Page 6 of Map of Pain

Jae-sung shook his head, focusing on cleaning Nick’s infected stump with methodical care.“This isn’t a game, Luka. If he survives, he’ll try to kill you again. If the Society finds him here, they’ll come for all of us.”

«I know.»

“And you’re still staying?”

Jae was right, the answer should have been simple. Leave Nick in Jae’s capable hands, call Marcus and Caleb, and return to his twin. Resume normal routine.

Instead, he pulled a chair beside Nick’s bed.

«I’m not ready for the game to end.»

Jae-sung sighed, muttering something uncomplimentary in Korean.“I can stay until my shift officially starts, then I’ll have to go. Someone might notice me missing from the ward.”

Luka nodded, eyes never leaving Nick’s face.

Nick stirred restlessly, mumbling something too low even for vampire hearing to pick up. His fingers twitched at his sides, seeking weapons that weren’t there as his heart rate spiked on the monitor.

Luka found himself leaning forward, studying the hunter’s face more intently. The scar across his throat. Smaller marks scattered across visible skin. Hollow cheeks and dark circles that spoke of prolonged suffering.

Something protective stirred in his chest again. He reached out, hesitated, then gently brushed sweat-soaked hair from Nick’s forehead. The hunter’s skin burned against his cool fingers.

Fever breaking?His beast wondered.

Outside, night deepened toward dawn. Luka felt it in his bones, the instinctive pull toward shelter and darkness. Heshould leave. Find safety before sunrise. Return home to his brother who needed him.

Instead, he settled deeper into the chair, watching the rise and fall of Nick’s chest. For reasons he couldn’t articulate, this felt right. This human—this hunter—was something important. A puzzle that needed solving.

I’ll be here when you wake. And then we’ll see what comes next.

Chapter three

You remember how this works...

Nick

The antiseptic smell hit him first—sharp, clinical, burning through his sinuses like liquid metal. Nick’s consciousness surfaced slowly, awareness creeping back through layers of fog. Machine sounds surrounded him: the steady beep of monitors, the rhythmic hiss of an oxygen concentrator, the softdrip-dripof an IV line feeding fluids into his dehydrated system.

Hospital. His muscles tensed, his body remembering the fight his mind couldn’t fully recall. The silent vampire. His knife. The darkness.

Get up. Fight. Finish it.

His limbs refused to obey, leaden and distant. A jingling sound pierced through the fog—metallic, rhythmic, like keys on a lanyard. The noise dragged him sideways into memory before he could even process what was happening.

“He’s a hunter.”

The words penetrated his semi-conscious state, pulling him toward wakefulness he didn’t want. Another voice, clinical and assessing:“His throat was cut deep, he won’t survive—“

“He could be useful, no one survives that long with an old one—“

Nick’s consciousness flickered like a faulty light bulb. The sterile hospital room dissolved, replaced by another medical facility from years before. Pain exploded across his throat—raw, burning agony with each shallow breath. His fingers scrabbled at bandages, finding thick padding securing his slashed neck.

”—could betray us—“

”—make an excellent weapon—“

The room was too wide. Too open. Too bright. Danger pressed in from all sides, invisible but suffocating. His heart hammered against his sternum, each beat echoing the machine monitoring his vital signs. The box was safe. Small, dark, confined. No surprises. No expectations. Just enough space to curl up, to disappear.

A man materialized at his bedside. Jet black hair. Five o’clock shadow. Tired eyes that somehow remained kind despite everything they’d seen.