“No?” Mary’s voice softens, barely. “Then explain the scratches down your chest, the look in your eyes every time she enters the room, the way you bristle when anyone else so much as speaks her name. You’ve alreadystarted,Darius, even if you think you haven’t.”
“I dream of her,” I admit, voice raw. “And it’s not just want. It’s a need. It’s the wolf and the man tearing at each other, fighting for who gets to claim her first.”
Mary’s eyes narrow. “And what happens when the Blood Moon rises, and you’re not strong enough to hold either back?”
“I’ll be gone by then.”
“You’ll beworseby then.”
I look away, jaw tight, throat thick with the weight of everything I haven’t said.
She doesn’t say goodbye. Just walks out, her presence leaving the room colder than before.
That night, I pace like a caged animal, too restless for the bed, too wired for sleep. I strip off my shirt, the air against my skin bracing, almost painful. The marks on my chest are still fresh, thin rivulets of blood dried into rusted threads. I run a hand down them, not surprised, not even angry. Just resigned.
Her scent still lingers. In my skin. My sheets. My memory.
I sink onto the bed like it might hold me together, like the weight of my body might be enough to keep the wolf from tearing loose. I lie back, stare at the ceiling, count the cracks in the plaster like they’re battle scars. But none of it works.
Because she’s there again.
In my mind, in the space behind my eyes, soft and warm and smelling like tea and sunlit linen.
Tessa.
She doesn’t speak. Just smiles that quiet, gentle smile that always feels like forgiveness wrapped in patience. She kneelsbeside me, fingertips ghosting over the scratches on my chest like she might heal them with nothing but kindness.
I reach for her. I always do.
This time, she lets me.
Our mouths meet like we’re drowning and only each other can offer breath. Her hands tangle in my hair, my arms wrap tight around her waist, and she doesn’t pull away. She moans into me, low and desperate, and it breaks me open like a blade to the ribs.
I touch her like prayer, like apology, like she’s the only thing anchoring me to this world.
And then the shift begins.
It starts low in my spine, a coil of heat and pain and hunger. My bones throb with it. My skin itches with the threat of fur. My hands grip her hips and I feel the claws breaking through.
“No,” I whisper, even in the dream. “Not this. Not now.”
But it’s too late.
My vision goes red. My teeth lengthen. I feel the wolf rise, not as an enemy, but as every truth I’ve buried for centuries.
I wake with a roar, chest heaving, soaked in sweat, the sheets ripped, clawed to ribbons. My breath fogs in the cold air. My heart pounds like war drums in my ears.
Outside, the Blood Moon hangs low, pulsing like a wound in the sky.
I stare at it and know, without question, I can’t run much longer.
And she’s the one thing I’ll never survive losing.
11
TESSA
The wind howls like a living thing, scraping its icy claws across the windows and setting the old bones of the manor groaning in protest. I stand at the edge of the kitchen, cradling a mug of tea between my hands like it’s the only warmth I have left in this storm-wrapped world. Snow presses thick against every pane of glass, sealing us in like a time capsule buried deep beneath memory and regret.
