Page 65 of Hooked On Victor
“Why give it to me?” he asked hoarsely.
Nikolai’s mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
“Because you gave us a future.”
Silence filled the booth.
Even the café’s clatter seemed to hush.
Nikolai leaned forward.
“We don’t wear crowns anymore,” he said. “But we carry the weight.”
He clasped Victor’s hand, firm, short.
“And if anyone ever comes for you again,” he added, voice low, meant only for them, “they’ll find me instead.”
Victor swallowed.
Looked up.
“You always watching?”
Nikolai’s eyes flickered with something warm.
“Always.”
And then he was gone, coat swirling behind him as he melted into the Amsterdam rain like he’d never been there at all.
That night, they found the edge of France.
A tiny coastal cottage that smelled of brine and old oak.
The sea pounded cliffs below in dark, thundering waves.
The wind keened against the shutters like a woman in mourning.
Inside, they lit a single fire.
It cracked and hissed, throwing their shadows huge across the walls.
Victor sat in the armchair, hair damp, shirt unbuttoned at the throat.
Rose crossed the room slowly, her bare feet silent on the old floor.
She climbed into his lap, her body fitting against his as if she’d been carved to match every hollow.
He wrapped his arms around her.
Held her so tight her ribs creaked.
His face pressed to her neck, breathing her in like salvation.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t need to.
