CHAPTER 407: CHAPTER 407: BAD THOUGHTS

Snow had arrived at last.

The frost had claimed the land where rain once ruled, the familiar sound of it drumming against the glass replaced by a silence that felt almost reverent. Outside Lucas’s office, the gardens lay buried beneath a seamless expanse of white, every hedge and statue caught mid-breath in the grip of winter. The Fitzgeralt domain, once alive with motion and sound, seemed to sleep under its own pulse.

Lucas stood by the window, one hand resting absently against the curve of his abdomen. The fabric of his black sweater stretched faintly under his palm, the small but undeniable roundness finally betraying what he and Trevor had kept quiet for weeks. The child stirred now and then, as if testing the air from beneath his skin.

He watched the snowfall until his breath misted faintly on the cold glass. The reflection that looked back at him was pale, thoughtful, and tired.

Windstone’s words echoed still, looping endlessly through his thoughts: ’You open the door.’

What if he did? What if he used what he’d become... the lure, the call to end it once and for all?

Benedict had spent lifetimes circling him, like a wolf scenting what it could never catch. What if Lucas stopped running? What if he let himself be found... only to pull the creature through that open door and drown him in it?

The idea twisted in his mind, dangerous and seductive all at once.

He didn’t fear his own ability anymore, not the way Trevor did. He feared its hunger. The more he used it, the more he could feel it asking for something that went beyond control or morality. It wanted to be answered.

A faint vibration stirred the air, so soft it barely touched the surface of his hearing. He hadn’t intended to release anything, but his pulse had quickened, his thoughts circling Benedict’s face, voice, arrogance, and impossible calm.

The windowpane fogged with warmth, though the frost outside stayed thick and unyielding.

He could feel the pheromone weight gathering just behind his ribs, a melody forming without sound, something ancient and honey-sweet. A song that could turn a god’s head.

Lucas exhaled sharply, shaking it off. "Not yet," he whispered. "Not like this."

The door opened before he heard footsteps.

Trevor didn’t knock; he rarely did anymore. His presence filled the room first: warmth and cedar, the faint scent that marked him when his restraint was running thin.

Lucas turned just as Trevor crossed the distance between them in three strides, the heavy fall of his coat breaking the quiet.

"Cold?" Trevor asked softly, but his tone carried that low, dangerous timbre that meant his self-control was holding by choice, not by ease.

Lucas arched a brow, one corner of his mouth curving faintly. "You’re asking me that while you’re practically burning through the air?"

Trevor ignored the jab. His gloved hand came up, resting briefly on Lucas’s cheek before sliding lower, across his throat, stopping at his shoulder. "You’ve been standing here too long."

"I was thinking," Lucas murmured.

"I can tell," Trevor said dryly. "Every time you think too long, the temperature changes."

Lucas hesitated. "I was wondering if Windstone’s right."

Trevor’s eyes softened, though the line of his mouth stayed hard. "About what?"

"That I could open the door for him," Lucas said quietly. "For Benedict. Use what I have, draw him in, and end it. Before he touches anyone else."

Trevor’s hand tightened on his shoulder, not cruelly but firmly enough to draw his focus back. "No."

Lucas blinked, startled by the certainty in that single syllable.

Trevor stepped closer until their foreheads nearly touched, the scent of him grounding and overwhelming all at once. "You don’t use yourself as bait," he said, voice low. "Not while you’re carrying our child. Not while I’m still breathing."

The words sank deep, slow and possessive, the kind that burned with more promise than threat.

Lucas’s throat bobbed. "You think I couldn’t handle it?"

Trevor’s mouth curved faintly. "I think you’d win," he said, almost gently, "but I’d burn the world before I let you try."

Outside, snow pressed against the window with a whispering sound, the kind that muffled everything but the warmth between them.

Trevor’s hand slipped lower, resting over Lucas’s belly. "He’s already reacting to you," he murmured. "Your pheromones shift when you think of fighting. I can feel it."

Lucas placed his own hand over Trevor’s, the edge of defiance fading into something quieter. "Maybe he can feel the world changing."

"Then let it change slowly," Trevor said. "With you here to see it."

For a long moment, neither spoke. The world outside blurred into white, and the only sound was the low rhythm of their breathing: two heartbeats and a third, smaller one between.

Trevor brushed his thumb along the edge of Lucas’s jaw. "If Benedict wants you, he’ll come. He always does. But when he does," his voice dropped, molten and sure, "he’ll find me standing in his way. And this time, he won’t walk away."

Lucas met his gaze, green eyes reflecting a thousand shades of snowlight. "You’re terrifying when you’re calm."

Trevor smiled faintly. "That’s because I mean it."

The air between them softened, the faint hum under Lucas’s skin quieting under Trevor’s steady presence. The pull, the song, whatever it was... it receded, obedient for now.

Outside, frost reclaimed the rain entirely, tracing delicate veins across the glass like a living thing.

Lucas exhaled, the breath fogging faintly before he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Trevor’s chest. "You’re overprotective," he murmured, voice low but edged with quiet exhaustion. "We should get rid of him already. Trevor... I want this to be our last life. I don’t think I could endure another one."

Trevor’s hand moved slowly through his hair, the motion grounding, his tone calm but dark beneath the surface. "If I think about Yerofey’s journal, the signs are there. You awakened your memories in a temple, just like before. And Benedict, and the church, were desperate to make you suffer again."

Lucas’s fingers curled against his shirt. "But why?"

Trevor’s eyes narrowed slightly, gaze distant and calculating. "Hard to tell," he said at last. "But my intuition says they want another chance. Someone, and most likely Benedict, wants to keep you trapped in the same pain, over and over. As if your suffering feeds something we can’t yet see."

Lucas lifted his head, searching Trevor’s face. "Then we end it."

Trevor’s jaw tightened, a faint heat rising through the scent that clung to him. "We will," he said softly, a promise and a warning in one. "But not while they still think they can touch you."