But the truth of my words settled into my bones.
I looked at myself in the mirror one last time. Marks on my throat—permanent and visible. Exhaustion in my eyes. Arousal still flushing my cheeks. But also something else. Something new.
Power. Real power. The kind that came from choosing yourself every single day, even when your body was begging you to make a different choice.
"Tomorrow, I show them who I am," I said to my reflection. "Tomorrow, everything changes."
My phone buzzed.Dorian:Sorry if I made that harder. Sleep well. You're going to be extraordinary.
Me:You always make it harder. That's kind of your thing.
Dorian:Is that a complaint?
Me:Go to bed.
Dorian:Only if you do.
I climbed into bed, body still humming with want, mind racing with tomorrow's possibilities. Sleep wouldn't come easy—between the arousal and the anxiety, I was thoroughly wired.
But eventually, exhaustion won.
And when I slept, I dreamed of stages and spotlights and choosing myself over and over and over again.
forty-four
Vespera
Iwoketovoices.
Not talking. Not exactly. Low sounds that pulled me from sleep like a hook in my chest—groans, harsh breathing, the unmistakable rhythm of bodies moving together.
For a stretch, I lay there confused. Then my brain caught up and heat flooded through me.
Oh.
Oh.
The pack house walls weren't exactly soundproof. I'd heard them before—individually, late at night when they thought I was asleep. Dorian's controlled breathing. Oakley's breathy gasps. Corvus's low curses.
But this was different. This was multiple voices. Together.
My body responded before my brain could catch up—pulse jumping, skin flushing hot, that low ache starting between my legs that I'd forced myself to ignore last night.
I should go back to sleep. Should give them privacy. Should focus on today, on the showcase, on the most important performance of my life that was happening in—I checked my phone—eight hours.
Instead, I got out of bed.
The sounds were coming from Dorian's room. His door wasn't quite closed, left cracked open in that way pack mates did when they wanted privacy but not isolation. An invitation, if anyone needed them.
Or if anyone wanted to watch.
I moved down the hallway on bare feet, my sleep shirt hitting mid-thigh, pulse racing with every step. This was stupid. Reckless. I should be centering myself, preparing mentally, not—
A sharp gasp cut through my thoughts. Oakley's voice, rough with pleasure: "Fuck, just like that—"
My hand was on the doorframe before I made a conscious decision to move. Through the crack, I could see them.
All three of them. On Dorian's massive bed.
