He's right.
They don't.
"Maybe he hasn't been eating," I say. Run the washcloth down Max's neck again. Watch water droplets slide down his skin. "He's lost weight."
"Or maybe it's something else." Zero's eyes are sharp. Assessing. He leans closer. Breathes in deliberately. "You smell that?"
My body goes still. Every muscle locks.
"Smell what?"
"That." Zero leans in more. His nose nearly touching Max's hair. He inhales deeply. His eyes widen slightly. Pupils dilating. "That scent. It's—"
He stops. Jaw working like he's trying to find words and failing.
Bane leans in too. Curiosity overriding hesitation. He breathes in.
"Fuck," Bane breathes. His voice has gone rough. Strained. "What is that?"
My arms tighten around Max. Possessive. Protective.
"I don't know."
Lie.
I do know. Somewhere deep in my hindbrain, some ancient instinct is screaming the answer.
I just don't want to admit it.
Can't admit it.
Because if I'm right—
"Maybe it's his shampoo," I say. Force the words out even though they taste like lies.
Zero snorts. Actually laughs. Sharp and disbelieving. "Shampoo doesn't smell like that."
"Then what does it smell like, Zero?"
He doesn't answer.
Can't answer.
Because we're all thinking the same thing. All feeling the same pull. The same magnetic attraction that makes no fucking sense.
But saying it out loud would make it real.
And it can't be real.
Because Max is our stepbrother. Richard's step-son. Off-limits in every way that matters.
And what we're all thinking—what that scent is suggesting—is impossible.
Isn't it?
Max stirs against me. His head turns. Buries itself against my neck.
Seeking. Searching.
