Chapter 7
Seven
SINCLAIR brOTHERS
Jaxson stood frozen, watching the empty doorway where Lan had disappeared, his throat constricting as if someone had wrapped a hand around it.
The lingering scent of honey, cherry blossoms, and lilies wrapped around him like invisible chains, simultaneously comforting and tormenting.
The scent had grown stronger over the years, evolving from a subtle hint to something that seemed to call to him on a molecular level.
His fingers tingled with the phantom sensation of Lan’s damp hair, the memory of that soft skin beneath his touch sending electricity racing through his system.
His pupils had dilated the moment Lan walked in, a physiological response he couldn’t control—as involuntary as breathing.
Three years since The Bathroom Incident, and Lan had transformed from the awkward teenager Jaxson had tried so desperately not to notice into a young man who commanded attention without even trying.
The subtle changes—the slight broadening of shoulders, the more defined muscles, the graceful confidence in his movements—were branded into Jaxson’s consciousness with painful clarity.
That damned towel, barely clinging to narrow hips, water droplets tracing paths down pale skin that glowed in the kitchen’s dim light.
Jaxson’s fingers had itched with the need to follow those droplets, to map that territory with his hands, his mouth.
To claim what felt rightfully his. The possessive thought should have horrified him.
Instead, it settled in his chest like a living thing, burning and demanding, ancient and undeniable.
“Missing something?” Colt’s voice cut through his thoughts like a serrated knife. “Or should I say… someone?”
Jaxson turned slowly, forcing his features into casual indifference while his insides burned. He could feel the heat radiating from his core outward—another symptom he’d been experiencing with increasing frequency whenever Lan was near. “Don’t you have some spreadsheets to terrorize?”
“And miss this quality entertainment?” Wei’s grin was positively wicked as he leaned against the counter, coffee mug cradled between his palms. “Our Shrine Maiden does have a talent for causing chaos, doesn’t he?”
The words “Shrine Maiden” seemed to resonate inside him, triggering memories that weren’t quite memories—more like impressions of another time, another place.
It sent an electric current down Jaxson’s spine, a jolt of recognition that went deeper than conscious thought.
There was something about it that felt… right, in a way he couldn’t articulate.
As if it belonged to Lan in some fundamental way that transcended their modern lives.
“You two are enjoying this far too much,” Jaxson muttered, trying to ignore the way his body still hummed with awareness from that brief contact with Lan.
How could such an innocent touch leave him feeling like he’d been struck by lightning?
His skin felt too tight, his senses painfully heightened—the kitchen lights too bright, Wei’s knowing smirk too clear, Colt’s territorial posture too obvious.
Colt lounged back, though his white-knuckled grip on his mug betrayed his casual posture.
The aggressive energy rolling off him was almost visible, a challenge that Jaxson’s body responded to instinctively.
“The brat needs to learn some self-preservation. Walking around half-naked like that…” His words carried an edge that raised Jaxson’s hackles, a territorial note that felt like a direct challenge.
Something primal and powerful surged through Jaxson’s veins—the urge to establish dominance, to remind Colt of the hierarchy. The thought came unbidden, strange yet familiar, like a phrase from a half-forgotten language.
“He’s just distracted,” Jaxson defended, missing the loaded look between his brothers as his mind replayed Lan’s words from the car.
I already have someone I’m in love with.
The memory sent a wave of possessive rage through him so intense it was physically painful, like someone had reached into his chest and was squeezing his heart in a viselike grip.
The pain wasn’t metaphorical—it was a real, physical agony that made him wonder if he was having a heart attack at thirty.
“Oh?” Wei’s eyes danced with unholy glee. “And you would know about these… distractions?”
“Personal stuff,” Jaxson said firmly, unwilling to discuss Lan’s revelation.
The thought of Lan pining for someone, dreaming of someone else, wanting someone who wasn’t him—it made something primal and violent rise within him, something that wanted to hunt down this unknown rival and eliminate the threat.
His vision sharpened, the edges of the room becoming crystalline in clarity—another strange physiological response he couldn’t explain.
“At his age?” Wei’s smile widened, too knowing, too perceptive. “Must be love.”
“How would you know?” Jaxson asked, trying not to look as interested as he felt, even as his insides twisted with jealousy sharp enough to draw blood. The pain pulsed in time with his heartbeat, each throb a reminder of something essential slipping away.
“Please,” Wei leaned forward, every inch the cat with not just the cream, but the whole dairy farm. “At twenty-one? Everything’s about love. Or did you forget your own awkward phase?”
Colt snorted, running a hand through his damp hair. “As if our perfect eldest brother ever had an awkward phase. He was too busy collecting girlfriends like trading cards.”
“Speaking from experience?” Jaxson shot back, though his mind was elsewhere.
Those relationships had been as substantial as tissue paper in rain—just something to fill the void after their parents died.
None of them had made him feel even a fraction of what one half-dressed Lan could do with a single glance.
None of them had smelled like honey, cherry blossoms, and lilies.
None of them had made his chest ache with a longing that felt ancient and overwhelming.
None of them had felt like coming home, like finding a missing piece of himself he hadn’t known was lost. Like completing a circuit that had been broken for centuries.
“All I’m saying,” Wei continued, his voice carrying that irritating know-it-all tone he’d perfected over twenty-seven years of having all the answers, “is that our little Shrine Maiden’s acting exactly like someone in love. Distracted. Dreamy. Walking around practically naked…”
The thought of Lan—his Lan—dreaming about someone else made something dark and primitive surge through Jaxson’s veins.
A possessiveness so intense it frightened him with its ferocity.
The need to claim, to mark, to possess was overwhelming, supernatural in its power.
It felt older than himself, deeper than modern morality, more fundamental than the family ties that bound them.
Like a cosmic law written in his DNA, a truth he’d been born knowing: Lan was his.
Had always been his. Would always be his.
“I’m going to shower,” Jaxson announced, standing abruptly. He couldn’t handle any more speculation about Lan’s love life—not when his own feelings were threatening to bubble over like an unattended pot, not when every cell in his body was screaming at him to claim what was his.
“Running away?” Colt’s words held a challenge that went deeper than their surface bickering. Something ancient flickered in his eyes.
“Not my secret to tell.” Jaxson managed a casual shrug that felt anything but. “Ask him yourself if you’re so curious.”
“Ah.” Wei’s eyes gleamed with that strange, ancient knowledge that sometimes made Jaxson wonder if he knew far more than he let on. “So there is a secret.”
“Good night,” Jaxson said pointedly, already heading for the door.
He needed to escape before Wei’s knowing looks and Colt’s sharp comments cracked his carefully maintained facade.
Before they saw the monster lurking beneath his skin, the one that wanted to possess Lan completely, to erase any thought of loving someone else from his mind.
“Such a mother hen,” Colt called after him, his words carrying a bitterness only Wei understood.
“Sweet dreams, big brother,” Wei’s voice followed him down the hall. “Try not to think too hard about our little Shrine Maiden’s… distractions.”
Jaxson’s only response was to close his bedroom door with enough force to rattle the hinges. He needed a shower. A very cold one. Anything to wash away the rage and possession threatening to consume him from the inside out.
But even as he stripped off his clothes, Jaxson knew no amount of cold water could douse the fire in his blood.
This wasn’t just desire. It wasn’t just inappropriate feelings for a stepbrother.
This was something else entirely—something that felt like it had been building for years, decades, perhaps even centuries.
Something that went beyond rational thought or moral considerations. A bond that transcended time itself.
The bathroom tiles were cool against his heated skin as he stepped into the shower, turning the water as cold as it would go.
The shock of it barely registered through the storm of emotions raging inside him.
Not that any amount of water could wash away the images branded into his retinas—Lan in that towel, water droplets playing connect-the-dots across newly defined muscles, the soft vulnerability in those eyes when Jaxson had touched his hair.
The sweet scent that clung to him, growing stronger with proximity, seemed to follow Jaxson even here, as if it had imprinted itself on his senses permanently.
Fuck.