scent you back there.”

He headed to the back, and Luke glanced Violet’s way to see if she’d caught any of the implications there. She was eyeing Syrus’s hand over Luke’s with a moue of distaste—Syrus had begun brushing his thumb over Luke’s wrist with a dreamy look in his eye, a fact Luke had somehow failed to notice while talking with Seth.

Violet arched a brow at Luke before returning to her laptop. “You’re all equally gross, by the way.”

Luke didn’t even try to argue.

18

SYRUS

Syrus stretched his legs, wincing at the sting in his feet as he attempted to point his human toes.

He was horizontal, at Luke’s charming insistence. Horizontal and housebound. Syrus may have gotten the address he’d wanted, but Luke had gotten his way in the end. The house the mothers had found in the research institute’s personnel files was apparently in the next town over, and Luke had insisted that making the drive over today would be a bad idea. (“You want to face someone from that institute when you can’t even walk straight?”)

It had been a struggle to acquiesce. Syrus kept imagining again and again what had happened on the beach—a stranger approaching, Syrus being forced to duck and hide under the waves. Reemerging as a human only to find the stranger that much closer, within snatching distance of both Luke and Colby, Syrus’s precious charges.

So what if the stranger had turned out to be harmless, as Luke suspected? It didn’t mean the next encounter would remain so. And it didn’t change how Syrus had felt, out of reach and helpless to protect without revealing his nature.

Syrus didn’t know exactly what laying eyes on the former employee of his kidnappers would do to assuage the rage and fear he’d felt in the water. He only knew some sort of action was necessary, some closure to reassure himself that this town was as safe as Luke felt it was.

But, when Luke had protested traveling to the next town over this very day, Syrus had reluctantly conceded the point and allowed himself to be shepherded back to Luke’s home. He’d refused, however—perhaps in a fit of petulance, but who could really say—to return to the guest bedroom when Luke had announced he had work to do.

Which was why Syrus was now laid out on a futon in Luke’s garage workshop, watching Luke carefully sand over fine carvings on a table.

Syrus liked the space, open and airy, with tall ceilings and dark wood for its walls. He especially liked the large windows facing the ocean, even if he couldn’t see the water through the trees. He could still sense it, the push and pull of currents out there calling to him in their gentle way. And Luke had allowed for the windows to be cracked—the fresh breeze was welcome.

The space might have been large and open, but it was clearly put to its full use. The tools Luke used were plentiful and alarming to look at, lining the workshop as they were, the smaller ones placed on shelves to keep them out of the way. But it smelled surprisingly pleasant in here. Or perhaps not surprising, since it smelled like Luke, of wood shavings and sawdust. Syrus’s creature of the earth, here in his element.

The piece Luke was working on so diligently, a lovely frown of concentration on his handsome face, was also surprising. It was a delightful table, long and thin with spindly legs on which Luke had carved an abstract design that nonetheless reminded Syrus of ocean waves. But it didn’t at all resemble the solid warmth of Colby’s crib, which meant Luke was not just talented but adaptable.

But of course he was—Syrus knew as much already.

Luke was also a worrier, if this morning was any indication.

Not that it was all so bad, being subjected to Luke’s pampering. Syrus was laid out like a king, the thick futon placed on the floor so he could stretch out to his full length, an assortment of quilts covering it to add to its softness.

Luke was quite deliberately not watching Syrus, in a way that indicated his concentration would be broken if he let his gaze wander. And while Syrus pined away as always for Luke’s attention, his palpable concern for Syrus’s well-being was still delicious. Not exactly the incentive Luke might think for Syrus not to overdo it again.

The stinging discomfort made itself known once more, and Syrus frowned down at his swollen appendages. Perhaps there was some incentive. He didn’t regret his dance in the waves—his body as well as his soul had needed it, and what sort of prospective mate would he be if he hadn’t shown himself to his best advantage with Luke and Colby back at the shore? But maybe it hadn’t been wise to spend the previous day so long on his feet beforehand.

Lesson learned, he supposed. How tiring to be so responsible, if only in thought.

Syrus stretched again, huffing in annoyance at his own fragility.