Chapter 18 Tobias
TOBIAS
After dinner, Rowen and I disappear into his room to watch another low-budget movie. It’s amusing how into them he is.
Ivy pokes her head in after a while, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed with excitement. “It’s time.”
Rowen grins, sitting up. He’s so relaxed after his run earlier, like shifting really had calmed him. “Okay. Be right there.”
He climbs off the bed, gathering his pillows and comforter, then collecting the spare blanket from the beanbag.
“What are you doing?” I ask, half laughing.
His grin widens like he’s been waiting all night for this. “Go get your pillow.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
I frown, but his eyes are dancing. Whatever this is, I already know it’s something pack-related. Which means I’m probably going to love it and be completely out of my depth at the same time.
I cross the hall to my room, grabbing my pillow just like he said.
When I step back out, Red and Sage hurry past me, arms full of blankets and giggling.
Grant appears from a door halfway down, carrying his pillow and blanket too.
And behind him, Neal is hauling a huge load as well, trying not to smile.
“Seriously, what is going on?”
Rowen tips his head toward the stairs. “You’ll see.”
When we reach the bottom, I stop dead in my tracks and gasp. The entire living room has been transformed. Furniture shoved back, end tables stacked, a few lamps unplugged and set aside. The only light in the room comes from the Christmas tree.
And underneath the tree—around it, really—everyone is spreading their blankets and comforters on the floor, creating one enormous nest of color and warmth.
For a moment I can only stand there, taking it in and grinning stupidly.
Rowen claims a spot near the fireplace, then glances at me over his shoulder. “Come on.”
Something warm and fizzy bubbles in my chest. “Are you serious? Everyone sleeps together on Christmas Eve?”
“Yup.” He smirks as he tosses a pillow down. “It’s the one time of year we sleep like an actual pack of wolves.”
“But I’m not a wolf.” My voice wavers between teasing and uncertainty.
“Neither am I,” Evelyn says from somewhere nearby. “Yet here I am.” She stretches out beside Jericho and Evan, who are arranging their own blankets in near-perfect symmetry. They’re wearing matching black and red pajama bottoms, and it makes me smile.
The laughter and small talk feel easy—like background music I didn’t know I needed. Aster is giggling hysterically, crawling over his mom and tossing his teddy bear around. Ivy is on the other side of the room, fluffing her pillow while talking to Sage.
As I lie down beside Rowen, someone turns the record player on, and they all start telling stories about Christmases past: Forest’s disastrous attempt to roast a turkey, Sage’s glitter explosion while attempting to make some ornaments, and Red getting snowed in at the shifter clinic one year.
But for each laughable story, they have an endearing one too. How Taren and Sasha joined the pack just a few weeks before Christmas, and how Jasmine broke the news she was pregnant with Rowen at Christmas Eve dinner. Even Grant cracks a few jokes from the corner while half-watching the fire.
The warmth of the room seeps into me, each laugh pulling me closer and closer to the people I’ve grown to care about. For once, I don’t feel like an outsider watching through glass. Everyone is talking around me—laughing, teasing, half-asleep as they share a few more stories.
And I just… listen.
Not because I feel separate from it. Because I can feel myself falling into it. Weaving myself into these moments without even realizing it.
I know these people now. They’re my friends, people I love.
I can easily picture their faces in each of these moments, hear their laughter.
And it feels wonderful, yet at the same time, it feels like something I shouldn’t touch.
Like if I hold on too tightly, it’ll dissolve right through my fingers.
But gods, I want to. I want this so badly it scares me. Not just to imagine I was a part of the stories, but to become them. Be a part of their future.
I reach for Rowen’s hand, threading our fingers together. His warm brown eyes meet mine, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.
“How about you, Tobias?” Forest asks. “Do you have any Christmas stories you’d like to share?”
The room goes quiet as they wait for my turn. I bite my lip. I spent most of my Christmases worrying that Mom would hurt herself or run into the street screaming. But there’s one memory that stands out.
“When I was seven,” I start slowly, picking at the edge of my blanket, “the power went out on Christmas Eve. It was freezing in our apartment, so we built this fort in the living room, adding pillows, blankets, anything we could find for warmth.” I pause, realizing how similar it is to how we’re sleeping now.
“We ate cookies, and she read me some books with a flashlight. The wind was howling outside, rattling the windows, but it didn’t bother me.
I felt warm and safe. Like the world couldn’t hurt me.
The next day, there were two gifts by the Christmas tree. ”
It was one of the rare times Mom remembered to buy gifts.
Rowen’s thumb brushes over my skin, warm and inviting, like the memory pleases him.
But he can’t know how rare that was for me.
Or how fleeting. After we opened gifts, Mom slipped into her usual chatter and incoherent talk, and I spent the rest of the day listening to her argue with a shadow on the wall.
I shrug and tug at the blanket. “That was probably my favorite Christmas.”
No one says anything at first. The fire pops softly, and the only other sound is of Aster cooing sleepy words at his mother.
“That’s really sweet,” Ivy says.
I look away quickly, pretending to focus on the blinking lights.
When I roll to my side, Rowen pulls me against him.
The shift is small, almost thoughtless, like it was natural.
It catches my breath. I settle in, squished between him and Neal, and my heart races—not from nerves.
It’s just… this. The warmth. The closeness.
That night had always felt so magical to me, more than any present Mom could’ve given me. And being here, cocooned in the safety and belonging of the Clearwater Pack, I’m starting to feel it again. Like I can dare to believe I belong.
How do I make it last?
Something soft and terrifying unfolds in my ribs.
The possibility of it all.
A future I’m afraid to want.
Eventually, the voices fade one by one, replaced by the steady rhythm of breathing and the faint hiss of the fire.
Rowen touches my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone, like he’s trying to memorize something. For the briefest moment, I think he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t.
“Night, Toby,” he murmurs.
I tuck my head against his chest, breathing him in. “Night.”
It should be enough—this closeness, this warmth, this belonging. It’s everything I’ve wanted. It feels the same as all those years ago. The fort. The flashlight. The warmth.
But my mind doesn’t know how to hold good things. It waits for the drop—just like it had that night with my mom. I woke up bracing for her to slip back into her routines, and she had, taking the warmth with it.
My eyes start to drift shut. The sounds of breathing fade into one steady rhythm. Then it twists, heavy and cold.
I’m standing on the chilled stage at the club, my feet numb against the icy floor.
Something is whispering my name. Not something—someone.
The voice gets stronger the more I listen, but it’s wrong.
So wrong. Warped beyond distinction. I can’t tell if it’s male or female, the words blurring into nothing.
A hand strikes me out of nowhere, and my head snaps to the left before I hear cackling—terrible shrieks of joy.
“Tobias, snap out of it.”
The sound of water dripping echoes in the chamber, and the hand appears to strike again. I see chains, hear them rattle, then feel the terrible burn of them on my wrists. When I try to scream, I taste blood.
“Shit. Toby, wake up!”
Rowen’s voice cuts through the fog, but it sounds distant, muffled. I want to go to him, but I’m flailing, striking out at shadows that won’t let go.
“Hey. Hey! It’s me, you’re okay. You’re safe.” His hand presses against the back of my neck, warm and solid, pulling me back toward the sound of his voice.
I thrash again, the darkness drowning me. Something cold and wet splashes my face, making me gasp and choke for air.
The room and chains fade.
I blink hard, trying to remember where I am. The nest. The blankets. The tree… Rowen.
My heart thunders, and sweat clings to my skin. I exhale hard when I finally see him.
“You’re okay,” he says softly.
I fist his shirt, shaking. That dream had been so different from the others. Closer, somehow. Usually the shadows feel far off, blurred. But this time it was like I could reach for them. I’d felt the cold of the stage under my feet.
I jolt when I realize everyone is awake—staring. Shit. Grant is crouched nearby, holding an empty glass. Sage and Red hover together, both pale. Even Jericho looks unsettled.
Shame slams into me. “I—I’m sorry,” I stammer, my throat burning. “I didn’t mean to—”
Rowen gently squeezes the back of my neck, grounding me. I feel his lips in my hair. “You don’t have to apologize.”
I do, though. I ruined their Christmas Eve. God, how could I do that?
I repeat the apology, trying to push the memory of the dreams aside.
Rowen rubs my back.
“Has this happened before?” Red asks quietly.
Rowen doesn’t answer right away, like he wants to protect me from their judgment. “Almost every night,” he says. “Not this bad, though. Shh, hon. You’re okay.”
I cling to him, trying to stop shaking, but it’s like I’m still there, getting beaten on the stage.
Is this it, then? Is it happening? Are these the voices my mom heard? The ghosts she screamed at? Am I going crazy, just like she did?
“Do you want to go upstairs?” Rowen asks.
I shake my head. “Please, no.” The last thing I want is to be alone, even with him. I need this. I need all of them. Where did that feeling of wholeness disappear to? Can I have it back?
“Okay.” He kisses my head again. “We’ll stay then.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur again.
One by one, the others lie back down. Grant turns the main light off and settles in.
But it’s a long, long time before anyone is asleep.
Guilt threatens to swallow me whole, and I almost wish it would.
This was supposed to be their special night.
Their one night, as Rowen said, when they sleep like a pack.
I curl against him, fighting back tears. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that I’m going to lose all of this. Because no way they’ll still want me around once I start acting weird. Shouting at things that don’t exist.
I didn’t want my own mother around.
I fist his shirt. “I’m scared,” I whisper.
“I know.” He rubs my back. “I’ll keep you safe, though.”
I want to believe him. More than anything. But it isn’t only Rip or Foxx he needs to protect me from.
It’s myself.
How can he protect me from my own mind?
I press my face against his chest, searching for the warmth I’d felt before. It’s there, but faint. I focus on that and nothing else until sleep pulls me under again.