Chapter 3
THREE
MIGUEL
The front of the house is alive with chaos.
Music and laughter throb against the walls, heavy and stupid, everyone drunk on cheap liquor and sugar.
Orange lights strung across the ceiling, cobwebs sagging in corners, plastic bats dangling from fishing line.
Every shriek of laughter, every bass drop, covers the sound of what’s really happening.
They don’t notice him slipping away. In more ways than one.
But I do.
Caleb.
He slips away like a shadow, careful, precise, hands tugging at the hem of his jersey like it’s a lifeline.
His shoulders are tense, neck hunched slightly, and head ducked as if he believes the darkness will protect him.
He’s six-one, two hundred pounds of lean muscle, built from all the years of basketball, and yet there’s something delicate in the way he moves.
Vulnerable.
The perfect prey.
He thinks he’s invisible, thinks the shadows hide him. But I see every line of him, the stretch of his back, and the way his steps quicken like he’s afraid of being followed.
Good. He should be afraid.
I lean against the doorway, watching, memorizing. The way his eyes dart to the corners, the subtle tremor in his hands, the slight bite of his lower lip between teeth. God, his lips. I’ve imagined them so many times that I could sketch them from memory.
They look so fucking soft. As if they’re just aching to be kissed and bitten.
He’s wearing a basketball jersey for a costume—my old college colors—and the fabric clings to him just enough to hint at what’s underneath. He doesn’t know I notice. But I do. Every curve, every line, every subtle reaction to fear or anticipation.
The party fades behind him, the noise retreating into muted thumps through the walls.
I wait until he disappears past the corner, until the party swallows his absence.
Then I move. The distant laughter of my parents and the drunk rambling of neighbors all blend into white noise, leaving just him and the quiet tension of the back hall.
Slow. Deliberate. Each step on the wood timed like a drumbeat. The mask warms against my face, plastic clinging with every breath. The blue X’s glow is faint in the dark, not bright enough to light the path but enough to remind me what I’ve become.
Not his brother. Just the wolf waiting in the dark to devour what’s always been his.
The back of the house is quieter and cooler.
The music fades to a hum, the chatter just a murmur through plaster.
Shadows stretch long across the hall, broken only by the thin glow of a nightlight near the bathroom.
He pauses outside his bedroom door. One hand rests on the knob, knuckles pale.
His chest rises fast, fingers twitching like he wants to run but doesn’t.
Good.
I stop and lean against the wall. Watching him breathe.
His shoulders rise too fast. His fingers tremble against the brass knob.
Perfect.
I shift my weight, letting the floor groan under me.
He stiffens.
Another step.
His hand fumbles at the knob now, twisting, failing, breath hitching too loud in the silence.
My breath is even through the mask, each exhale punctuating the silence like a drumbeat. The glow from my mask is enough to slice into the dark, turning me faceless, predatory, and untouchable. His pulse betrays him. I feel it in the taut line of his back, in the tremor of his fingers.
He fumbles with the knob again, desperation rising. His breathing comes in shallow bursts.
“Miguel?” His voice cracks, weak.
I don’t answer. Silence is sharper. Let it coil around him, wrap tight, and let him stew in the anticipation.
Then a faint creak—the floorboards under my shoes. Just enough for him to hear.
His eyes widen. He twists toward the sound, chest rising, hips pressing back against the door.
You’re all mine, little brat.
I step closer, dragging the sound of my presence along the hall.
The shadows stretch around me like liquid, carrying the predator with them.
I savor the swell of hunger in my chest, the forbidden thrill of chasing him.
He’s my stepbrother, yes. But my mind doesn’t care.
My body doesn’t care. Every instinct screams that I’ve been waiting for this moment longer than I can admit.
Another step.
He swallows, lips parting slightly, eyes wide. His fingers tremble at the knob again, as if that brass could save him.
It can’t.
I slam my hand against the doorframe, the wood rattling under my palm.
He gasps, body whipping around, back pressed against the wall.
His eyes go wide—blue, desperate, shining in the dim light.
His body goes rigid, then softens slightly, surrendering to the inevitability.
I press in, chest to chest, hips grinding forward until he feels me.
How hard he makes me. Caleb’s breathing stutters, shallow and ragged.
“You’re mine already,” I whisper against his ear, voice muffled and warped by the mask.
He shudders like I’ve shocked him. His lips part, breath ragged, but his body betrays him—hips twitching, thighs trembling against me.
“Get off,” he says, but it doesn’t sound convincing. His hands push, but they don’t push hard enough. His pulse beats frantically under his skin, and the heat pouring off him tells me everything he won’t admit.
I tilt my head, fingers catching his jaw. Forcing him to look at me. The glow reflects in his eyes, making them glassy, helpless, and yet more beautiful than anything.
“You keep saying no,” I murmur, rolling my hips harder against him, grinding until he whimpers, “but your body knows better. You want this. You’ve wanted this for years. Come on, Caleb. You know you can’t trick what the flesh wants.”
His hands tremble on my chest. He whimpers, a soft, broken sound that makes my cock throb in response.
“Stop,” he breathes, but the word dissolves when my thigh wedges between his legs. His body reacts before his mind can fight it, gripping me tighter, grinding down without meaning to.
I laugh, low and cruel. “That’s it. That’s my little brat. All that shaking isn’t fear—it’s need.” I press my forehead to his temple, mask scraping lightly. “You’re shaking like you already know how good it will feel when I take you.”
He moans, tiny and involuntary, and I grin behind the mask. He turns his face away, cheeks flaming, but his lips betray him, parted and wet, his whimpers slipping out when I press closer.
“You run, Caleb,” I whisper, grinding slower, savoring every tremor, “but all I see is how much you want to be caught. You’ve been hiding it, pretending it’s forbidden, but it’s always been there.”
His lips part. Breath catches. His thighs quiver around me, hips tilting involuntarily. “Fuck you,” he snarls, but his hips roll against mine like he doesn’t believe himself.
The sound rips a sharp laugh from me. I press my thigh harder between his, forcing him higher against the wall. His jersey rides up, exposing pale skin damp with sweat.
“Look at you,” I taunt, grinding slow and relentless. “Hard already, just from this. You’re mine, Caleb. Always have been.”
His eyes flutter shut, his fists trembling where they still press against my chest. He’s fighting himself harder than he’s fighting me.
His breath stutters, lips trembling. For a second, I think he’ll give it to me. That he’ll break.
Instead, he desperately shakes his head, “No.”
It’s not convincing but it makes my cock throb harder at the defiance.
I laugh again, sharp and cruel, pressing one last slow grind into him that rips a moan from his throat before I pull back.
He sags against the wall, flushed and trembling, chest heaving like he’s ran miles. His eyes are glassy, shame and hunger battling across his face.
Shaky hands fidget on my chest, helpless, fists clenching as he fights against what he can’t stop feeling.
“You are mine,” I whisper again, leaning in just close enough to let my fingers tease at the waistband of his jeans, “even if you won’t admit it. Every breath, every tremor says it for you.”
He moans, high and broken, and I finally step back.
I tilt my mask, showing just a sliver of my grin.
“Next time,” I murmur low, certain, “you won’t get away.”
I retreat down the hall, shoes echoing against the wood, savoring the ruin I leave behind. Every tremble, every shiver, every shamed gasp is mine now.
I don’t look back. I don’t need to.
He’s mine, even if he doesn’t know it yet.
I step back toward the party, letting the noise swallow me, letting him stew in what I’ve done.
This isn’t the end.
Tonight is just getting started, and when dawn breaks, my sweet little brother will as well.