Page 25 of Roguefinder

“Yes. We carry a little of each other wherever we go.”

His face went serious, his usual irreverence gone. “I’m glad, Jesse.”

I lifted so I could brush my lips over his. “Me too. I love you.”

His heart rate picked up. When I pulled back, his eyes were brighter. “I love you, too.”

Each time we said it was just as good as the one before. The words were small—common, even—but far from ordinary. And I was never going to get sick of hearing Caleb say them.

I looked at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s almost midnight, and we have a 6 a.m. flight.”

He closed his eyes. “Fucking Stefanos. He scheduled that shit early on purpose.”

Laughing, I shoved him aside and smacked his hip. “Come on. Shower and a snack for you. Then bed.”

He was suddenly alert. “What kind of snack?”

More laughter gathered as I tugged him from bed. “Something healthy. You need more protein now that you’ve turned.”

He gave my cock a pointed look. “Nice try, but I think the USDA might take issue with your version of the food pyramid.”

Shaking my head, I shooed him toward the bathroom. “I walked right into that.” He laughed, and I swatted his ass. “Go. We both need sleep.”

Still laughing, he let me herd him into the shower. And as the spray pummeled us, I kept my worry about Gesualdo and the vampires locked firmly behind my side of the mate bond.

Chapter

Five

JESSE

Travel from Heathrow was as irritating as usual, the bustle and heat of humanity setting my wolf on edge. But we encountered no delays or mixups. Our excellent fake IDs did exactly what I’d paid for, and the bored officer at the gate waved us through without lifting his eyes from his screen.

On the plane, Caleb stole three of my crackers and the small square of dark chocolate that came with my coffee. Five minutes later, he drained my coffee, too. After that, he spent an hour on his phone with his AirPods in, occasionally huffing a quiet laugh at something on his screen. He fell asleep somewhere over the Alps with his cheek on my shoulder and his mouth slightly open, his blond hair stirred by the overhead vent.

By the time we landed, my wolf was settled and content again.

Rome greeted us the way London had, with gray skies and a chill that whipped down the jetway and under our collars. Caleb cursed and hitched his backpack higher on his shoulders.

“You okay?” I asked, fighting a smile at the sight of the fabric crease on his cheek.

He scrubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes as we entered Fiumicino. “I’ll be better when we find coffee that doesn’t taste like it was filtered through a sock.”

“You seemed to like mine just fine.”

“That was a mercy killing,” he said. “Consider yourself spared.”

We collected our suitcases from baggage claim and joined the stream of businesspeople and tourists heading toward customs. A woman on the loudspeaker announced delayed flights in brisk Italian, her voice bouncing off the high terminal ceilings and dissolving into the noise of arrivals. Monitors overhead confirmed what she was saying: storms were on their way, leading to a cascade of delays. Around us, travelers consulted phones and flocked to ticket counters.

Caleb and I cleared customs and kept moving. His eyes were half-mast, and the fabric crease hadn’t budged. Golden stubble dusted his jaw. With his gray sweatpants, long-sleeve athletic shirt, and size 14 Nikes, he looked like a college student slouching his way toward an early spring break. Eyes followed him, women and more than a few men casting him a mix of curious and appreciative glances.

Abruptly, he stopped walking, his attention fixed on a cluster of food stalls blazing with light. Espresso machines hissed, and pastry cases glowed. A dozen conversations mingled with the scent of baked goods and cappuccino.

Humans occupied every available surface. A few had laptops open, screens bright in the gray morning filtering through the terminal’s high windows.

Caleb looked at the nearest espresso bar like he’d just discovered water in the desert.

“Coffee,” he breathed.