Chapter 10 Tobias
TOBIAS
The lights on the Christmas tree twinkle like tiny fireflies caught in a dance.
I’m sitting on the floor, my back against the couch, close enough to feel the faint warmth from the lights.
It’s become my favorite spot in the house—like the world pauses here and none of the terrible things can reach me.
The smell of pine and cinnamon makes my chest ache in the best way.
I don’t realize Rowen is in front of me until his shadow stretches across the floor.
When I look up, he’s holding something behind his back.
Ivy lowers herself into the chair beside me, her knee bumping my shoulder.
Jasmine sits across from me, arms folded loosely on her knees.
The way she watches me makes my pulse pick up, like she’s waiting for something.
I sit up, alarmed. “Did I do something?”
Rowen sits down across from me, cross-legged. His expression is soft and unreadable, dark hair tousled. When he smiles at me, it makes my belly squirm.
The man is beautiful.
“This is for you,” he says.
He slides two bags across the deep red rug. Each one worn and faded, the canvas rubbed thin in a few places. They look well-loved. Used. Even cherished.
Ivy squirms, hiding her excitement behind her hand.
I blink at them. “What—?”
“Open them.”
My fingers shake as I unzip the first bag… and my jaw drops. The scent of dust and earth swirls up from within, and I struggle to breathe. I stare at the contents, dumbfounded.
Inside are three Nikon cameras of various ages, each made of quality glass and metal. Two of the cameras are 35mm film, and they look ancient yet dependable. The third is a newer digital model that looks barely touched.
I know that one well. It’s a sister model of what mine used to be.
My throat closes as I pick it up, turning the knob on the top. The screen powers on, revealing various settings before switching to a photo of a bird.
“What…” I try, but my words fail me.
Along with the cameras are eight lenses, nestled between worn padded dividers, a padded case of filters for the lenses, and an assortment of cords and battery packs. Everything an avid photographer needs.
“What is this?” I finally say.
Rowen shoves the bags a little closer to me. “They’re yours now.”
I gape at him. “Wh-what?”
He smiles at me. “We want you to have them.”
Something tickles my cheek, and I wipe at it, stunned to see I’m crying. “Shit.” I slam my eyes shut, lip trembling.
For a long, terrible moment, I can’t speak. I clutch the cameras to my chest like they might disappear.
Rowen’s voice is barely a whisper. “Fuck. I messed up, didn’t I?”
I shake my head hard. “No. Gods, no.” My voice cracks. “I just—how did you know?”
“You mentioned something the other day about owning a photography business,” Rowen explains. “It just so happens that my dad was a photography fanatic. He loved it almost as much as he loved whittling.”
Jasmine chuckles. “And believe me, that’s saying something.”
“The digital one was Sasha’s,” Ivy adds. “She was just getting into the hobby when… anyway.”
I frown. “Who?”
“Our pack sister who was killed by Foxx,” Rowen says. The pain in his voice makes my heart reach out to him.
Right.
I never knew her name.
“We thought instead of the gear collecting dust, it could mean something.” He smiles again—an eye crinkling hopeful smile that steals my breath.
I lunge for him, hugging him tight. My chest heaves with broken sobs.
Rowen hesitates, then hugs me back, dipping his nose to my neck.
Ivy rubs between my shoulder blades, murmuring something I can’t hear. I must look like an idiot.
Taren offers me a tissue as I sit back.
Jasmine’s warm brown eyes are full of curiosity, like she wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction. “We’d hoped it would give you some joy, after all you’ve been through.”
I wipe my face, even though I can’t stop crying. “You just… damn, you can’t know what this means to me. What you’ve just given me.”
Ivy rubs my back again. “You could tell us?”
I notice Red and Sage eavesdropping, and Forest has set his book down, watching. Jericho has even lost interest in his sketchbook, listening from the other side of the living room.
I turn the lens in my hand and get a sudden rush of calm through my bones. A piece of me just came back into focus.
Taking a breath, I tell them everything.
“About nine months ago, I was at a park with some friends. It was late. Too late, really. We should’ve gone home, but we were having fun.
Laughing and just being stupid. Then, these two guys showed up out of nowhere, asking us for money.
We gave them what we could, but they demanded more.
I didn’t know what they were until it was too late. ”
My fingers curl around the camera. “The guys shifted and attacked us. One of my friends didn’t survive. The other ran away. And I—” I swallow hard. “I was bitten.”
The room goes silent. Not shocked, just listening.
“I didn’t think much of it at first. It didn’t look bad, or get inflamed, or anything.
But a couple of weeks later, I started to get sick.
Like really sick. Couldn’t keep food down.
Couldn’t stop shaking. I was having seizures and constant fevers.
My body felt like it was at war with itself. So I checked myself into the hospital.”
I shudder, the memory like broken glass. “They told me—they said I flatlined once, and they had to bring me back. But after that, something finally started working, and I got better… slowly.”
The cameras blur behind my tears again, and I wipe them away.
“I was in the hospital for over a month, and I had like bottom of the barrel health insurance. It didn’t cover shit.
So the bills were unreal. I was suddenly hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt.
My business collapsed because I couldn’t work.
The recovery was too slow. I lost my home, my car—everything.
I had to sell my possessions just so I could eat. ”
“Even your cameras,” Rowen says under his breath.
The air leaves me in a rush. “Even my cameras. That was the worst part. I had to give those up too. They were such a big part of my life, it felt like selling off my arms.”
Red leans forward, listening. His expression is grim.
The tree lights continue to flicker, unaware I’m reliving my worst moment.
Rowen touches my knee, but doesn’t interrupt. No one does.
“I ended up homeless. Which, in Prodigy, has its own kind of dangers,” I say, a chill taking over me. “I started donating blood for money. You know, at those banks to feed vamps.”
They all nod slightly.
“It helped, but not enough. Then, this guy started showing up at the park bench. Watching me. I knew he was a vamp. I could feel it, you know. He scared the shit out of me, to be honest. But then he started leaving things for me when I slept. Clothes. Deodorant. Things I needed. So I started to trust him.”
I twist the lens, shame coiling through me. “He asked how much I was getting for donating. When I told him, he said he could pay me twice that much if I… helped him.”
Rowen’s jaw tightens. “Doing what?”
“Feeding him.” My voice barely makes it out. “He paid me twice. But then… he said if I came back to this club with him, the money would be even better. Like, over five times as much. So I went because I was desperate. But…”
My lip trembles, and I can’t speak.
“But then you never left,” Ivy finishes softly on a gasp.
I nod. My stomach twists.
“Oh God, Toby,” she says, draping an arm over my shoulders. I lean into her, crying.
Once I catch my breath, I sit up. My hands tremble as I trace the edge of the digital camera. It’s the only thing getting me through this story.
“Photography was… it was always my way of finding beauty,” I say.
“Growing up, my mom was pretty unstable. She was in and out of mental institutions, and our life was chaos. I never knew what each day would be like. But through a lens, I could focus on something. It made things make sense. Like my world came into view, you know? Everything else could be falling apart, but if I framed it right, it could still be beautiful.”
I lift the camera and snap a photo of Rowen. His eyes glint in the light from the tree. “So this—anyway, now you know what this means to me. I’m sorry for crying.”
Rowen moves closer, sitting beside me on the floor. He curls both arms around me and hugs me tight. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”
Across the room, Red’s shoulders stiffen as he clears his throat. “Tobias, forgive me, but something you said… I need to ask you something.”
I sit up, waiting.
“This will sound weird, but do you remember your mom’s eyes ever… changing?”
My brow furrows. “Changing?”
He nods. “Color. Shape. Anything.”
I start to say no, but pause. There were moments—times when I could’ve sworn her eyes looked darker, her pupils wider. I thought it was exhaustion. Medication. The light playing tricks. Anything, really.
Even me looking a little too close to find something beautiful.
“Maybe,” I say. “Once or twice.”
Red glances at Sage, then at Grant. Grant’s face goes pale.
“What?”
Red exhales slowly. “You might be a half-blood.”
I blink. “What?”
“Everything you just described—the bite, the sickness, the recovery—it’s what happens when someone’s animal starts to awaken. Shifters go through something similar before their first change, except much less drastic.”
I shake my head. “No. That’s… no. That doesn’t make sense. The doctor said it was just a virus or something.”
“They lied to you. It wasn’t a virus. That bite didn’t poison you—it undid a suppressant in your system.”
I stare at him. “But my mom—she wasn’t a shifter.”
“I think she was,” Red says gently. “Specifically, I think she was a half-blood, which makes you one as well.”
I start to shake my head again, but Forest cuts in. “You said your mother was unstable, right? Spending time in and out of mental institutions?”
I nod.
“Were any of them in Prodigy?”
I frown. “Yeah. All of them. I grew up there.”
He folds his hands together. “Half-bloods are sometimes on medication because they struggle to control their animal. Sometimes, they even rely on medication just to stay stable. Was she ever off them and did she seem worse then?”
My mind spins, and I grip the camera, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. “Yeah. She could barely afford to clothe me because she had to pay for the meds. And sometimes…” I trail off. Sometimes, she had to go without.
She was always at her worst then. Not just unstable, but screaming out in fear. Throwing things. It always made the police show up at our house.
“What kind of meds?” Rowen asks Red.
“Suppressants or stabilizers, depending on how in control of their animal they are. Not all half-bloods need them, but some do.” He scoots forward. “I think it’s safe to say she gave you a suppressant too, when you were born. To keep your animal dormant. She wanted to raise you as a human.”
His words hit like a punch to the gut. I blink wildly. “You’re saying—no. No! I’m not a shifter. I can’t be!”
“There are some suppressants that only work as long as no other DNA enters your system. Which means, if you get bit, or if you have unprotected sex with a shifter, those fluids can trigger the awakening. I think that’s why you got sick.”
I grip my thigh where the wolf bit me. Could this really be possible? Could I really be part-shifter?
“What was your mother’s name?” Red asks.
“Selene Hossell.”
He makes a note of it in his phone. “I have access to medical databases, so I’ll look into it.”
The room blurs around me, and my heart hammers.
It’s impossible. Me? A shifter?
But if it’s true…
God, if it’s true. It means everything I thought I knew about my mother was wrong. Possibly even her death.
“My mother,” I whisper. “I thought she’d committed suicide when I was 19. But she wasn’t on her meds then. You’re saying it could’ve been her animal? Driving her mad or something?”
Red and Forest both nod. “It’s very possible. To go without medication would essentially pull her animal to the surface, and if she can’t shift, or if she refused it, then her mind and body would have felt like they were at war with themselves.”
My stomach turns to ice. I’d used that exact phrase to describe what I went through before the hospital.
“But I haven’t been sick since,” I say.
He nods patiently. “Because the process is over. As I said, not all half-bloods have symptoms or need medication. You might not feel anything at all.”
His pause is heavy, and what he doesn’t say next is still as loud as ever: Or you might turn into your mother.
I feel sick. All those moments where she went without meds. Her screams. The way she beat her head against the wall and talked to an empty room. She’d carried on entire conversations with no one around. Was that really because she was a half-blood?
I’d feared her for most of my life. Often hid in my room when she was in one of her “moods.”
What if that happens to me?
I barely notice when Rowen curls his arms around me, or when he carries me up to my room. I barely notice him pulling the sheets up and lying next to me. Holding me.
I barely notice anything except my own frantic heartbeat.
Gods.
What if that happens to me?