Chapter 36
TOBIAS
“Tobias!”
My attention snaps back into focus. Jericho is standing in front of me, brows pinched together in worry.
“Did you not hear me? I said your name three times.”
A howl nearby makes me jump. I look around as a sudden chill causes goosebumps to cover my arms. My bare feet dig into the wet earth. How did I get outside?
Two wolves bolt through the trees. I don’t recognize them. One more. Then another. And another. They’re everywhere. I wrap my arms tighter around myself and close my eyes as fear crawls up my spine.
Something in me stirs at their presence—a strange, fleeting pull—but I shove it down quickly. No. They aren’t to be trusted.
“Get back inside,” Jericho says. “It’s not safe.”
My lips curl back as my words come out like venom. “Shouldn’t you be inside too then, asshole? I’m not the only one with a target on my back.”
Jericho’s jaw ticks. “Inside, Toby. Now.”
I turn away, seething. Fucking vamp thinks he’s better than me.
The thought hits too fast, too sharp. He’s been nothing but patient, but I can’t stop hating everyone lately.
As I stomp back to the house, the tug in my head sharpens, becoming hotter with every step. It almost seems to vibrate.
Come to me, Tobias.
I freeze at the voice, fingers instantly reaching for the bracelet. It’s cool to the touch. When he says it again, it’s with more urgency.
Come to me now.
I turn to scan the trees, then look at the sky. No ravens. So did he control me again? Make me walk outside? Was Rip trying to pull me away from the pack?
I shiver at the thought. “Get out of my fucking head!”
He tries again. Come.
“NO!”
The sensation snaps hard, searing me with white-hot anger. I clap a hand to the back of my neck and grit my teeth. “I said no!”
Grant watches me in his wolf form, eyes narrowed. A few yards away, two more wolves stalk closer. The tension in the yard crawls under my skin like ants. That’s all they do now. Watch me. Every day. Every hour.
Like I’m a live bomb.
“You hear that?” I snap at the wolves. “Leave me the hell alone!”
I go inside and slam the door, sinking into a chair. I don’t dare look around. Everyone probably witnessed my screaming. I can’t help it. I just hate Rip so much that I can’t stop saying something back.
But to what point? If anything, I feel Rip’s amusement every time. Like he knows I’m losing myself. And I can’t even fight back.
Lean into your shifter side, Toby. Trust it. You can do this. Rowen’s words from this morning drift back to me, filling me with a deep, empty ache.
Instantly, the back of my neck prickles, fingers raking against my skin. It silences Rowen.
He doesn’t get it. None of them get it. There is no happy ending in this for me. I’ll either lose myself to Rip or I’ll lose myself to the half-blood.
There is no in-between.
I click through the photos on the camera, desperate for something to ground me. But even the sound of the button grates on my nerves. It’s not just the camera; it’s everything. The footsteps upstairs, the creak of the dining chairs, even the hiss of the coffee maker.
Maybe I need earplugs. But deep down, I know it won’t help. It’s like Rip has given me his heightened senses too because I hear it all. Feel it all. It’s inside me.
I rub my temples, wishing I could end this. Everything is wrong. Tastes wrong, feels wrong, sounds wrong. Even the house seems smaller, like it’s breathing with me, or for me. Like it’s trying to suffocate me.
You don’t belong here.
My heart skitters. That hadn’t sounded like Rip.
Pain throbs behind my eyes, and my limbs are heavy from exhaustion. I haven’t slept more than an hour since we learned what Rip was doing. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Or the club. Or worse—the gallery. The broken glass. The streak of my blood across the floor.
That shame burns hotter than the pain ever did. How could I ruin something that is so valuable to them?
They’ll never forgive you. They’re angry with you.
I want to cry. I don’t know if it’s Rip’s voice or my own. It could be either.
Ivy joins me in the living room, holding a sandwich out. “You should eat.” Her soft voice isn’t as rough as everyone else’s, but it’s still grating.
I clench my hands into fists. “I’m not hungry.”
“Tobias, you haven’t—”
“I said I’m not hungry! Back off!”
Her eyes widen. Guilt flashes—no, hunger. Thirst. Whose thirst? My stomach twists. I can’t tell if it’s mine anymore.
Something darker presses into me—something I can’t name. The usual warmth I feel in Ivy’s presence is gone. The sound of her breathing is suddenly unbearable. I twitch away.
“Stop mothering me,” I say.
“I’m not—”
“You are! All of you are. You’re treating me like I’m made of glass.”
Ah, but you are glass. And glass shatters.
I twitch again, snapping my gaze to her. “What did you say?”
Ivy shakes her head. “Nothing. I didn’t—”
“You think I’m weak?”
“Toby, no. I didn’t—”
Ice floods my veins, and my attention darts from one person to the next. They’re all watching me. Every last one of them. “You all think that, don’t you? That I’m weak.”
“Toby!” Ivy tries.
“Just shut up.”
I get up, ignoring the shocked looks coming from Neal and Evan. My stomach is in knots, and my skin burns. The mark on my shoulder seems to throb, red light glowing through the sleeve like a warning.
Like I’m the thing that needs the warning.
I will hurt them.
People seem to give me a wide berth as I head to the stairs. Red stops me, holding another tonic. His usually soft eyes are wary and tired, but he still has that hopeful expression he always does. I swear the man is a poster child for optimism.
It makes me sick.
He holds the amber bottle up to me, but I cut him off.
“Don’t.”
He tries anyway. “I thought it might help with—”
“You’re going to have to shove it down my throat if you want me to take it, Red. I’m sick of your tonics.”
The words come out like a snarl, yet they feel all wrong too. So wrong. Like shards of glass slicing me open from the inside. He deserves it.
“Leave me alone,” I say, loud enough that everyone can hear. “You’re all watching me like I’m going to explode or something.” The air buzzes against my skin. Every sound scrapes raw. The heartbeat I hear isn’t mine. “Stop looking at me! Stop thinking about me! Stop being so goddamn loud!”
I climb the stairs, hand tight on the rail.
The walls seem to move inward, inch by inch, becoming closer.
Rowen’s scent hits me halfway up, stopping me in my tracks.
I inhale deeply—cinnamon and pine. The scent of Christmas.
Normally, it centers me. But now it’s too much.
The scent presses down on me, thick and cloying.
I want to drown in it. I want to tear it off me. I can’t tell the difference anymore.
For a flicker, barely a breath, I think I can hear him again. You can fight this, Toby. But the voice sputters out before it reaches me, swallowed whole by the burn under my skin.
My instinct is to run. To leave. To destroy anyone who stops me.
Rowen is outside somewhere. I can sense him through our connection. For a heartbeat, I want to go to him—not so he can hold me and tell me everything is okay, but so I can rake my nails down his chest. Draw his blood and make him feel the pain I’m feeling. He needs to suffer just like I do.
He is not my anchor. He’s my leash.
“Tobias?”
I startle at Taren’s voice. She’s at the top of the stairs, holding Aster.
“You okay?”
I grit my teeth. “Gods! Would everyone stop asking me that!”
I climb the rest of the stairs and throw open the door to my room—my room, not his. I can’t let thoughts of Rowen smother me right now. I need space.
The air seems cooler here. Stiller. I lock the door and rest my back against it.
The quiet hits hard. For the first time all day, I can breathe in without pain. My heartbeat slows, and the pounding in my skull lessens.
They aren’t good for me. I’m better without them.
I need to go.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I rest my elbows on my knees and count to ten. Darkness hovers under my skin. I can feel it in my veins, devouring me. Eating at me like poison.
Nothing I do seems to help.
I can’t talk back. He just laughs.
I can’t push back. He just pulls harder.
I can’t go to Rowen; he doesn’t understand.
How can anyone really understand?
I’m alone in this.
Completely alone.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the bitterness drains away. The nausea, the anger—everything starts to settle, like dirt sinking to the bottom of still water. The sounds fade. The voices no longer reach me.
It’s just… silence.
Nothingness.
I focus on the rhythm of my chest rising and falling. The faint hum of the mark under my skin. It’s almost soothing now. Like it’s pulsing to the beat of my heart. I stare at it, focusing on the light. It’s predictable and steady.
Pretty.
No one comes for me. No one calls my name. It’s like they needed this space too. They’re relieved.
They’re better without me.
We aren’t meant for each other.
For the first time in days, my head doesn’t hurt.
For the first time in weeks, I can breathe.
I don’t question why.
I just accept it.
I need this to be over. For all of it to be over.
The darkness stretches… and stretches. I sink deeper into it, letting it flow through my chest, around the tether near my heart. The tether vibrates.
Tears slip down my cheeks. “Don’t fight it,” I murmur as it writhes. “It’ll be okay.”
It’ll. Be. Okay.
I exhale, long and slow.
Everything will be okay.
The tether stops.
It quiets.
It stills—landing with an eerie inevitability.
As if this was supposed to happen.
As if every awful thing was supposed to happen.
I keep breathing.
I keep still.
The world narrows to the space of this room, to this bed.
To me.
And the familiar darkness.
Peace, I tell myself. That’s all this is. Just peace.
But underneath that false calm, something shifts—soft as a whisper, cold as bone.
Somewhere beneath it, I think I hear a laugh.
Wait… what if it isn’t me?
What if it never was?