The sea stretched before Lucas, endless and grey, merging with the sky at a horizon that seemed to go on forever.
He sat on the damp sand, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them.
The morning sun was just beginning to rise, painting the clouds in shades of pink and gold, and he watched it with a longing that had become familiar over the past few weeks.
It felt like both an eternity and no time at all.
Behind him, the small cottage he shared with Rohan sat quiet and warm, smoke curling from its chimney.
He could hear Rohan moving about inside, preparing breakfast, the clatter of pots, and the soft hum of a melody that Lucas had grown to recognize over the months.
But Lucas couldn't bring himself to move. His eyes were fixed on the sun, on its slow ascent over the water, and his mind was far away.
I keep thinking about what would have happened if I had stayed.
The words echoed in his head, the same conversation he'd had with Rohan last night. The same questions that had been plaguing him for years.
If I had just swallowed my pride and accepted his suggestion.
He remembered Sebastian's face that day. The way he'd stood at the door of the motel room, his eyes desperate, his voice pleading.
"We can make it work, Lucas. Beatrice will understand. She's okay with it."
Lucas had almost believed him. For a moment, just a moment, he'd wanted to believe him. Because the thought of losing Sebastian entirely was worse than having him in pieces.
But he'd said no. He'd closed the door and walked away.
And he'd been walking ever since.
The bond in his chest throbbed, a dull, persistent ache that had never quite gone away. It had faded over the few weeks and become more bearable, but it was always there. A reminder of what he'd left behind.
And lately, it had been getting worse.
Lucas pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the faint pulse of the bond. It was stronger now, more insistent. Like something was pulling him back. Like Sebastian was reaching for him.
But that couldn't be right. Sebastian was married. Sebastian had Beatrice. He had his perfect life, his perfect wife, his perfect future.
He doesn't need me. He never did.
And yet the bond pulled. Relentless. Unforgiving.
Lucas closed his eyes, trying to block it out. He thought about the sea, about the children playing along the shore, about the people who had given him comfort when he needed it most. He thought about Rohan, who had taken him in without question, who had given him a place to heal.
I could stay here forever, he thought. I could spend the rest of my life by the sea, and I would be happy.
But would he? Would he really?
The sun climbed higher, its warmth spreading across the sand. Lucas felt it on his face, on his hands, on the bare skin of his arms. It was gentle and soothing.
And yet the bond still ached.
Why now? Why after all this time?
He heard the cottage door creak open behind him, followed by soft footsteps on the sand. Rohan appeared beside him, holding two steaming cups.
He handed one to Lucas without a word, then settled onto the sand beside him.
They sat in silence for a long moment, watching the waves roll in and out.
"Couldn't sleep?" Rohan finally asked.
Lucas shook his head. "Couldn't stop thinking."
"About him?"
Lucas didn't answer. He didn't need to. Rohan knew.
"Your coffee's getting cold," Rohan observed.
Lucas looked down at the cup in his hands. He hadn't even taken a sip. "I'm not thirsty."
"You never are these days." Rohan's voice was gentle, but there was a hint of concern beneath it. "You've been distant. More than usual."
Lucas let out a slow breath. "It's the bond. It's been... acting up."
Rohan's brow furrowed. "Acting up? How?"
Lucas pressed a hand to his chest. "It hurts more. It feels like…" He paused, searching for the words. "Like something is pulling me back. Like someone is calling for me."
Rohan was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Maybe someone is."
Lucas shook his head quickly. "No. He's married. He has Beatrice. He doesn't…" he trailed off, his voice catching. "He doesn't want me."
Lucas looked down at his hands. They were trembling again. He didn't know why.
"I want to stop hurting," he whispered. "I want to stop feeling like I'm drowning all the time. I want..." He paused, his voice breaking. "I want to stop loving him. But I can't. No matter how hard I try, I can't."
Rohan nodded slowly. "That's not weakness, Lucas. That's grief. And grief takes time."
Lucas let out a bitter laugh. "I've had five years."
"And grief doesn't care about time." Rohan squeezed his shoulder. "It takes what it takes. And you don't have to rush it."
Lucas fell silent, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. The bond in his chest pulsed again, sharp and insistent.
Lucas.
I'm coming.
The words seemed to echo in his mind, clear and unmistakable. But they weren't his thoughts. They were someone else's.
Lucas's breath caught. "Rohan."
Rohan looked at him. "What?"
"I—" Lucas shook his head, his hand pressing harder against his chest. "I don't know how to explain it, but I think...I think he's coming here."
Rohan's expression shifted, his eyes sharpening.
"Who? Sebastian?"
Lucas nodded slowly. "I can feel him. The bond—it's stronger. Like he's getting closer." He paused, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know what to do."
Rohan was quiet for a long moment. Then he stood, brushing the sand from his trousers. "I think," he said carefully, "that you need to decide what you want before he arrives. Because if he shows up, and you haven't figured it out..."
"He'll convince me." Lucas's voice was hollow.
"He'll look at me with those eyes, and he'll say all the right things, and I'll forget every reason I left. I'll forget all the pain. I'll just..." He shook his head. "I'll fall for it all over again."
"Then don't let him." Rohan's voice was firm.
"Remember why you left. Remember the pain. Remember the way you felt when you realized you were just his secret. Because you deserve better than that, Lucas. You deserve to be someone's first choice, not their consolation prize."
Lucas stared at the sea, the words settling into his heart like stones.
He did deserve better. He knew that. But knowing and believing were two different things.
The sun continued to rise, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. The children on the shore laughed and played, their voices carrying on the wind.
And Lucas sat there, his coffee cold in his hands, wondering if he was strong enough to say no to the one person who had always been impossible to resist.
The walk to the cottage felt impossibly long.
Sebastian's feet carried him through the winding paths of Tanesab, past gardens bursting with color and cottages with doors left open, but he barely registered any of it.
His world had narrowed to a single point, the small house at the edge of the village, visible now through the trees, its chimney releasing a thin curl of smoke into the morning air.
He's in there.
The bond in Sebastian's chest burned, hot and urgent, pulling him forward with an intensity that made his dead heart feel almost alive. Every step brought him closer. Every breath tasted like anticipation.
And yet, when he finally reached the front door, he stopped.
His hand hovered in the air, inches from the weathered wood. He couldn't knock. His fingers wouldn't move.
They were trembling, actually trembling, and when he looked down, he realized with a jolt that his palms were slick with sweat.
Impossible. I'm a vampire. I don't sweat.
But he was.
That cold, clammy moisture coating his skin like a confession.
Sebastian stared at his hands, at the evidence of his fear, and felt something crack inside him. He was terrified. Not of Lucas, never of Lucas, but of what would happen when that door opened. Of what he would see in Lucas's eyes.
Of what he would hear in Lucas's voice.
What if he hates me? What if he looks at me like I'm a stranger? What if he tells me to leave and never come back?
The questions swirled in his mind, each one more devastating than the last. He'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times. He'd written letters he never sent, practiced speeches in the mirror, and imagined every possible outcome.
But now that he was here, standing on the doorstep of the man he'd wronged, all those words had vanished. He had nothing. No grand apology. No perfect explanation. Just the desperate, aching need to see Lucas's face.
His hand dropped to his side.
I can't do this.
The thought came sharp and immediate, and for a moment, he considered turning around. Walking away. Going back to the truck and driving back to La Ber and pretending he'd never come.
But the bond in his chest pulsed, warm, insistent, almost pleading, and he knew he couldn't. He'd come too far. He'd waited too long. He'd spent five years running from this moment, and he was done running.
"I can't do this," he thought again. But I have to.
He raised his hand.
He knocked.