Zander – POV
The sky is dipped in soft lavender and coral streaks, the kind of painted dusk only this island seems to know how to conjure. The golden hour clings to the treetops, bathing the quiet world below in its final, burning breath of warmth.
The porch creaks beneath me as I sit, elbows on my knees, watching the world soften around the edges.
And behind me—within the quiet house—Ivan's scent lingers like the echo of a heartbeat.
Sweet. Spiced. Heavy with the edges of something deeper stirring.
Pheromones, pre-heat, and Ivan.
It hums against the walls. It settles into the fibers of my hoodie.
It crawls under my skin.
I needed to breathe.
To be away.
To stop thinking about how soft his voice had gotten. About the way his lips had parted when the fever rose. About the way he'd whispered for my father to stay.
The door creaks again behind me.
I don't turn.
"When did you get here?" Jeremy's voice floats out behind me.
"Long enough to overhear you plotting about a grandchild," I answer, and he lets out a familiar chuckle.
He eases down beside me, slow and comfortable, like he's lived a thousand evenings on this porch. He leans his head against my shoulder without hesitation, and for a brief second, I close my eyes.
He used to do that all the time, when I was younger. Back when I was still small enough to hide under his arm, before the world started expecting me to be something more than a boy.
"I'm sorry," he says, in a tone that suggests he isn't.
"I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to be a grandparent. And now that it's a possibility, I'm impatient."
"Uh huh." My lips twitch despite myself.
We sit like that for a moment.
Quiet.
The trees whisper and bend. The waves kiss the faraway shore. And there's something soft in the air tonight that I can't quite name.
"Seeing as how, once you leave, I won't even get to contact you..."
His voice trails off, tinged with something old and sorrowful. Not bitter. Just… resigned.
I glance down at his hand beside mine. I take it, gently, fingers curling around the ones that once bandaged my scraped knees and fed me soup through colds.
He used to seem larger than life. But his hand is smaller now. Bonier. His skin thinner.
When did he start looking so frail?
"I'm sorry," I say again.
Its not enough but I hope he understands what I mean.
Sorry for the walls. For the secrets.
Sorry that loving someone like me means disappearing for months. Means goodbye never comes with a return date.
But he just smiles, thumb brushing over my knuckles like it's nothing.
"I know it's my fault for falling in love with a Vale."
He huffs, then launches into a familiar story.
"The rulers of the world. The shadowed elite. Blah blah blah."
Here it comes.
"In my defense," he adds dramatically, "I was scammed. Your father walked into my shop pretending to be some lost tourist. He had that stupid lopsided smile and this awkward charm, like a man who knew exactly what he was doing. He asked me for directions. Then for coffee. Then a week later—bam—he'd marked me, knocked me up, and ghosted."
"Came back a few days after that with a security team and a ring."
He clicks his tongue and sighs like an old widow.
I try to hide my smile, but it creeps up anyway.
He always says he was tricked. But I know the truth.
He loved him.
He still does.
Even after all the pain, all the loneliness that came with loving someone too powerful for the world to touch—he never resented it.
And I used to think that kind of love wasn't for me. That I was too cold. Too calculating.
That the only part of me capable of desire came with rules and conditions.
But now...
Now I think of Ivan.
I think of his flushed face in the garden. The hoodie sleeves swallowed around his hands.
The way he says my name like it means something.
The way he lets my father touch his hair, even while flinching from the rest of the world.
And I wonder if maybe—just maybe—this kind of love might not be impossible after all.
Jeremy hums beside me, head still on my shoulder.
"He's so pretty. Like a doll." He says it offhandedly, like a casual observation, but I can't help the little burst of pride in my chest.
"Why are you smiling like I complimented you?" he asks, immediately ruining the mood.
I groan.
He snickers and leans a little more into my side.