“See?” she says, eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “I told you I wasn’t going to break.”
The words should be comforting. Should make me feel proud, relieved, grateful that she’s finally found her strength.
Instead, something cold settles in my stomach like ice water.
Because the Bree I know—the Bree I fell in love with—has always been a little broken. It’s what made her real, what made her human.The cracks in her armor were where the light got in, where she let people love her despite her fear.
That’s not Bree’s voice. Bree would never taunt her own fragility.
This version, lying in my arms with that perfect, confident smile, doesn’t have any cracks at all.
But as I lie here feeling her Ether coil around us, I let out a breath and bask in the afterglow of finally getting my girl.
Chapter 7
Stellan
The sanctuary doors slam open with enough force to rattle the ancient hinges.
I remain in the shadows of the hallway, deliberately apart, as the others storm through the common room like a pack of wolves scenting blood. But they’re not unified in their panic—each carries their own flavor of doubt.
Rhett leads the charge, fire crackling beneath his skin, convinced something’s wrong but not knowing what. Gray follows, still breathing hard from his transformation back to human form—the shift was brutal, bones cracking and reforming in reverse, but faster this time. His shifter instincts still scream warnings even in his human skin. Theo moves with the jerky uncertainty of someone fighting fragmented visions that refuse to clarify. Thane brings up the rear, silver eyes cold with calculation—he’s the most convinced something’s wrong.
Wes trails behind, pale and sick-looking, torn between his hunger recognizing her and his instincts recoiling. The only one who seems genuinely convinced is Jace—and that’s exactly the problem.
Their certainty ranges from Thane’s cold suspicion to Wes’s desperate hope to Jace’s complete conviction that nothing’s changed. It’s not a witch hunt—it’s a fracture line running through the group, and she’s about to exploit every crack.
But it’s the sound from the bedroom that stops them cold.
Her voice, confident and sultry: “Ready for round two?”
Then Jace’s breathless response: “Christ, Bree. Yes. Always yes.”
Followed by her laugh. Low, satisfied, entirely too pleased with herself.
The guys exchange glances sharp enough to cut glass. Without a word, they move toward her bedroom door. I drift after them, staying back, watching. Already cataloging what I’m about to witness.
For Jace’s sake, I hope I’m wrong.
Rhett doesn’t knock. He kicks the door open.
The tableau that greets us is damning in its intimacy.
Jace sprawled naked against the pillows, hair mussed, chest still heaving. And straddling him, equally bare, skin flushed with satisfaction—the woman wearing Bree’s face.
“Jesus Christ!” Jace jolts at the intrusion, his hands flying to her hips, trying to shield her body with his own.
But it’s not Bree.
I know this with the same certainty I know my own name. Everything about her posture screams conquest rather than vulnerability. The way she doesn’t scramble for covers, doesn’t flush with embarrassment. She simply turns to look at us with cool assessment, like she expected this interruption.
Like she orchestrated it.
Her mouth curves in a slow, predatory smirk. Then she begins to move again—deliberately.
“Bree, what are you—” Jace’s voice cracks with shock and unwilling response as she rolls her hips. His confusion is immediate—why isn’t she mortified? Why is she continuing?
There’s something predatory in the tilt of her head as she watches us watch them. Something that enjoys their shock, their horror at finding her like this. The real Bree would have been mortified, would have hidden behind Jace, stammering apologies.
