Chapter 10 - Rafael
The sound wakes me first—a whimper, barely audible through the wall. Then the scent of fear hits, sharp and coppery as blood, making my wolf stir uneasily. Thalia's nightmares have a distinct signature by now; this is the third night in a row.
I lie still, listening to her ragged breathing in the next room. Every instinct screams to go to her, but I know better. She's made it clear she doesn't want comfort—at least not from me.
When her breathing steadies and silence falls again, I'm still wide awake, mind racing. Sleep won't come now. It never does on nights like this.
Instead, I reach for my phone, checking the time. Just past three AM here, which means...
Camila picks up on the second ring. "If you're calling to check up on me again—"
"It's two in the afternoon there," I counter, unable to help my smile. My sister's voice—half-sister, technically, but we don’t think about it that way—instantly soothes something raw in my chest. "I'm allowed to call in the middle of your day."
"True." I hear street noise in the background. Probably Bangkok, the latest stop on her world travels. "But it’s the middle of the night over there, which means something's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong."
"Raf." She only uses that nickname when she's serious. "Come on. Talk to me."
I sigh, staring at the shadows on my ceiling. "It's complicated."
"When isn't it, with you?" But her tone is gentle. "Is this about the new girl? The one you mentioned last time?"
"Thalia," I say, and just her name feels like giving something away. "Yeah. Sort of."
"Sort of?" More street noise, then the sound of a door closing—she's gone inside somewhere. "Details, please. Some of us are living vicariously through their brother's love life."
"It's not—" I stop, rubbing my eyes. "She's hiding something. Something big. But she also took a bullet for me last week, and I can't figure out why."
"Maybe because she's a good person? And a trained combatant, who has to make quick decisions in a fight?"
"Maybe because she's playing a longer game."
Camila's quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "I can't blame you for being worried—I mean, God, after what happened with Stella, I’d be paranoid too. I get it, Raf, I do. But this girl doesn't sound like she deserves your anger. She just sounds like she's got stuff she's running from. And who doesn't?"
Something like a chill runs right through me, hard and fast. "That's different."
"Is it?"
"Can we not do this?" The words come out sharper than intended. "How's Dad? Have you heard from him?"
She lets me change the subject, because she's Camila and knows when to push and when to back off. "Still buried in research in Prague. You know how he gets with his fellowship work—I'm pretty sure he forgot to eat yesterday until one of his colleagues reminded him. And most days, it’s me reminding him."
"Some things never change."
"Speaking of change..." I hear the smile in her voice. "I might be heading back stateside soon. Thinking of swinging by Minnesota, if you're not too busy being broody and suspicious to host your favorite sister."
"Only sister," I correct, but warmth spreads through my chest at the thought of seeing her. My little sister always cheers me up, even if she does it by being stupid, or worrying me half to death in the process. "When?"
"Few weeks, maybe. Need to wrap some things up here first." Something crashes in the background, followed by rapid-fire Thai. "Sorry—this café's a bit chaotic. You should see it, though. Fairy lights everywhere, cats sleeping on all the tables. You'd hate it."
"Sounds unsanitary."
"Says the man who literally drinks blood."
"I don’t drink blood, and you know it. I’m three percent vampire, tops." The familiar banter helps settle my racing thoughts. "How's the photography going?"
"Good. Great, actually. Sold three prints to that gallery in Singapore." She pauses, then adds more seriously, "You sound tired. When's the last time you actually slept?"
"I sleep."
"Yeah, hanging from the ceiling, maybe. All jokes aside, though—lying awake listening to your partner have nightmares isn't sleeping."
Sometimes, I forget how well she knows me. "It's my job to keep watch."
"You can’t keep watch from your bedroom. All you’re keeping watch on is her." Her voice softens. "You can't protect everyone, you know. Sometimes, people have to face their own demons."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
I think of Thalia's muffled cries and the way her hands shake sometimes when she thinks no one's watching. Of how fiercely she guards her independence, even as something haunted lingers in her eyes.
"Go to sleep," Camila says when I don't respond. "Call me at a normal hour tomorrow, if we can find one somehow. And Raf?"
"Yeah?”
"Try giving her the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone's out to hurt you."
The call ends, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the sound of Thalia's steady breathing through the wall. Outside, snow falls silently, coating the world in fresh white. The storm we've been watching all week is finally rolling in.
Sleep comes eventually, uneasy and thin.
I wake to grey dawn light and the smell of coffee. Good coffee, not the cheap stuff we've been drinking all week.
I find Thalia in the kitchen, measuring grounds into the French press I didn't know we had. She's wearing an oversized sweater, her black curls loose around her shoulders and still mussed from sleep. Something about the domesticity of the scene makes my chest tight.
"There's a café in town that sells decent beans," she says without turning around. "I picked some up when we were still in town.”
"Holding out on me?"
"Saving it for a special occasion." Now she does turn, and if there are shadows under her eyes, neither of us mentions them. "Thought we could both use it this morning."
The olive branch is unexpected but not unwelcome. "Want to take it outside? Snow’s slowing down.”
She hesitates, then nods. "Give me five minutes to finish this."
The front porch has become our unofficial neutral ground over the past few days, an unceded territory. We settle into the wooden chairs, wrapped in blankets against the morning chill. Steam rises from our mugs, mingling with our breath in the cold air. The night’s snowfall has left everything pristine, unmarked snow stretching in a featureless white sea to the treeline.
"This is good," I say after my first sip. The coffee is rich, complex. I close my eyes and breathe out slowly through my nose, remembering when Camila taught me yoga and meditation. I forgot most of it, but sometimes, I still find myself running through the motions in my head.
"Ethiopian." Thalia wraps both hands around her mug. "There's this tiny roastery in Chicago that does amazing things with their beans. I stayed there for a while, I used to..." She trails off, something flickering across her face. "Anyway. It's good, right?"
"You're full of surprises."
"Good ones, I hope."
For once, I let the moment pass without pushing.
"Ever notice how quiet it gets after a snow?" she asks, eyes on the treeline. "The world's holding its breath."
"My sister says the same thing." The comparison surprises me, but it fits somehow. "She's a photographer—loves catching those moments right after a storm."
"Sounds like she has a good eye."
"She does. Too good, sometimes." I smile, remembering some of Camila's more adventurous shoots. "Nearly got herself eaten by a tiger last year trying to get the perfect shot."
Thalia's laugh is unexpected and bright. "Seriously?"
"Apparently, the sign saying 'do not leave the vehicle' was more of a suggestion."
"I like her already."
The conversation flows easier after that. We trade stories about bad movies and worse food, about places we've been and places we want to go. She tells me about a terrible action film she saw a few years ago that got everything wrong about weapons— The sounds weren't even close to realistic ,— and I counter with the vampire movie that made me laugh so hard I nearly choked on my popcorn.
It's strange how natural it feels, this temporary peace between us. Strange how her smile makes something warm unfurl in my chest, even as my instincts scream caution.
"Favorite season?" she asks, settling deeper into her blanket.
"Fall. You?"
"Summer." A shadow crosses her face. "Used to spend whole days at the lake near our house, my dad teaching me to skip stones..."
She stops abruptly, that familiar wall slamming back into place. But for a moment, I caught a glimpse of something real—a softness she usually keeps hidden, a sadness that goes bone-deep.
And that's when it hits me, with the force of a physical blow.
I'm falling for her.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, it’s like I can hear the faint, distant whistle of something dropping from an impossible height. The sound of something sliding inimically into place inside me. Despite every warning sign, every instinct, every lesson hard-learned about trust and betrayal. Despite knowing with such certainty that she could be hiding something that could destroy everything we're trying to protect. Despite myself. Despite her , her wishes, her fears.
I want Thalia Reyes. My mind cottons on and then doesn’t let go. It’s as if I always knew, somehow, on some level. I want her impossibly badly.
"We should head in," she says, standing suddenly. Shaking me from the furious churning of my thoughts. "Check the perimeter before it gets too late."
I watch her retreat into the house, taking the warmth of our conversation with her. The coffee has gone cold in my mug, but I barely notice.