Malcolm's fingers brushed against the pale skin of Luca's cheek, his thumb catching the warm tear that had managed to slip free. His touch wasn't gentle in a soft, yielding way—it was firm, grounding, and possessed the unyielding strength of an Alpha King who refused to let the man before him dissolve into ghosts.
"Stop it," Malcolm muttered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that pressed directly into the space between them. He wiped the moisture away with a rough swipe of his thumb, his eyes boring into Luca's wide, glassy gaze. "Stop pretending you don't care. You're a brilliant scientist, Luca, but you're a terrible liar. Look at you. You're shaking. You're bleeding out from the inside because you've spent ten years letting her call you a monster for something you didn't do. You crave a good relationship with your mother. It's screaming all over your scent, even through whatever mechanical blocks you try to put up."
