We walk out together, his arm around my shoulders and mine around his back.
For the first time in several days—or months, if I’m being honest—I feel good. Better than good. I feelhappy.
Because of him.Because of all of them. This house. This pack. This feeling of belonging.
I just pray whatever lives in me stays sleeping.
Because if it wakes, I don’t know who I’ll become.
Or who I’ll destroy.
15
TOBIAS
“What are you guys doing right now?” Jasmine asks from the door.
Rowen, Ivy, and I look up from the television on Rowen’s dresser. We were watching a movie in his room, with Ivy and I on the beanbag and Rowen on his bed.
“Just chilling. Why?” Rowen says.
“You’re not working?”
“No, I’ve caught up.”
“Can you come downstairs then? All of you.”
“Yeah, sure. We’ll be right down.”
I stifle a yawn as I stretch. I had nearly fallen asleep before Jasmine came in, and the heavy weight of it still lingers. I struggle to move.
As Ivy gets up, I sink lower into the beanbag. “Mmm. Nope. Can’t go. The beanbag has claimed me.”
Rowen laughs, then reaches down to pull me up. His breath ghosts warmly near my cheek as he wraps his arms around me. He keeps it brief, since we have an audience, but his touch seems to linger as we break apart. He’s been softer this week. Smiling more. Relaxing in ways I don’t thinkhe even notices. Ivy has, though—commenting more than once how nice it is not to listen to Rowen grumble about winter all day, every day.
The days have settled into a rhythm, like the whole house has embraced a moment of peace.
Most mornings start with coffee and the faint cinnamon scent of Jasmine’s bread cooling on the counter. Sage and Grant keep arguing over the drone in the living room while Forest rolls his eyes. Snow keeps piling up on the deck, and Neal keeps shoveling it off. It’s becoming a white fortress around the house. At night, we settle around the table for a warm meal. Jericho always joins us, even though he never eats.
It’s been calm. Easy. Nothing dramatic. No fights. No clubs. No heat under my skin threatening to break me open. I’ve even forgotten about the mark several times, only for someone to bump into it and remind me it’s still there.
It’s just been… life.
Normal, everyday life with amazing people. I didn’t know it could feel like this. Like my chest is big enough to hold a whole room full of laughter. That peace is loud in its own way.
And Rowen… he’s been everywhere.
Passing me mugs of hot cocoa without my asking. Sitting hip-to-hip at the kitchen table, or on the couch, or… well, pretty much anywhere. He never pulls away first, which means every time I do, my heart aches a little more.
Some nights I fall asleep beside him in his bed, my face tucked near the curve of his shoulder. Other nights, I crash on the beanbag, our conversation running slow between us until I can’t keep my eyes open. The nightmares still come, sharp and cold as ever. I wake choking on them, braced for the loneliness and despair that always follows, but his hand finds mine every time. When I struggle to come out of it, Rowen crawls into the beanbag with me, holding me.
He’s steady. Patient. Tender.
And gods, that does something to me. Something I can’t name. Something I’m afraid to analyze. I shouldn’t encourage this. I shouldn’t lean in so hard, yet pulling away is becoming impossible.
I don’twantto.
Ivy perks up as we descend the stairs. “Ohhh, I bet I know what this is!”
