Vin paced in his room.

He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t sit still. He had only barely restrained himself from punching the wall to try to release some of this energy.

There was no end to it. He had spent the evening in his gym, working himself to the point of exhaustion, and it still wasn’t enough. Like a nest of wasps had come awake inside him and there was no putting them back to sleep.

Kaveh growled from his bed against the wall. Vin’s wasps were probably leaking to him, too. The lion hadn’t slept all evening either, which wasn’t good for either of them.

“Stay here,” Vin said, pulling on a robe. Beneath it, he wore nothing but his soft pajama pants. It was hardly respectable attire to be wandering the palace in, but anyone who didn’t like it was welcome to try to stop him.

A walk in the night air. That was all he needed. That was all he was doing.

If he told himself that lie over and over again, maybe it would become true.

The guards in the Serpent wing did nothing to stop him. Hamilton must have spoken to them. It was almost disappointing. If they’d tried to stop Vin, Vin probably would have let himself be stopped. It was possible Hamilton knew that, had expected Vin would come to him after all, and wanted to remove all barriers. He chose not to think about what that might mean.

The guards outside the Oshiro suite even went so far as to open the door for him, meaning he didn’t even have to break his stride.

Hamilton, it seemed, had also not been able to sleep. He was in the same sitting room where they’d had dinner, his feet tucked up beneath him in one of the thick lounge chairs as he focused on the well-worn novel in his hand. He wore a robe of thick velvet with the Oshiro crest at the breast and embroidered serpents twining all around, but beneath it were bright-colored silk pajamas that were of Griffon design, rather than Serpent.

At Vin’s entrance, he looked up, eyes going wide behind his mask in authentic surprise that Vin could feel through the nima. The surprise told him a lot. Hamilton had made it easy for Vin to reach him, but hadn’t honestly expected him to try. It had been an act of hope that pierced through Vin’s already shattered heart.

Hamilton set the book down and stood in a graceful sweep, opening his mouth to speak.

Vin didn’t want words, didn’t want games. His needs tonight were much more primal. He shoved Hamilton back against the wall, one hand clamped over Hamilton’s mouth. Felt a familiar, intoxicating thread of fear and pulse of desire rising through the heavy wall of Hamilton’s grief.

Their faces were inches apart. Vin had his other arm across Hamilton’s chest, holding him pinned. The wasps inside Vin were screaming for more—for him to take, to push, to punish. To do something that would finally stop him from thinking, and to do it brutally.

Which meant no talking, no chance for Hamilton to raise a barrier of words between them.

Vin growled, pressed his arm harder in, demanding surrender. All the while, his eyes were locked on Hamilton’s.

And Hamilton, looking back, gave a soft, shallow nod. Just one. But it was all Vin needed—a simple, quiet, yes.

He removed his hand from Hamilton’s mouth and used it to drag off the mask, throwing it to the far side of the room. That damned mask. At this moment, it was the symbol of everything Vin didn’t want from Hamilton. It was lies and games and misdirections. Clever words and careful steps.

As though it had ever protected Hamilton. As though Vin couldn’t reach into him and pull out the truth.

Just like before, there was Hamilton’s burning, desperate need. A longing for escape, yes, but also heat and wanting. Hamilton’s passions, the flavor of his desire, were as familiar now as the day Vin had walked away.

Vin leaned in and caught Hamilton’s mouth. He invaded, savaged it, as he pushed Hamilton harder against the wall. Hamilton’s hands ran up Vin’s back. His fingers dug into Vin’s shoulders. Urging him on.

Vin took a deep breath, inhaling deeply Hamliton’s scent. He smelled of home. Lingering traces of soap and spice, so familiar. It was comfort and pain all at once, a reminder of what he’d lost and a reminder of who pressed against him.

Loss was a numb, cold, ache. This was pain, but pain was bright. Sharp, immediate and raw. It all burned through him—his pain, Hamilton’s pain.

Vin sucked at Hamilton’s lush lower lip, then bit down hard, savoring the bright flare of shock and hurt. Vin couldn’t bring his parents back, couldn’t change the emptiness of their loss or the regrets for things that could now never be taken back, but he did have control over this. Over Hamilton.

Pulling back, he looked at what he’d done. Hamilton was flat against the wall, his head tilted back, eyes huge, pupils blown wide. His pulse pounded beneath Vin’s fingers. Deeper still, though, were the raw emotions pounding against Vin’s senses.

“Vin,” Hamilton breathed, his voice raw with the desperation flooding into Vin.

Vin’s mind shattered into pieces. There were no more thoughts, only heat and need and Hamilton before him.

He grabbed a fistful of Hamilton’s robe, pulled him away from the wall and shoved him back towards the open doors that Vin could only hope led to the bedroom. Fortune smiled and another good push sent Hamilton stumbling back towards the bed. A deep, animal part of Vin took dark joy in the way desire and Vin’s efforts had robbed Hamilton of his grace.

Vin pounced, pushing him down. This time, when he bit Hamilton’s lip, he applied enough force to break the skin and tasted hot, salty blood. He moved lower, bit again at the juncture of Hamilton’s shoulder, hard enough to leave a bruise.

A groan escaped Hamilton’s throat. He dragged at Vin’s shoulders, as his wanting overwhelmed Vin’s senses, screaming more more more.

Vin held Hamilton down with a hand on his throat. Hamilton gasped against the grip that wasn’t quite enough to cut off his breathing, but was tight enough he had to struggle for it. With his other hand, Vin tore at Hamilton’s robe. He wasn’t interested in delicacy or care, ripping seams open as he dug for bare skin.

Vin had no interest in preamble. After seven years and one tortured sleepless night, he’d waited long enough.

Pain had ever been a language between them and as Vin shoved into Hamilton, he felt the man’s pain and pleasure wrapped so tightly together he couldn’t tell one from the other. Hamilton moaned and pleaded in broken syllables, all his pretty Serpent words driven from him.

Raw physical sensation drove out everything, and Vin would have stayed in that place forever if he could. But as Hamilton’s pleasure crested, the ripples of it moved through Vin, dragging him along against his will. For one blazing moment the pain-soaked pleasure was everything.

After, Vin came crashing back down. Back to the world he had wanted so much to escape.

Somehow, though, it was easier. He and Hamilton had burned hot enough to leave his mind a floating, smoky space. All the restless energy was gone.

Hamilton, too, felt muted. Maybe this was his etheric gift kicking in, or perhaps Hamilton had simply run out of energy to feel the same as Vin. Either way, Vin got no read from him when he softly said, “Stay.”

Vin nodded and they wrapped together exactly as they were and Vin closed his eyes and fell into blessed, unthinking, unconsciousness.