I turn, expecting maybe Rhett or Gray, someone who noticed I was gone.
Instead, there's a stranger standing at the edge of the light. Tall, dark hair, wearing clothes that look like he's been traveling. There's a scar visible above his collar, and his eyes are the color of burnt honey.
He's not looking at me like the crowd did. Not like I'm something powerful or dangerous or useful.
He's looking at me like he wants me.
The thought should scare me.
But it doesn't.
Instead, something warm unfurls in my chest. Something I've never felt before and don't have a name for.
"You didn't have to do that for them," he says. His voice is low, careful.
"I know."
He takes a step closer, and I don't move away. The way he looks at me makes my skin feel warm, makes me notice things I usually don't. Like how his eyes track the curve of my face. How his attention feels different from the reverent stares I've been getting.
This isn't awe. This is interest. Personal, male interest.
And I like it.
The realization hits me like a shock. I should be cautious. Should ask more questions, demand explanations.
Instead, I find myself wondering what his hands would feel like. What his voice sounds like when it's not being careful.
"Who are you?" I ask.
His mouth curves into something that's not quite a smile. Dangerous, maybe, but not unkind.
"Call me Seth."
The name settles somewhere under my ribs like heat that won't leave.
I don't trust him. Don't know him. Don't know why he's here or what he wants.
But for the first time in my life, I want to be wanted. Not for what I can do or fix or heal, but just... for me.
And I'm not going to apologize for that.
Chapter 37
Wes
The crowd's gone, but I can still feel their hands on my skin—not the actual touches, but the memory of them. The way that woman brushed my arm like she had a right to. The way that man's eyes lingered like I was something he could take home. The hunger had spiked sharp and immediate when it happened, not from wanting them but from them wanting me, and it left me feeling scraped raw and empty in a way that has nothing to do with satisfaction.
I'm standing in the main hallway now, watching Rhett check the windows for the third time while Gray goes quiet in that calculating way that means he's tracking threats. Jace has gone quiet too, the swagger from earlier completely gone, and I can see the shame in the way he keeps running his hand through his hair like he's trying to scrub away what he said.
"That one with the gold cuffs? Definitely wanted to climb me like a tree."
The words echo in my head, all cockiness and casual dismissal, like it was funny instead of wrong. Like watching strangers reach for us was just another Tuesday instead of something that made my skin crawl.
But what makes it worse—what makes the shame burn hot behind my ribs—is that no one's asking where Bree went.
I felt it the second she slipped away. Like a note went missing in a song only I could hear. But I didn't follow. Didn't speak up. Didn't do anything except stand here listening to Jace joke about being wanted while the only person whose attention I actually crave right now disappeared into the gardens.
She probably just needs space,I tell myself, but the lie tastes stale even in my own mind.
