"Where are we going?" I ask him through a yawn, reclining back into the seat of the sports car, drawing my legs up as much as my dress pants would allow. "Much as modern clothes are more comfortable, they sure are restrictive," I mumble. The warmth of the heater was welcome, and I collected his hand as I gazed at him through the neon reflective light of the console. 

"I figured I'd shared you enough for the evening; we're going to a hotel not far from here at Ron's insistence. If you think I'm paranoid, the man is out of his damned mind, but I appreciate the caution. Truth be told, I could... use a break from the house." His hand tightens on the steering wheel. I watch his hand explore his pocket, and know he wishes I weren't so opposed to smoking. 

"If anyone is going to try to attack us, it'll be much more difficult in a crowded hotel than in Marisol's home. Besides, I'm ready to be out of this bloody car. While it surely beats riding a damned horse, it's mind-numbingly dull." 

I couldn't say I felt the same; I much preferred the speed of a car to walking. "I can hardly say you shared, you devoured me, remember?"

 Verando's cheek dimples, his fingers relax as he leans back into his seat. "I'm thinking of handing the house over to Helen and Tyler. Temporarily, of course, unless you'd rather commit to living across the pond?"

Caught off guard, I hesitate, I hadn't even allowed myself to think of the future; I'd hardly thought past the looks of embarrassment on the faces of the attending staff as we left the dressing room. "Marisol told me you were careless with your money-- I suppose that is true." The scold is half-hearted; I could do worse than a man who exuded generosity. 

"I can't take it with me." He shrugs; I'd like to remind him that he would never die, since he was immortal, but then I remember that he was tethered to me. My mortal lifespan would be what killed him, and that realization makes me sink back into my seat with a sigh.

 "It's very generous. In our time, it wouldn't be unheard of for the royal family to gift land to a young couple if they had earned it. But I want to live wherever our family is. I want to come back to America, there's... nothing for us over there."

 'Home' no longer existed on that edge of the world. Even if it was to a different house, I wanted to come back. 

He brings the back of my hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. I try not to look so shy. "So, is this your way of telling me we're not getting dinner...?" 

"I'm cooking for you this evening." His tone is even, allowing for dramatic effect as I stare at him, wondering if someone had replaced my lover.

Pursing my lips, I try not to snicker. "Well, while I concede that nobody can follow a recipe as well as you can, I haven't exactly seen you cook all that often."

"Oh, come off it, I cook plenty. You could help if you're so inclined, get used to your role as a  housewife, hmm?" Dimpling his cheek, he allows me to take possession of his hand in my lap once more. My lack of enthusiasm for the comparison makes him chuckle, but despite my obvious offense, I find the banter much-needed. 

It seemed so normal, so simple, something I would prefer over going to a restaurant and wishing we were alone. I often wondered whether this life brought him more stress than comfort; he had expressed multiple times in the past that he had never wanted for wealth, and financial stability seemed almost a nuisance to him at times. 

Verando opens my car door, and much to my surprise, offers me his arm as we enter the hotel. This man, whose mouth had explored every inch of my body, who was infamous for his bloodlust, had become shockingly domesticated. I'd often envisioned what it'd look like, how it would possibly work between us once the war was over, and now that I had it, I wasn't certain what I had been so afraid of. 

He seemed so impossibly human. 

"You surely have embraced this role quite easily as a man who's only been with women," I commented, though I could imagine it was for my benefit as much as for politeness. Not that I had had any lovers before him, only contracts and transactions. "Or are you simply escorting me?"

My warlord is in a good mood; he flashes a card from his wallet at the doorman, and I find the command of his space intoxicating. "You are mine, I'm quite intent on having the world aware of that. Beyond that, you're well aware that lycans are sexual creatures. Odd as it sounds, gender seems very secondary to most of us. It's a feeling, something that isn't as simple as merely liking someone. But, I'm not attracted to men. I'm attracted to you. Does it embarrass you? Would you rather I treat you as any other man?" 

It does embarrass me, but not as two men showing affection to each other. It embarrasses me, as someone uncomfortable with being loved. As someone who struggles with the concept that there is no payment expected for his kindness. The Alpha who conquered my lands and killed my family was more capable of loving me than anyone else in my life; it was terrifying. 

 "No, I suppose if I'm fondling you, people might not think you're my father." I deflect with a dismissive sniff. 

"Or perhaps we're just eccentric?" He suggests, making me grimace.

Climbing into the elevator, I note the time on his watch and release him to stretch my aching body. "I need a drink." I groan, rubbing the back of my neck, loosening my tie with a heavy exhale. Still reeling from my time with the toy, I'm not surprised when I find his eyes lingering on my throat. "I guess I didn't answer your question." 

The gray-haired man shrugs in response, and I move to stand before him, pinning him between my body and the wall of the elevator. With a gentle, one-sided smile, he places his blazer over my shoulders, amused by the way it swallows me. "You don't have to answer. I fully intend to do it anyway, regardless of how you feel about it." He reassures me, making my wrinkle my nose in mock irritation for his honesty.

With a chuckle, I wrap my hand around his tie, pulling him down to my level, stretching on my toes as I capture his lips with my own. We could have a future when this was all over.

Simple. Easy. 

"I love you." I exhale, kissing him till the doors open, and we're both breathless. As often as we were together, alone time was fleeting. 

The suite is giant — more of a penthouse — with an attractive kitchen, and it's maintained to a level of cleanliness that seems to bring him some relief. "Ron really outdid himself," I comment, reluctantly allowing him to remove his jacket from my shoulders to hang it. I'd finally just reached a level of warmth that I found comfortable.

I slip my own coat off as I surrender to the chill in favor of comfort. As I consider my belt, looking at myself in the full-length mirror is one of the first times I've found a degree of attractiveness in myself. 

While I didn't find my appearance repulsive by any means, I had always considered myself to be average. Here, in the almost lavender tones of the button-up and the dark hues of the pants playing against my skin tone, I can see where the curiosity in my person came from. 

I run a hand through my hair, adjusting it as Verando rolls up his sleeves. "What would you like?"

Much as he was acting increasingly charming, my warlord seemed almost off today. I can count on one hand the number of times he'd told me 'no' in the bedroom, and to admit he was sore might have brought a less desperate version of myself to pause.

 "What did you have in mind?" I ask lightly, trailing my fingers over his back as I stand beside him. "Besides less commentary on your love-making skills?" Rolling his eyes in patented warlord fashion, I capture his tie before he can retreat. "Let me enjoy you, please," I plead, sliding my hands up to rest on his shoulders, kneading the muscle beneath my palms.  "I rarely ever get to see you like this. It's... nice."

Keeping his rebuttal to himself, we settle on fajitas. With a simple command, Artifice plays gentle music in the background while I chop vegetables, and I notice it's one of his own. Verando hums quietly to himself, pouring me a glass of wine as the beef sizzles in the pan. He must have planned this in some aspect, for the fully stocked refrigerator was too well thought out to have been a spur-of-the-moment idea.

 As I sip from the glass, I chew on a pepper slice contentedly, happy to watch him brown the meat and casually converse over the insane color of our host's hair, the state of the Dead City, and the situation with the lower regions. Come to find out, when he's not underfoot, he's doing exactly what he did in our own time.

 Verando's desire to immerse himself in the plight of the underprivileged never ceased to amaze me. He speaks of Abuela and the multiple foster children from the home we stayed in, which felt like a lifetime ago. Throwing the vegetable mixture into the pan, he gets to work on some dough that had been set aside in the refrigerator, kneading it on the cutting board. 

I start the rice at his request. "You sure spend a lot of time with people, considering that you dislike most human interaction." 

The thought makes him smirk, raising a brow at me as he works the dough. "I don't dislike people, neccessarily. I dislike wealthy bastards who treat me as if I were still a slave. People are complicated, but necessary. Remaining among humans, no matter how uncomfortable, reminds me of where I came from. Marisol loved to help out wherever she could." 

Pulling a ball of dough off, he rolls it small and tight, then flattens it to the desired thinness with the rolling pin. "When we would work for the mafia, whatever we had left, she'd give to the families who had lost their fathers and husbands. I do what I can to at least keep tabs on them; it's what she would have expected from me. If we don't help them, who will?" 

While he tosses the tortilla onto the pan to cook, he works on the next one. "People reach a level of poverty that they become invisible, but for us, they're good for eyes on the ground. If you help them, they will protect you. You can't hire that kind of devotion, but most of all, no child deserves to be hungry."

I can't help but find a lot of truth in his words, as I hardly even knew my own subjects, yet he seemed to familiarize himself with the patrons wherever we went, save for the Dead City. 

"In Romania, I often worried that once the war was over, you would never get used to life with me. I was worried you'd run away to-" I sigh, shaking my head as I cross my arms over my chest. "I don't know, live in the woods? I always thought you hated all of this." Gesturing to the room's expanse, I feel exposed telling him this. 

Removing the tortilla and replacing it with another, Verando's smile softens. "We grew up very differently. I would not expect you to live as I had to, and I'm happy wherever you are." 

Wrapping my arms around him from behind, I press my cheek against his broad back. "You're a lot less selfish than I am," I grumble, taking in his scent. "How did I get so lucky?" I felt him tense; he thought he'd cursed me in many ways. 

In fact, he had saved me.

Silence falls over both of us as he finishes off the tortillas. I enjoy his warmth, stifling the frown as he slips out of my grasp to finish putting together the seasonings in the pan. "Sit," he gestures, the corner of his mouth twitches as I pour myself another glass. "Don't get too drunk; I'm not done with you yet."

"I don't think I can take any more of you," I admit, glad to see that he eats without pause. Happily cleaning my plate, I snag a few vegetables out of the frying pan as I pack everything away. "Did your Mama teach you to make this?"

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Verando leans back on the counter, glancing over the message with a grumble under his breath. "Marisol, actually, when we were living with her. She loved America's version of Spanish food. It's a bit hot for my taste, but I like it well enough." Watching him text, I tilt my head to steal a pointed glance, and Verando responds with an annoyed look at my nosy behavior. "People who snoop often don't like what they find."

"It's rude to be on your phone while someone is talking to you, unless it's important? Is your other husband waiting for you?" He tenses, and I roll my eyes, emulating typical warlord theatrics. "I'm joking! It's a joke."

 Sometimes it's easy to forget that he had a history of infidelity. At least I hadn't dealt with the majority of those heartbreaks. As we finished cleaning, he moved almost frantically through the kitchen, bumping into me in a clumsy manner that wasn't his norm. "Is everything alright?"

"Would you come to the roof with me?" He asks finally, catching me off guard. 

"The roof?" I attempt not to allow it to sound like a complaint. "You look quite ravishing, and I've effectively been wined and dined. I've read that it's customary in today's society to take one to bed after such courtship." My young libido was outrunning my rapidly declining body, stretching once more, I test my shoulders with a casual roll. "I'm sore as hell, but the mind is more than willing. Besides, didn't you tell me you have to exercise to remove soreness?"

 Slipping my fingers into his belt, I stretch up only to have him avoid me with a nervous one-syllable laugh. Blinking back my surprise, I begin to wonder if he was in more pain than he'd let on. Instinctively, my eyes move to the scars across his chest, hidden under the shirt, and before I can touch him, he captures my hand in his. 

Verando kisses my palm, "Humor me? It's a gorgeous night, and I'm sure we can frighten the people in the building across the street with your mewling." 

Had I ever seen him nervous?

Twisting out of his grasp, I cross my arms over my chest, curious of the man before me who had taken on rabid animals and entire armies yet looked ready to crawl out of his own skin at the thought of a rooftop stroll. "Have you been smoking again? Is that what this is?"

With a dramatic scoff, he shakes his head. "Of course not, you asked me to stop, I've made the attempt but it would defeat the purpose of the request for me to invite you out to watch me partake, don't you think? Is it a crime to simply want to spend a bit more time with you?"

"Need I remind you that you hate heights?" I retort, inspecting him in a casual circle, checking to see if I'd been given a body double.  

"Nic, I'm very much trying to be romantic. Can you play along?" It's almost a plea, the lion asking the lamb for mercy.

Pressing my lips into a thin line, suspicious, I nod and down my glass of wine. "Alright. I'm up for some entertainment; we'll get up there, and you'll get sick the second you realize how high up we are. We'll laugh, and then you'll take me to bed; do we have a deal?" 

"One might thing that's all you keep me around for." He exhales, offering me his arm, as we returned to the elevator to reach the top floor. 

I could feel his heartbeat, the heat eminating off of him, inviting and yet unfamiliar. My warlord was always in control, this was unusual for him. I'd seem in stare torture in the face with so much as a flicker, I'd gone to battle with him, faced death and God's alike, he had never quivered as he did now.

"Are you alright?" 

Offering me a small smile, the near grimace brings a smile to my own face. "Truthfully, I don't think I've ever been so frightened in my entire life." 

Pausing, I quickly turn to face him, "We don't have to go-" 

 "It's not that, darling. I'm just trying to do this the right way before sharing you with millions of people we don't even care about. I have thought about this in so many different ways, how I would have done it if we had met under normal circumstances--" 

I visibly relax, understanding now that he's talking about the wedding. Was he getting cold feet? My quizzical expression seemed to give him peace; at least I wasn't upset with him. Reaching up to smooth the space between his eyebrows with my thumb, I wrap my arm around him once more, drinking in his warmth, basking in the arms that hold me so tightly. 

"All that matters to me is that, in the end, it's you and me together for the rest of our lives. Everything else is extra." 

In an instant, Verando presses the button that keeps the doors closed. Scooping me off my feet, I grunt as my back hits the cool metal, gathering me onto his body, his mouth finds mine and I sigh against his lips as my knee hooks over his hip. 

I knot my fingers in the hair at the base of his neck, feeling the color rush to my cheeks from the intensity with which he claims my mouth. Meeting my gaze, I'm stunned by the fact that someone can look so in love with me, he places a peck on my cheek. 

"Say that you'll marry me." He loves to hear it, a constant reminder of whom I belong to. 

"Anyway that I can have you, and if you take me back to bed, I might tell you a few more times." Allowing me to slide off his body, his body feels calmer, more relaxed, as he straightens my ties. "Are you getting cold feet?" I ask with a chuckle as I reach up to settle where I tangled his already playfully messy hair. 

"The exact opposite, darling. You should know by now that I'm quite impatient."

 I always felt like he had the patience of a saint. 

Pressing the button, the doors open, and we step out to climb the stairs; he opens the door for me, and we come out to a beautifully decorated space. Mixtures of my royal colors coupled with traditional whites; I almost backed out, but he blocked me, wisely slipping behind me while I was distracted.