Marcus kept his arms wrapped around Vincent, one hand stroking the back of his neck, murmuring low reassurances that barely rose above the rain on the windows. "You're safe. I've got you. Breathe. And trust me no more lies. Ever. It's my promise. " The words were soft, meant only for Vincent's ears, and for a moment the world shrank to the two of them—his warmth, his scent, the faint tremor still running through Vincent's chest.
Outside, thunder rolled over the city like a closing fist. Streetlights flickered in the watery reflection of the windowpane.
Christopher leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, a slow grin spreading across his blood-spattered face. James stood beside him, one eyebrow raised in quiet amusement. Neither man spoke until Christopher cleared his throat with theatrical flair.
Vincent startled so hard he nearly left Marcus's embrace entirely. He twisted, eyes narrowing at the stranger dripping crimson onto the hardwood. "Who is that—"
