"Gray?" Theo's voice cuts through the fog in my head. "You okay?"
I blink, realizing I've been staring at the doorway where Wes disappeared. The others are watching me with varying degrees of concern—even Thane's silver gaze has sharpened slightly.
"Fine," I mutter, pushing back from the table. "Need some air."
It's not entirely a lie. The kitchen suddenly feels too small, too crowded. Like the walls are pressing in and I can't quite catch my breath.
I move toward the hallway, telling myself I'm just going outside. Getting space. Not following Wes like some kind of—
The scent hits me before I reach the hall.
Not blood. Not fear. Something deeper. Richer. Like emotion distilled into heat. Like hunger given shape.
My vision sharpens without warning, the dim hallway suddenly crystal clear. Every shadow, every dust mote, every—
There.
The glow isn't visible, not exactly. But I can feel it radiating from beneath the stairs where Wes has crumpled against the wall. Heat and need and something that makes every protective instinct I've ever had roar to life.
He's not just hungry.
He's starving.
And he's trying so hard to hide it that he's tearing himself apart from the inside.
"—you'll figure it out. Or you'll break trying."
Stellan's voice drifts from the shadows, followed by the soft sound of footsteps retreating. I catch a glimpse of pale hair and that trademark smirk as he disappears around the corner, leaving Wes alone in the dark.
I should go back to the kitchen. Should give Wes space to process whatever just happened between him and Stellan. Should mind my own damn business.
Instead, I step into the hallway.
Wes doesn't look up when I approach. Just stays curled against the wall, head in his hands, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding himself together.
"Hey," I say quietly, settling onto the floor beside him.
He flinches. "I'm fine."
"Bullshit."
That gets me a look—sharp, defensive, raw with something that might be shame. "Gray, I can't—I don't want to—"
"Breathe," I cut him off gently. "Just breathe."
We sit in silence for a moment, and I try to make sense of what I'm feeling. The sharpness in my vision has faded, but the awareness remains. Like I can sense the tension radiating from his skin, the way his pulse hammers against his throat.
Like I'm tuned into something I've never noticed before.
"Stellan told you what you are," I say. It's not a question.
Wes nods without lifting his head. "Feeder. Like him." His voice cracks on the words. "I don't want to be like him."
"You're not."
"You don't know that."
"Yeah, I do." I lean back against the wall, mirroring his position. "Because you're sitting here hating yourself for being hungry instead of taking what you need."
