Not to anything.
I’ll find a way to keep him safe.
I have to.
28
TOBIAS
My head pounds relentlessly, like someone’s driving a nail through my skull. Being around people—listening to their chatter and seeing Taren flip furiously through more tomes—is only making it worse. I head to our bedroom and sink down onto the bed with a sigh.
Rowen looks up from his laptop. “Hey. You okay?”
I don’t know what to say. “Just tired.”
He’s had that same expression on his face ever since he heard me talking to myself—like he’s waiting for something.Like he doesn’t trust me. And it guts me.
I look away, ashamed.
“I have an idea for you,” he says quietly.
When I don’t reply, he turns his laptop toward me. “This jeweler I’m building a site for—her pieces are gorgeous, but her photos aren’t doing her justice. So I was thinking you could help her. You know, like a paid gig?”
I blink at him, my pulse jumping. “Paid?”
“Yeah. I already emailed her. She’s very interested.”
I stare at the screen, at the silver and stone glinting under poor light. It should feel exciting. It should feel like a lifeline. But… it doesn’t. Not really. It just aches. How can I think about the future when my bloodline is making me hear things I shouldn’t—or with Rip hunting me?
“I… I don’t know,” I say finally.
He bends forward, brushing my hand with his. “Think about it.”
I nod weakly, unable to even smile. There’s no energy left in me for hope—not anymore.
Feeling like a burden—again—I get up. “I’ll let you work.”
He pulls me in for a soft kiss before I walk away, but there’s hesitation in it. Like he’s not sure which version of me he’s kissing.
I swallow down the emotions as I walk to the darkroom. The sharp smell of chemicals hits me in the face as soon as I step through the door. I haven’t been back here since I first heard the voices. I’ve been too afraid that it would trigger another episode.
That’s what my mom used to call them.Episodes.
Flipping the ventilation fan on, I move around the room, dumping the stale developer and cleaning the trays. It should ground me, but it doesn’t. Instead, guilt presses down on me.
I’m lying to Rowen. To the pack. To myself.
I’mnotokay. Not even a little.
I’m just too terrified to admit it. If they know I’m hearing things, will Forest let me stay, or will he think I’m a threat to his family?
When I reach for a photo on the drying line, something shifts. The air seems to draw in around me, like the moment before lightning splits the sky. I’ve felt it a few times now, and I recognize it for what it is.
I grip the counter just as something tickles the base of my skull. It’s not pain. Not exactly. More like an insistent pull tugging at the edge of my mind.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the feeling, and it only makes me think of Mom. She used to do that—that tiny, jerky twitch—just before the whispers started.
I don’t want this. I really, really don’t want this—these voices, my half-blood. It’s ruining everything.
