Chapter 19 Tobias
TOBIAS
The mood is somber the next morning. Everyone moves slowly, sleep-heavy and weary. But there’s more than exhaustion in the air. There’s a heavy kind of knowing with my name on it.
No one mentions the nightmare. Not out of avoidance—out of kindness. They are all trying not to bring it up, which… in its own way, makes it worse.
Snow glistens outside, and scratchy Christmas music plays from the record player. The house smells of cinnamon and candied pecans, but I can’t reach for them.
Rowen and I sit on the couch together, tucked under a blanket.
His thigh presses against mine, like he’s trying to make sure I notice him and not drift off inside my head.
I keep my eyes on the window, turning a tin can around in my fingers.
Jasmine had given it to me earlier, but I can’t bring myself to open it. Not yet.
I can’t look at anyone. Can’t really speak. The apology sits thick in my throat. They’re not mad—I know that—but the shame still chokes me.
Last night hadn’t felt like a dream. It’d felt… I don’t even know. Remembered, somehow. Haunted. Maybe that’s why my mom called her voices ghosts—because it felt like I’d stepped into hers.
Rowen’s thumb brushes my knee, a silent check-in. I can’t meet his eyes, but I feel the question in the touch.
A log shifts in the fireplace, sending sparks fluttering. The sound startles me back to the room.
Jericho stands near the hearth, something large and flat in his hands. He clears his throat, nervous. “I know you guys don’t really do gifts for Christmas, but… I have one for you. For all of you, really.”
The present is wrapped in white butcher paper, folded unevenly and taped in a few odd places, like he’d wrapped it in a hurry.
Forest sets his coffee mug down and unwraps it, then goes still. “Oh. Wow.”
He turns a drawing around for us to see: three wolves running in the snow outside this house. Two of the wolves look like Jasmine and Sage in their other form. I’m guessing the third one is Forest. The three siblings. Leaders of the Clearwater pack.
They look so joyful and wild. So free. It makes my heart ache.
I want that.
I want that so bad it hurts.
“It’s gorgeous,” Jasmine breathes.
Jericho’s shoulders relax. “I just… wanted to say thank you. For everything.” His gaze dances from Evan, Evelyn, and even to me. “It’s meant a lot to us that you’ve allowed us to stay here.”
Jasmine hugs Jericho. “Thank you.”
Needing something to do, I fiddle with the lid of the tin. The corner pops up, and I give in, peering inside: six large chocolate chip cookies, nearly the size of my hand.
Rowen snatches one immediately.
“Hey!”
He grins, crumbs already clinging to his lips. The way I want to kiss that chocolate away…
My cheeks heat, and I elbow him in the ribs. “Jerk.”
In exchange, he opens his Christmas tin and offers me a cinnamon apple tart. He gives me a private smile as I chew, then asks over his shoulder, “Hey, Mom. Have you ever made homemade ice cream?”
“No, can’t say I have. Why?”
He shrugs. “Tobias mentioned it once. Thought it might be fun.”
She slants her head, thinking. “I don’t see why not. I’ll have to look into it.” She wanders off.
My heart stutters. He remembers that? Our very first conversation, weeks ago now.
Something inside me eases. Rowen has always seen me—not the nightmares, not the mark, not the fear I try to swallow down. Rowen sees me. The real me. And that feels like the best gift I’ve been given in a long time.
The morning drifts on in slow, gentle pieces.
Jericho helps Evan fix a crooked curtain rod.
Sage and Forest disappear into the study to talk in low voices.
Snow continues to fall outside, thick enough to blur the world, and the house settles into that soft winter quiet—a blend of low laughter, the occasional clink of dishes, and someone humming in the kitchen.
By afternoon, the pack is sated from a delicious early dinner and warmth. Grant starts a puzzle at the table. Neal goes outside to shovel the deck for the umpteenth time. The smells of sugar and woodsmoke.
Despite the guilt of last night, I still have to say this is genuinely the best Christmas I’ve ever had.
Jasmine returns from upstairs, hands tucked into her sweater sleeves and hair thrown up into a loose ponytail. Her expression is shy, excited—like she’s been waiting for this moment.
“Toby? Would you come with me, please? You too, Rowen.”
We follow her upstairs and down the hall to the last door on the right.
Rowen slows when she reaches for the knob. “Mom… are you serious?” His voice is thick with disbelief and awe.
She beams. “Absolutely. I’ve been working on it for a few days now.”
She opens the door, and at first, it looks like a tiny spare room. But when I step inside, my breath catches.
It’s a gallery.
Soft light spills across the wooden floor, illuminating black and white photographs pinned to the walls. There are hundreds of them of all sizes—the pack, wolves running, people I don’t recognize but feel like I should. Nearly every inch of the walls is covered.
On top of the pinned photographs are larger, professionally framed photos. Mostly of Jasmine, Rowen, and Ivy.
Below a large framed photo of Jasmine is a handwritten caption: “The love of my life.”
My throat tightens.
I stop in front of a picture of a small boy caked in mud. His dark brown hair is wild, and he’s missing a front tooth.
“Is this you?” I ask, glancing back at Rowen.
Rowen laughs. “Oh yeah. I forgot that one was in here.”
I gesture to the girl beside him in the next photo. “And is that Taren?”
His smile falters. “No. That’s Sasha. Our pack sister.”
My heart aches at the pain in his voice.
“The one who died,” I say, quieter.
He nods.
“She looks just like Taren,” I murmur.
Jasmine hums thoughtfully from behind me. “She was only two years older. Forest took the sisters in when they were just kids themselves. Barely into adulthood. That was… wow, thirty years ago now.”
I nod automatically. I know shifters age differently than humans, so to hear Taren is in her fifties isn’t a shock to me. But something still knocks loose in my chest.
My jaw drops as something clicks into place. How did I not see it before?
“I’m half shifter,” I blurt.
They both turn to me, and then Rowen’s lips slowly curve into a smile. “Wondered when you’d make that connection.”
I press a hand to my chest. “I’m half shifter,” I say again, taking it in. “That means I’m going to…” I can’t quite form the words. “My lifespan. It won’t be—”
“Human?” Jasmine finishes gently. “No, sweetheart. It won’t. Red thinks you’ll age much more closely to us now.”
The room tilts just slightly. Not in fear. In disbelief.
“Holy shit.”
Rowen chuckles, touching my back. His thumb draws slow circles against my spine. He seems relieved—genuinely relieved, like he’s been waiting for me to realize it.
Jasmine pulls away. “Anyway, this isn’t what I wanted to show you. Come with me.”
She slips past us and heads toward a small circular door tucked into the far corner. I’d completely missed it before, too distracted by all the photos. But now that I see it…
My heart stalls. No. Way!
She gestures for me to go first.
Rowen follows, close enough that his hand brushes my ass as we squeeze into the small space. I’m almost giddy as he rotates the door around.
When we step through, the air rushes out of me. I cover my mouth and stifle a bubble of excitement.
The faint chemical smell hits me first, then the warmth of the red bulb overhead. The trays. The racks. The metal drying lines. Two ancient enlargers against the wall.
“It’s a… darkroom,” I whisper.
Rowen’s voice is quiet when he answers. “It was my dad’s. He used to spend hours in here when I was a kid.” His fingers trace the side of an enlarger like it’s something sacred.
Jasmine steps in beside us, tucking her sleeves into her palms. “And now it’s yours.”
My throat tightens so hard I almost choke. This—this isn’t something temporary. This isn’t like the clothes or cameras they’ve given me. I can’t just shove this into a backpack when it’s time to run.
This is a part of their home.
This is them saying, stay.
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
“You can start by saying you at least know how to use these enlarger thingys,” Jasmine says, trying to lighten the moment. “Because I sure as heck don’t. Glen tried to teach me, but it didn’t go well.”
A weak laugh scrapes out of me. “I mean, yeah. I spent hours in the darkroom in high school and college. I loved it.”
Her soft exhale tells me she had been nervous about putting this together. “Good. There’s fresh paper in the cabinet, and five gallons of new developer. I don’t know what else you need, but if you tell me, I’ll get it.”
The question spills out of me before I can stop it. “Why, though?”
Her expression softens. Not pity, but recognition—like she knows exactly what my heart is struggling with. “Because I thought you needed something today. Something that was yours, and not pieces of your past.” She steps forward and wraps me in a long hug. “Merry Christmas, Tobias.”
With that, she turns to leave.
Rowen curls an arm around my back. He reaches out, brushing my cheek. “These are happy tears, right?”
I manage a shaky laugh. “Yeah. I just… fuck, Ro. I can’t believe this.”
He pulls me closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of my head. I breathe him in, the warmth of him anchoring me in a way nothing else has.
The finality of it—the darkroom, the unspoken invitation to stay, the weight of being wanted here—breaks something open in me. I want this. All of it.
I tilt my head, almost daring myself to press my lips to his.
My fingers brush his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath.
Rowen’s hand slides down my arm, thumb brushing against my knuckles.
His eyes are soft and patient when they find mine, and I notice the way his breath catches when I wet my lips.
Rowen leans forward ever so slightly, and my fingers tighten around his shirt, my heart hammering. The world narrows to the warmth of his body, the scent of him, the pulse I can feel against my palm.
I can’t stop myself any longer. I tilt my head toward him. Our lips meet in a soft and tentative kiss that is so, so perfect. Everything fades. Now it’s only this: Rowen and me. Here. Now.
A soft sound escapes me—half laugh, half breath—and I go up on my toes, trying to get closer. Rowen responds instantly, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing mine. Everything turns warm and hungry in an instant. The shift is unmistakable.
Curiosity becoming want.
Want becoming need.
He grips my waist and lifts me like I weigh nothing.
I wrap my legs around him as he sets me on the counter.
My fingers slide into his hair, tugging just enough to earn a low, aching sound from his chest. His hand skims my lower back, pulling me flush, and a pulse of heat rolls through me.
His scent is sharp and warm and so perfectly him. It hits me hard.
Then the metal door rotates, making us jump.
We break apart like the room just caught fire, scrambling into something that resembles human composure. I wipe my mouth as my heart tries to sprint out of my chest. If whoever just came in looks even remotely close to our pants, we’re dead.
Neal steps in, holding a couple of boxes. He startles when he sees us. “Oh, uh, hello.” He sniffs the air, then he grins instantly, setting the boxes down. “Right. I’ll just, uh. Get out of your way then. Carry on.” He nearly trips on his way out.
I hide my face in my hands. “Oh, my gods.”
Rowen laughs. “Come on. You had to know they all knew how we felt.”
“I know, but… seriously!”
His voice lowers as he gently tugs my hands away. He slings them around his neck and presses our foreheads together, holding me. “They’re happy for us, Toby. It’s okay.”
It sounds like he’s already talked to them about this—about us. And I can’t wrap my head around that. How can they be happy when I’m an outsider? A half-blood. A liability.
And yet… I’m literally standing in a room that feels like a promise.
Danger or not, cursed mark or not... they want me here. Rowen wants me here.
I kiss him again with everything I have. No more hiding. No more holding back or trying to convince myself this isn’t going to work.
I’m leaning in. Hard—toward him, toward this, toward the life I’m finally ready to want.