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“You answered my song, Luke,” Syrus said. The croon in his voice made it sound like Luke had gone down on one knee and proposed.

“Your cry for help?”

“Not just a cry for help.” Syrus shook his head quickly, the first sign he’d shown of any frustration. “I didn’t know what I was asking for at the time. I was…hurt. And half-delirious. And very alone. I called for more than help. I called for a mate. Someone to hold and protect. And you came. You and Colby.”

Right. A protector and a birther, wasn’t that the deal? Luke narrowed his eyes. “Any father would have done?”

“No,” Syrus said decisively. “You answered my song. I called for you.” Syrus cupped Luke’s cheek with one broad hand, and Luke couldn’t bring himself to shake off the touch. “You don’t know what I mean yet. But I’ll show you. I’ll sing for you again. Soon.”

Well, at least Luke would get another lullaby. Sometime after he processed the fact that he’d been binding his soul to another person without realizing it. A nonhuman person. And apparently it was turning Luke into an anxious half lunatic.

“I wasn’t this jittery before though.”

Syrus grinned, his thumb brushing against Luke’s cheekbone. “Well, our mating dance has progressed, hasn’t it? I’ve filled you. You’ve filled me in turn.”

His grin turned hungry, like he’d be inclined to do a little more filling right about now. Luke ignored it. If Syrus thought this conversation was some sort of hot foreplay, he was horribly mistaken.

God, there’d really been some gaps in Luke’s safe sex talks growing up, hadn’t there? Little important tidbits like, Don’t fuck without a condom if you don’t want your soul secretly entwined.

First the classic baby out of wedlock, now this. Luke had never thought of himself as particularly promiscuous, but at this point, he should really learn to keep it in his pants.

And even worse, he’d just been going on and on to Seth like an idiot about wanting magic in his life. The universe must have been cackling at him, ready to slap him in the proverbial face for his audacity.

Syrus’s voice lowered into a reassuring whisper. “Don’t look so distraught. I’ll be a very devoted mate, Luke.”

Luke didn’t even doubt him. “Can it be reversed?”

The question left him before he’d realized it, and the air between them grew heavy, weighted in a way that was almost palpable. Even without touching him, Luke could feel the tension in Syrus’s frame.

“It could,” Syrus finally said. There was no croon in his voice, no teasing. It was the flattest Luke had ever heard him. He didn’t offer up any details, and Luke didn’t ask.

He didn’t know how long they might have stayed there, Luke overheated and weightless and somewhat numb in the brain, Syrus stiff and determined and probably holding on to at least a hundred more secrets, but a wail on the monitor cut through the silence. Colby was waking up, and waking up cranky from the sound of it.

Luke glanced down at his lap. His son needed him, and he was naked and wrapped in a dirty sex blanket, just to add to the delight of the afternoon.

But Syrus was already standing. “Allow me. I’ve missed him today.”

Luke resisted the urge to groan loudly. God, why did Syrus have to be so sweet sometimes? Luke was trying to hold a grudge, and he wasn’t very good at it in the first place, and Syrus wanting quality time with his son was definitely not helping.

“Not with your junk out,” he managed to say.

“Of course not,” Syrus agreed, even though he’d already been striding toward the stairs. He came back and grabbed his sweatpants from the floor, dragging them over his hips, then headed back toward the stairs.

Luke was too tired to fight it. He slumped back and listened idly to the monitor. He heard the door to Colby’s bedroom open, then Syrus’s crooning voice.

“Such distress, young Colby. Did your dreams trouble you?”

Colby answered in a plaintive wail, a hearty “Dada” followed by something incomprehensible. A shuffling sound must have been Syrus picking him up out of his crib.

“Yes, your Dada’s been having a rough go of it,” Syrus said, tutting gently. “Are you feeling awfully protective?”

Miraculously, Colby’s next answer was a subdued whimper, a telltale sign his tears were done for the moment, like Syrus had really cut to the chase of it with his nonsense.

“Should we explore some of your toys in here? Let your Dada take a shower and refresh himself?”

That was apparently an acceptable plan, judging from Colby’s sleepy, mumbled agreement.

So Syrus had gotten Colby out of his funk with a few crooning words and a two-second cuddle. And Colby was already comfortable enough with him that he didn’t care that his father wasn’t present and available when he woke from his nap.