The cars park side by side at the base of the hill. Ahead of us, a path cuts through the overgrowth toward what must be the sanctuary's threshold, and the air here feels different. Older. Like the land itself has been holding its breath for centuries, waiting for her to come home.
Bree looks radiant—there's no other word for it. She stands between Thane and Stellan like she's finally found her place in the world, the Ether curling around her ankles with something that looks almost like contentment.
The guys step out of their cars—Jace from the BMW he drove alone, Gray and Theo from Jace's car. Doors slam in the afternoon quiet, but I hang back, one hand still on the doorframe. Everything feels too bright—like the light's pressing in where my skin's already too tight.
Gray notices. Of course he does. He always notices the things the rest of us try to hide.
"Hey," he says, voice pitched low enough that the others can't hear. "Come here a sec."
He doesn't wait for me to argue, just starts walking toward the tree line where the sounds of the group will fade into something manageable. I follow because I don't know what else to do, and because the alternative is standing here pretending I'm fine while everyone watches me fail at it.
We find a spot where the undergrowth is soft and the afternoon light filters through leaves in patterns that should feel peaceful. Instead, it just makes me more restless, like even the forest knows something's wrong with me.
Gray turns to face me, hands in his pockets, expression careful in that way that means he's already figured out more than I want him to.
"You're not okay."
"Is anyone?" I ask, aiming for humor and missing by miles.
"You didn't touch your food this morning. Didn't speak on the drive. You look like you're about to bolt." His gray eyes study my face with that quiet intensity that sees everything I'm trying to hide. "You're starving."
The word hits too close to real, and suddenly I can't keep the words inside anymore. They tear out of me, raw and sharp and more honest than I intended.
"It's not just hunger. It's shame." I run a hand through my hair, hating how my voice cracks. "I don't want to want this. I don't want to be the guy who feeds off the people he cares about."
Gray steps closer, and I tense, expecting him to back away now that I've said it out loud. Because he knows what I am. Instead, his hand settles on my shoulder—warm and anchoring and completely unafraid.
"Then don't take," he says simply. "Just... feel. Try. You won't hurt me."
"Gray—"
"Trust me."
I close my eyes, hating how much I want to believe him. The Ether hums around us—not Bree's, but something else, something that feels like it's been sleeping inside me for years, waiting for permission to wake up.
I don't touch him. Just focus on the space between us, on the warmth radiating from his skin, on the steady rhythm of his breathing. Try to feel for whatever Stellan was talking about, that thread he said existed.
Nothing.
I try again, reaching for something I don't understand, and there's still nothing. Just the same gnawing absence that's been eating at me for too long.
"I can't—" I start to pull back, to brush this off like it was a stupid idea.
But Gray's hand tightens on my shoulder. "Don't give up yet."
He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Close enough that when I breathe in, I catch the scent of cedar and something that's purely him.
And then—there.
Just a sip. A taste of something warm and wanting that definitely isn't mine.
The hunger responds like I've touched a live wire. Instead of easing, it amplifies, compounds, creates this feedback loop that makes my knees buckle. Gray's desire hits me in waves—not just attraction, but something deeper, hungrier, more raw than I expected.
"What—" I gasp, eyes flying open.
Gray's pupils are blown wide, his breathing as ragged as mine. "I don't know," he says, voice rough. "But I don't want it to stop."
Neither do I.
