Taren nods once, her voice low. “Thank you, Tobias. This helps. I’m… really sorry. If I find anything, I’ll tell you, okay? I promise.”
“We’re going to find a way to remove the mark,” Grant explains. “Assuming that’s what you want.”
I exhale deeply. “I never wanted it to begin with!”
My eyes snap to Jericho as something else Evan said comes back to me.He never wanted this.
I hate that I have something in common with a vampire. It actually makes me understand him.
The air feels thick now. Colder. Folding my arms over my chest, I walk away. I consider going back upstairs, but honestly, I’m sick of that room and I don’t want to be alone anymore. I need to be around people. Even if they hate me now.
I slump at the end of the couch closest to the Christmas tree and stare at the lights, having absolutely no idea how I’m going to get out of this.
9
ROWEN
It’s been a week, and to everyone’s surprise, Tobias has come downstairs every day. Sometimes he sits by the tree; sometimes he watches the snow fall outside the windows. He doesn’t talk much. If someone mentions his mark, he flinches or leaves the room, and he avoids Jericho completely. But he’s here—and moons above, that means everything. I want him to trust us, even just a little.
When he told us Rip used blood and magic to create the mark, I nearly lost control. That kind of power is nothing to play with. But what frightens me more is the not knowing. What was the intention behind it? Are they planning to hurt him again? How do we remove it?
Sometimes I catch myself just standing at his door while he sleeps, wishing I could shoulder some of his pain. Thinking about that stage… that bond… or whatever forced them together. I can’t stop turning it over in my mind. Ineedto understand how he ended up there.
But I can’t do that if he won’t open up.
Every day, my ache for him grows a little stronger. Forest said it best: we thought Tobias was there a few days, like all the other humans they’d taken recently. But months? Three and a half long months of cruelty and abuse?
It’s a miracle he’s not still cowering in that closet.
I used to own a photography business.
Of all the things he’s said, that’s the one that nearly broke me. He’s talked about pain, torture, magic—yet that…thatwas loss. A life he loved. A version of himself he’s still grieving. I heard it in his voice.
After another restless night, I go downstairs to find Mom. I stifle a yawn and pour myself a cup of coffee before pulling a seat out at the breakfast bar. The scent of cinnamon and sugar fills the air, making me eye the dough she’s kneading with intense longing.
Mom chuckles and tears off a piece, handing it to me.
My heart immediately feels lighter as I chew. “Thanks. Who’s on patrol now?” I ask, glancing out the window.
“Red and Forest.”
I blink. “Uncle Forest is out there?”
He hasn’t gone far from the house in winter in years. Shifting puts pressure on his injured foreleg, and the snow makes it worse. I hate knowing he pushes through pain when he shouldn’t have to.
“He’s staying close,” she says gently. “But yes.”
I huff. “He doesn’t need to go out. We can handle it.”
“He knows. But with everything happening, he wants to feel useful. Your father was the same way.”
Guilt twists low in my gut at the mention of Dad. I came down here to ask her a question, and now I’m not sure if I should. Would she approve? Or will it just reopen an old wound?
“It’s a little early for you to be up, isn’t it?” The knowing look she gives me steadies me.
“Yeah. Um… I wanted to talk to you, actually.”
She keeps working the dough, but her eyes never leave mine.
