“Not what I’m after.” Dane stifled his irrational irritation at the offer. If Lindsay wanted Noah in their bed, that was between him and Lindsay. He sure as hell wasn’t going to take it up with Noah.

Noah kept his mouth shut the rest of the way to the kitchen. Dane didn’t need the lights on and neither, apparently, did Noah, at least not to find a stash of bottles up behind the coffee mugs. Dane didn’t

want to smell scotch all night, but he wasn’t the one with his head in a knot. If alcohol had worked better on him, he’d have turned to it more times than he could count.

They were out of steak, but there were eggs in the fridge, and bacon. Dane didn’t like either of them raw—he’d have to cook. He dropped the package and the carton on the counter, and went to get a pan.

“I can do that.” Noah sounded like shit.

“Thought Lindsay turned your magic off for you.”

“I can use a stove.”

Damn. Not even a snort of amusement. “I’ll do the cooking. You’ve had enough fun for tonight.”

“Fun?” The mouth of a scotch bottle chimed off the rim of a mug as Noah’s hands shook.

“Well, I’m sure Lindsay was amused. He can’t stand Kristan. Partly my fault, I’m sure.” Dane started laying bacon in the pan. “Don’t suppose I’m cooking for two.”

“Not unless there’s something about your shapeshifting you’re not sharing with the rest of us.” A chair scraped, creaked, and Noah sighed.

“Hardly. You know, the healer would have stayed for you if you’d said something.” Dane could smell the tang of Noah’s wounds under the scent of his unnatural heat.

“I’ve had enough healers. Some things... You know the saying.”

“I’ve heard it before.” Wounds that came from the inside out didn’t heal. Lindsay still had the scars from his personal hell. “Wasn’t sure how much time had passed.”

“Too much.” Noah’s voice was thick with longing.

That was a sure sign it hadn’t been long enough, as far as Dane was concerned. Not long enough to trust Noah to hold himself together on any given day. In a crisis, maybe, but if Dane knew anything—and he knew more than he let on—Noah was likely to level Atlantic City in an attempt to defend their little family. Dane didn’t mind, but the human population didn’t need much provocation to round them all up in camps right now.

“I’m sorry.” It was polite to say, and Dane was surprised to find he meant it. The animal in him grieved and moved on, without much sense of time or regret. Now that he was fully himself, now that he had Lindsay, his small sense of empathy had crept back in.

“It was my fault.” Noah’s words sounded like they came out reflexively.

“It always is.” Dane remembered that feeling now, as well.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dane could smell Noah’s temper fraying. All that fear and rage coming apart at the seams. He laid bacon in the pan and watched it sizzle, picking his words carefully so as not to provoke a similar response from Noah.

“No matter what really happened, it will feel like your fault. Doesn’t mean its true. Might be, sometimes, but my experience is that humans always feel that way. Makes it hard to know when it’s true.”

He looked over his shoulder and his animal sight could make Noah out as though he were lit from within, the way he was so full of magic and heat. Noah had his elbows on the table, head in his hands. The bacon cooked through halfway before he spoke again.

“I don’t want to think it’s not. In case I’m wrong,” he said at last.

“Noble sentiment.” Stupid, but noble. The two usually went together. Dane turned his attention back to his cooking.

“That’s a euphemism for stupid,” Noah muttered.

At least they were on the same page in that regard. “Well, I was trying to lean more on the positive side of the concept,” Dane said. “Giving you the benefit of the doubt. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome. And you think too much. Do less of it.”

“What?”

“Think less.” Dane shoved the bacon to the side of the pan and went back to the fridge for beer.

“Drinking less wouldn’t hurt, either, but do what you have to do.” Without a twinge of hypocrisy, he opened the beer and took a drink.

“How the hell am I supposed to think less?” Noah reached for the bottle on the table in front of him and sloshed more scotch into his mug. “Especially without drinking more.”

“Let other people do it for you.” Dane drained most of the beer at once and decided to grab a second before going back to the stove. Thinking ahead was a benefit and a curse of having a human mind again.

“You’re not with Lindsay for his betterment, that’s certain. Let him do it. You’d get more sleep.”

“Is that an official recommendation?” Noah snorted softly at that idea.

“If you want to stand on ceremony, yes.” Dane cracked half a dozen eggs into the pan and gave them a rough stir before he turned around. “If you want to stand on ceremony, I can tell him to give you seven impossible tasks to do for the next forty-nine years and one more. You trust him enough to let him keep your magic from you. Stop being ridiculous about asking for more. I bet you haven’t really slept since it happened.”

“No.”

“Well, cut it out.” Dane finished his first beer and left the bottle on the back of the sink so he could pull out two plates.

“I forget.” Noah sounded like he was younger than Lindsay. “And then it’s night.”

“So?” Belatedly, Dane thought of potatoes. Damn. Tomorrow. Vegetables weren’t his strong suit. He shoved the eggs around the pan and decided they were cooked.

“I’m not about to tread on your territory.”

Dane nearly dropped the pan. “What?” He managed to keep hold of it and started maneuvering portions out onto each plate. “I haven’t even been here.”

“You may not have been here, but...” Noah took another drink. “You are the threshold of your house.”

It was a phrase that sounded better in the original fae tongue, but Dane knew what Noah was trying to say. Lindsay shared a room with Dane, and Noah would be trespassing if he sought Lindsay out at night.

The Quinns had damnably good manners—and more sense than to go tromping into a feral den. Dane had forgotten what it was like to deal with people who knew the old ways, who knew what he was.

“That house includes you, so you’re welcome. Whether either of us likes it or not.” Dane grabbed knives and forks from the drawer and brought Noah’s plate to him first. “Eat.” He set the plate in front of Noah.

“I said I wasn’t hungry,” Noah said wearily.

Dane took a firm grip on his temper, collected his plate and his beer, and came back to the table. He put everything down carefully and took a seat across from Noah.

“I don’t care if you’re hungry right now.” Dane picked up his fork and pointed at Noah’s plate. “I’ve provided for you, so you can stop wondering whether or not you can come knocking on my door. Eat it, or I’ll bring back the first thing I find in the yard and you can have it raw.” The old ways were good for something once in a while.

Noah stared at him, heat flickering in his eyes.

“Keep your temper or you’ll wake Lindsay,” Dane warned. The threat of waking Lindsay was enough to settle Noah down, and that pleased Dane a great deal.

Noah picked up a piece of bacon and ate it with a definite air of defiance, which was a little amusing and a little endearing. “If I puke this back up, it’s still done,” he muttered.

“That’s fine with me.” Dane opened his beer and took a drink. Lindsay had been possessed of the same stubbornness in the face of the inevitable. Dane had a soft spot for that. “Aim for the floor.” As long as Noah ate what Dane provided for him, he’d be part of Dane’s family. The old ways didn’t say it had to stay down.