Chapter 28 Tobias
TOBIAS
My head pounds relentlessly, like someone’s driving a nail through my skull. Being around people—listening to their chatter and seeing Taren flip furiously through more tomes—is only making it worse. I head to our bedroom and sink down onto the bed with a sigh.
Rowen looks up from his laptop. “Hey. You okay?”
I don’t know what to say. “Just tired.”
He’s had that same expression on his face ever since he heard me talking to myself—like he’s waiting for something. Like he doesn’t trust me. And it guts me.
I look away, ashamed.
“I have an idea for you,” he says quietly.
When I don’t reply, he turns his laptop toward me. “This jeweler I’m building a site for—her pieces are gorgeous, but her photos aren’t doing her justice. So I was thinking you could help her. You know, like a paid gig?”
I blink at him, my pulse jumping. “Paid?”
“Yeah. I already emailed her. She’s very interested.”
I stare at the screen, at the silver and stone glinting under poor light. It should feel exciting. It should feel like a lifeline. But… it doesn’t. Not really. It just aches. How can I think about the future when my bloodline is making me hear things I shouldn’t—or with Rip hunting me?
“I… I don’t know,” I say finally.
He bends forward, brushing my hand with his. “Think about it.”
I nod weakly, unable to even smile. There’s no energy left in me for hope—not anymore.
Feeling like a burden—again—I get up. “I’ll let you work.”
He pulls me in for a soft kiss before I walk away, but there’s hesitation in it. Like he’s not sure which version of me he’s kissing.
I swallow down the emotions as I walk to the darkroom. The sharp smell of chemicals hits me in the face as soon as I step through the door. I haven’t been back here since I first heard the voices. I’ve been too afraid that it would trigger another episode.
That’s what my mom used to call them. Episodes.
Flipping the ventilation fan on, I move around the room, dumping the stale developer and cleaning the trays. It should ground me, but it doesn’t. Instead, guilt presses down on me.
I’m lying to Rowen. To the pack. To myself.
I’m not okay. Not even a little.
I’m just too terrified to admit it. If they know I’m hearing things, will Forest let me stay, or will he think I’m a threat to his family?
When I reach for a photo on the drying line, something shifts. The air seems to draw in around me, like the moment before lightning splits the sky. I’ve felt it a few times now, and I recognize it for what it is.
I grip the counter just as something tickles the base of my skull. It’s not pain. Not exactly. More like an insistent pull tugging at the edge of my mind.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the feeling, and it only makes me think of Mom. She used to do that—that tiny, jerky twitch—just before the whispers started.
I don’t want this. I really, really don’t want this—these voices, my half-blood. It’s ruining everything.
You can’t outrun this.
The words echo in my head like a broken, scratchy whisper.
I shake my head again. “Stop. Please, stop.”
You can’t change it now. No one can.
“Stop!” I beat the counter, and freeze—feeling more like my mother than ever.
And that’s when it hits me.
The suppressants.
The only time my mother didn’t hit things was when she was on suppressants. Maybe that’s what I need. Not to give up, but to fight. To keep my mind intact. Maybe meds are my key to staying here, with Rowen and the pack.
Photos sway on the drying lines. I focus on the nearest one—a picture of Jasmine and Forest in the backyard. Then a picture of Ivy. Of Rowen. One by one, they anchor me, helping me ignore the voice screaming in the shadows.
I don’t want the voices. I want this. To stay here with them.
I pluck a photo of Rowen down and stare at him, my heart aching. A tightness forms behind my ribs, like a living thing pulling me toward him. I want to go to him, but I can’t. How can I be a fair partner to him if all I do is keep avoiding the truth?
The truth is, I need help.
No more hiding. They deserve better.
Turning the projector off, I leave the darkroom and head to find Red.
He’s in the medic room and glances up as I close the door behind me. “Hey, Toby.”
I chew my lip. “I need to ask you something, and I need it to stay between us.”
Red’s expression hardens. “You know pack rules. If it’s anything important, I need to take it up the chain.”
“I know.” I sigh. “But this is personal.”
He crosses his arms, waiting.
My heart beats wildly as I stare at him. Once I say this, there’s no turning back. He might take it to Grant or Forest, and it might be the end of everything.
Red tilts his head, as if sensing my struggle. He steps closer.
I blurt it out before he reaches me. “I think I need shifter suppressants.”
Alarm flickers in his eyes. He pauses before replying, his tone soft. “Have you been having symptoms?”
I resist the urge to pick at my nails. Lying won’t help any more than hiding from it has. I need to face this. For Rowen. For everyone.
I slide my eyes closed. “I’ve… heard voices,” I admit quietly. “A few times now. But I’ve—I don’t know, I’ve felt it too. Like I’m… losing myself or something. I don’t know how to describe it.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I just want to do something before it gets worse.”
Red’s face gives nothing away. He doesn’t even seem surprised. With a nod of his head, he gestures for me to sit down.
He swivels another chair around to face me. “Remember when I asked about your mother?”
“Yeah.”
He pulls a folder out from a stack on the counter. “I found something, and I’ve been hesitant to tell you.”
I fold my arms. “Is it bad?”
“It’s… well, I won’t lie. It’s alarming.”
Red opens the folder and hands a piece of paper to me. My eyes widen at the Prodigy Police Department logo at the top. The date in the corner is from nearly forty years ago.
“What is this?”
“Selene shifted once,” Red says.
I snap my eyes up. “What?”
“When she was nineteen years old.”
“I didn’t think that was possible.”
“It is. It’s just… rough.” He hesitates. “Half-bloods usually can’t control their animal very well, and in your mother’s case, that lack of control was exactly why people fear them.”
The words hit like a blow. I open my mouth to ask what happened, but instead what comes out is, “What was she? What animal?”
Red’s eyes soften, as if he’d expected the question. “The report didn’t say.” He looks away, sighing as he touches a stack of papers. “She killed two people, Toby.”
I freeze. “What?”
He nods slowly. “When she shifted, she attacked two bystanders. Served three years in supernatural prison, then took a deal to get out. Mandatory suppressants for life.”
My attention drifts to the papers, the news sinking in. It’s taken me two months to accept that my mom was a half-blood living on shifter suppressants. Two months to even consider that I needed them too. But now this? My mom was a murderer too?
I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I shove the papers away. “That confirms it then. I need to be on meds. Now! I don’t want to—”
“Let me finish,” Red cuts in.
My hands shake as I sit back, dreading whatever he’s about to say.
“In Selene’s testimony, she said she didn’t know she was a half-blood before she shifted, and honestly, I believe her.
Back then, half-bloods or crossbreeds like myself were thought of like a disease.
We didn’t talk about it. Her parents probably raised her hoping she’d never find out, and they probably couldn’t afford the suppressant when she was an infant, if there even was one then.
Which means when she did shift, she didn’t know it was going to happen. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
I nod slowly. “That must’ve been scary.”
“Terrifying, actually. She probably was more freaked out than she should’ve been.” He pauses. “I believe that’s why she killed those bystanders. Not because she was a half-blood. She was scared out of her mind and didn’t know what was happening.”
“You’re saying—you think if she’d known, she might’ve been able to control the animal or something? I thought all half-bloods are unpredictable.”
Red shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. Half-bloods are dangerous when they shift. I’m not denying that. But I think if she had known first, it would have reduced the fear.” He crosses one leg over the other, leaning forward. “You said there were periods where she went off her meds, right?”
“Yeah, because she couldn’t afford them.”
“Could it also have been because she tried to shift again?”
I consider it, then shake my head. “No. She always seemed terrified when she was off her meds. Like…” I swallow hard as it hits me.
“Like something was going to happen?” he asks gently, giving me a small smile.
A memory of my mother talking to herself in her bedroom, muttering about how it can’t happen, I don’t want it to happen, rings through my mind. It hits so differently now, echoing the same fears I had just moments ago, upstairs.
Except where my fear is about the voices, Mom’s fear was about something else entirely.
“She was afraid of the shift,” I murmur.
Red nods patiently. “And after what she went through? I don’t blame her.” He pauses. “Can I ask something else?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know who your father was?”
I shake my head.
Red hesitates, then pulls a different page from the folder.
“I ask because I found something in your birth records. Nothing concrete. Just… a classification marker.” He taps a box on the form. “Your father was listed as a shifter.”
I stare at it, dumbfounded. Mom never talked about my father. Ever.
“They didn’t list species, and they didn’t list a name. But it wasn’t marked ‘unknown’. They marked ‘shifter,’ which makes me think it was intentional.”
“What… what does that mean?”
He smiles patiently. “It means you might be carrying more shifter blood than you realize. So if you do shift…”
I exhale sharply. “I might not go feral.”
He chuckles at my word usage, but nods.
I chew my lip. “Rowen said some half-bloods never shift back.”
“That, unfortunately, is still true. But not always.” He runs his fingers over the stack of papers again, as if recalling something.
“From what I’m seeing, people who know what they are before they shift?
They always shift back. Every time. It just takes longer than a regular shifter.
Plus, with your father’s genetics… I don’t think you should worry.
” He smiles at me. “The point I’m trying to make, Tobias, is your mother never had the chance to bond with her animal, even after she knew what she was.
The report said they stunned her into submission and forced the shift, then took her to jail.
Her consequence was living on suppressants.
But you… you might not need to, especially with your father being a shifter too. ”
“You’re saying I should try to shift?”
He shrugs. “I’m saying you should at least consider it. Embrace the idea.”
“But what about the voices?”
He pauses. “You want to know the truth? I think it’s your shifter instincts.”
I blink in surprise.
“I’ll be the first to tell you, every one of us hears our instincts louder than reason sometimes.
It can feel like chatter in our heads. The difference is, we listen before we act.
So maybe you’re learning to tune in.” He touches my leg.
“And if that’s the case, the trick isn’t to silence it, Toby—it’s to figure out what’s talking, and why.
Don’t run from it. Learn to hear it safely. ”
My breath catches. Could it really be my shifter side trying to connect with me? That seems insane. Why would my shifter side sound like Rip?
But if what he’s saying is true about my father’s side…
I stare down at the small checkbox.
“Society fears half-bloods because they don’t understand them,” Red continues.
“They’d rather force suppressants on them than give them a chance to adapt.
I don’t want to do that. Not if we don’t have to.
I will order them if that’s what you really want, but at least consider there’s another option, okay? ”
“I still don’t want to hurt anyone,” I say.
His voice lowers. “Trust us to keep you safe.”
Red seems certain this is the answer, like he’s worked it around so much in his head it’s the only possible explanation.
But… me? Shift? I haven’t let myself think about it.
Too afraid I’d go feral, or worse, get stuck in that form and have to eat squirrels for the rest of my life.
But Red seems to think—no, he actually believes it’s possible.
That maybe even that side of me is getting stronger or something.
If he’s right, then that means I could someday live like they do. Or something close to it, anyway.
Suddenly, that photography job doesn’t feel so impossible.
He places the paper back into the file and sets it aside. “Have you had any other symptoms with the mark on your shoulder? Any new heat or light or… anything?”
I shake my head.
Red sighs. “Okay. You need to tell us if anything changes. Taren is doing her best, but we need your help too.”
“I know.”
He pats my knee before heading to the counter, pulling a few bottles down to mix tonics.
I walk out of the room in a daze. Now what am I supposed to do?