Chapter 4 #2
With the iron discipline that had become his defining characteristic, Colt forced his features back into their usual composed expression.
This was Lan they were talking about. His little stepbrother.
The one who needed protection and guidance.
Not… whatever this was that made his chest feel like it was being carved out with a dull knife whenever he thought about Lan leaving.
The memory of breakfast flashed through his mind—Lan in that oversized shirt, one pale shoulder exposed, dark hair still damp from the shower.
That scent that seemed to follow him everywhere, honey and something floral and sweet, something that bypassed Colt’s brain and went straight to his gut.
His body had responded in ways that were inappropriate at best, disturbing at worst—pupils dilating, heart rate accelerating, skin heating as if he’d suddenly developed a fever.
And he wasn’t the only one affected. He’d seen how Jaxson’s knuckles had gone white around his coffee mug, how Xander’s eyes had tracked every movement Lan made. Which just made this whole situation even more complicated than it already was.
“Not your problem,” he told his reflection firmly, but the lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
The image of Lan remained burned into his retinas—those dark eyes widening when Colt had gripped his chin that morning, lips parting slightly, that flush spreading across his cheeks like watercolor on wet paper.
It felt like they’d done this dance before, in some other time, some other place—Colt demanding, Lan yielding, a pattern so ancient it was etched into their souls rather than merely formed through years of cohabitation.
The thought should have unsettled him more than it did.
Colt stripped off his running clothes, letting them fall to the floor—a cardinal sin in his normally immaculate world. The bathroom called to him, promising scalding water to burn away thoughts he had no business entertaining.
The second he opened the door, Lan’s scent hit him like a physical force.
Not the generic shampoo they all used, but something else entirely.
Something that belonged only to Lan. Honey and cherry blossoms and lilies—a fragrance that should have been light and innocent but instead hit him with the force of an addiction, making his pupils blow wide and his breathing change before he could control it.
The steam had trapped it in the small space, making it impossible to escape, impossible to ignore.
“Jesus,” he muttered, inhaling despite himself.
The fragrance did something to him, triggering responses he couldn’t control, couldn’t rationalize away with his usual iron logic.
His heart rate accelerated, his skin heated, his muscles tensed in readiness for action with no clear target.
The territorial aggression that flooded his system was beyond anything he’d ever experienced outside of Lan’s presence—a primal need to mark, to claim, to possess that felt both foreign and oddly familiar, like muscle memory from a life he couldn’t recall living.
It was like his body recognized something his mind couldn’t quite grasp.
The bathroom was a minefield of Lan’s presence—the frayed towel he preferred hanging over the rod, the faint handprint on the fogged mirror, smaller than Colt’s would be. Normal, everyday things that shouldn’t affect him like this, yet each one tugged at something buried deep inside him.
Colt cranked the shower to just shy of scalding and stepped under the spray. The water pounded against his shoulders like tiny fists, but it did nothing to wash away the thoughts circling his brain like vultures.
His eyes caught on a piece of fabric by the hamper—his old shirt that Lan had been wearing earlier. The sight of it sent a jolt of something possessive and primal through him. Lan wearing his clothes. Surrounded by his scent. Marked, in some small way, as his.
The thought should have disgusted him. Instead, it felt right in a way that disturbed him even more than the desire itself. As if their scents were meant to mingle, as if Lan was supposed to carry something of Colt with him into the world.
Three years. That’s how long he’d been fighting this.
Three years since he’d looked at Lan and seen not his kid brother but something else entirely.
He remembered the exact moment it had happened.
Lan at eighteen, laughing in the summer sun after a water fight with Nico, droplets clinging to his skin like diamonds, and something in Colt’s brain had just…
shifted. Clicked into place like a dislocated joint finally finding its proper alignment.
He’d tried everything to exorcise these feelings. Doubled his running regimen. Thrown himself into his studies and work. Dated a string of people who meant nothing—all trying to burn out whatever this was that made him want things he shouldn’t want, feel things he had no right to feel.
None of it had worked. And now Lan wanted to leave. The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through Colt, making his hands clench into fists against the shower wall.
“He’s not yours,” Colt reminded himself, voice lost under the shower spray. “He’s never been yours.”
The worst part was watching Lan moon over Jaxson.
The way his eyes followed their oldest brother around the room.
The blush that crept up his neck when Jaxson touched him.
That secret smile reserved only for him.
It was painfully obvious to anyone who cared to look.
And Colt had been looking. Watching. Seething with a jealousy he had no right to feel.
Jaxson, the perfect brother. The responsible one. The one who stepped up after their parents died. The one who fought to keep the family together. The one Lan looked at like he hung the moon and all the stars in the sky.
And Colt was almost certain Jaxson felt the same way.
The lingering glances. The unnecessary touches.
The fierce protectiveness that went way beyond brotherly concern.
Colt recognized the signs because he saw them in himself, reflected back like a funhouse mirror showing the parts he tried hardest to hide.
Then there was Xander with his easy charm and patient manner, always finding excuses to be near Lan, to touch him, to make him laugh.
Another player in this silent competition none of them would admit existed, all of them circling Lan like planets around a sun they couldn’t name and couldn’t escape.
Colt pressed his forehead against the cool tile, letting water cascade down his back in rivulets.
Breakfast had been torture. Seeing Lan in that shirt, sleepy-eyed and vulnerable.
The urge to touch him, to claim him, had been overwhelming.
So Colt had done what he always did—channeled that desire into aggression, gripping Lan’s chin too roughly, criticizing him, keeping the distance that kept them both safe.
The water gradually ran cold, jolting Colt back to reality.
He shut it off with a sharp twist and stepped out, the bathroom now thick with steam that seemed to intensify Lan’s scent rather than dilute it.
He inhaled deeply, allowing himself this one small indulgence before he had to face the world again.
He wiped condensation from the mirror with his palm, and for a split second thought he saw something else reflected back—something wild where his face should be, something with the yellow eyes of a predator. He blinked, and it was gone. Just his imagination. Had to be.
Control. That’s what separated him from animals. From instinct. From the thing inside him that wanted to claim and possess. He wouldn’t lose that control. Not even for Lan. Especially not for Lan.
His eyes fell on the discarded shirt again.
Before he could stop himself, Colt picked it up, the fabric soft between his fingers.
He brought it to his face, inhaling the scent that clung to the fibers—that impossible combination of honey and something sweet and floral that he’d never been able to name, that he’d been cataloging for three years like a man trying to memorize something he feared losing.
The effect hit him like a drug—immediate and overwhelming.
His pupils dilated instantly, the irises nearly disappearing into black.
A shudder ran through his entire body, his skin prickling with awareness, his blood heating with a need so primal it bordered on violence.
For a moment, the bathroom walls seemed to shimmer and fade, and he could almost see flashes of another place—ancient stone walls, the scent of incense, the weight of a responsibility he couldn’t name but felt branded into his soul.
For one dangerous moment, Colt let himself feel it all.
The want. The need. The pull that felt older than himself, deeper than desire, more fundamental than family ties.
Then, with the discipline that defined every aspect of his life, he dropped the shirt into the hamper and straightened his shoulders.
Time to be the Colt everyone expected. The responsible brother.
The controlled one. Not the one harboring inappropriate feelings for his stepbrother.
Not the one jealous of how Lan looked at Jaxson.
Not the one already planning ways to make sure Lan never moved out.
Because that Colt—the real one beneath the carefully constructed facade—was someone no one could ever be allowed to see. Not even Lan. Especially not Lan.
As he dressed, his eyes kept drifting to the hamper where the shirt lay buried. Something told him that no matter how far Lan might try to go, some bonds couldn’t be broken. Some connections ran deeper than choice or morality or even understanding.
It wasn’t a comforting thought.
But it felt true in a way nothing else did.