I'm running before I realize I've moved.
"Thane—"
I drop to my knees beside him, hands reaching for him without thought. He tries to brush me off, his silver eyes sharp despite the pain.
"It's fine," he says through gritted teeth. "Just a scratch."
"Like hell it is." My hands find the tear in his shirt, and I press my palm against his side. The blood is warm, too warm, and I can feel how his breathing hitches when I touch him.
The Ether responds without my asking—not healing, just steadying. Like it's trying to hold him together until we can get him proper help.
Thane goes very still under my touch. His silver eyes find mine, and there's something vulnerable in them that I've never seen before.
"Bree," he says quietly. "You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do."
The words come out fierce, certain. And I realize they're true.
I pull my hand back, blood dark on my palm.
"Help me get him inside," I say, not sure who I'm talking to.
But they're already there—Rhett and Gray moving to support Thane's weight, Jace hovering nearby, Theo and Wes flanking us protectively. Zira moves to my side, helping me up from where I'm still kneeling, a look on her face that I'm not sure what it means.
She smirks. "Babe, you just changed everything."
Chapter 31
Gray
The attack replays behind my eyelids every time I blink.
I'm standing in the doorway of Thane's room, arms crossed, trying to look casual while my mind runs though everything I should have done differently. Should have been faster. Should have seen it coming. Should have been the one between her and danger.
Instead, I froze.
And Thane moved.
The memory tastes bitter. The way he materialized from shadow, with his controlled violence and deadly precision. The wet sound of fangs finding flesh. The dark stains spreading across his shirt as he threw that Feeder aside like he weighed nothing.
I should be grateful. I am grateful.
But it burns anyway.
"You fanged out in front of a hundred Feeders," Stellan says from his spot against the dresser, voice dry as dust. He's watching Thane with something that might be amusement if it wasn't so calculating. "Subtle."
Thane shifts against the pillows, wincing slightly as the movement pulls at his bandages. Bree immediately leans closer, one hand hovering near his shoulder like she can't decide whether to touch or give him space.
"It was necessary," Thane says, but his tone lacks its usual edge. Soft. Almost gentle.
The change in him is unsettling. This isn't the controlled, strategic Thane who showed up at our door a little over a week ago. This version lets Bree fuss over him. Accepts her worry. Lets her see him bleed.
"Necessary," Stellan repeats, that knowing smirk tugging at his mouth. "Right. Had nothing to do with protective instincts."
"Stellan." The warning in Thane's voice should be terrifying. Now it just sounds tired.
"You just gave yourself away," Stellan continues, ignoring the warning entirely. "This isn't the Thane I know."
