Chapter 15
Bree
The echo of Theo’s voice still vibrates in my bones—warm, steady, achingly familiar.
For one perfect moment, I felt them all reaching for me across impossible distance.
Wes’s desperate hunger, Gray’s fierce protectiveness, Rhett’s burning certainty.
Even Stellan’s controlled concern threading through the connection.
But it’s fading now, slipping away like water through my fingers.
And as reality crashes back in, so does the memory of what they did. What Thane did. The lies, the secrets, the way they all decided I couldn’t handle the truth about Phil. About anything, really.
The warmth of their connection turns bitter in my chest. How can I miss them when they’re the reason I’m here in the first place?
The black around us feels colder for its absence, pressing in tighter until I can barely breathe. The stars overhead—if they ever were stars—seem to pulse with malevolent awareness.
“Theo,” I whisper into the endless dark, though I don’t know why.
There’s nothing. Just the suffocating weight of this place settling over me like a shroud.
Thane is beside me, silver eyes darting frantically as he searches for threats he can’t see. His usual composure has shattered completely, leaving behind something raw and afraid. When he reaches for me, his hand shakes.
“We have to get out of here,” he mutters, more to himself than me. “We have to—”
That’s when the laughter comes again.
Soft. Amused. Predatory.
The sound curls around us like smoke, and I flinch so hard I nearly fall. Thane stiffens, moving instinctively to shield me, fangs extending as his body prepares for a fight neither of us understand.
“Not yet, little queen.”
The voice that speaks is like velvet—deliberate, savoring every syllable like fine wine.
The darkness begins to shift around us, not revealing a form exactly, but suggesting one.
Sometimes I catch glimpses of a man’s silhouette, sometimes something faceless and terrible.
Sometimes both at once, flickering between states like a broken reflection.
Thane snarls, low and dangerous. “Show yourself, coward.”
A chuckle drifts through the air, rich with amusement.
“Little feeder.” The dismissal in those words makes Thane’s jaw clench. “You’ve played your part admirably. The betrayal, the guilt—all of it fed her beautifully. But you can’t shield her from me.”
“Hey.” The word snaps out of me before I can stop it. “Don’t talk to him like that.”
I’m furious with Thane. I hate what he did to me. But nobody gets to talk down to him like he’s nothing. Not while I’m here.
The voice chuckles again, and I can hear the pleased surprise in it. “How protective. Even when the fire inside you rages because of what he’s done.”
Something about the way he says it makes my skin crawl. Like he can see right through me, right into the mess of anger and hurt I’m carrying around.
Thane’s whole body goes rigid. I watch his face shift from panic to something colder, more calculating. The Thane I know snapping back into place as he realizes we’re not just lost—we’re being hunted.
The presence turns its attention to me, and suddenly the voice is closer, intimate, like lips brushing against my ear. I swear I can feel his breath.
“Welcome to the Void, little queen. Isn’t it beautiful? In the way it consumes?” The voice says, sending a shiver through me.
“They kept the truth from you, didn’t they?” Gentle. Understanding. Poisonous. “Decided you couldn’t be trusted with your own fate. But I will trust you, little queen. I will tell you everything.”
My skin crawls, but I can’t deny the sick pull of his words. The way they echo every doubt I’ve swallowed, every fear I’ve buried.
“That darkness you fear in yourself?” His voice is almost tender now. “It isn’t corruption. It’s honesty. It’s power. The power to take what you want instead of waiting to be given scraps.”
The black threads in the Ether pulse brighter with every word, responding to something in his voice like plants turning toward sunlight.
“Who the fuck are you?” I snarl, summoning every scrap of defiance I have left.
The Ether flares silver, trying to burn him back. For one beautiful moment, it works—his form wavers, retreats—but then the black spreads again, stronger than before. The corruption threads through my Ether like veins, and part of me—a part I don’t want to acknowledge—finds it almost soothing.
Thane goes deadly quiet. I can practically see him connecting dots, realizing just how deep this goes.
“I asked you a question,” I demand.
The voice chuckles, pleased that I asked. “Names have power, little queen. To give one freely…”
I wait, and the waiting makes it so much worse.
“You may call me Ethos.”
The name tastes bitter on my tongue, but it sticks there anyway. Like he branded it into my mind just by hearing it.
“Say it,” he whispers. “It’s already yours.”
“No.” But even as I refuse, the name echoes in my head.
Ethos. Ethos. Ethos.
“They will always fear you,” he continues, circling me with words instead of footsteps. “Every time your power grows, they step back a little more. Whisper a little quieter. Wonder when you’ll finally snap.”
My chest tightens because he’s not lying. I’ve seen it—the careful way they watch me, the gentle voices they use like I’m something fragile that might break.
“You give and give until there’s nothing left,” Ethos murmurs. “But I would take only what you choose to offer. I would never lie about what I am.”
The black threads surge stronger, and for just a second, it feels like relief. Like finally admitting something I’ve been too scared to say out loud.
Maybe I’m tired of being the one who gives. Maybe I want to be wanted for something other than what I can do for everyone else. Maybe I want to take.
Thane must see something in my face because he grabs my arm. “Bree, don’t. Whatever he’s offering, it’s not real.”
“No, not yet.” Ethos sounds bored now, like he’s done playing. “You’re not ready to choose. But you will be.”
The darkness fractures around us without warning. The ground shatters like glass, and suddenly we’re falling—
—crashing back into the sanctuary with a bone-jarring thud. Stone floor. Warm light. Voices shouting my name.
But his voice follows us back, soft and satisfied: “Sleep tight, little queen.”
I’m shaking—not just from the impact, but from something deeper. My skin feels too tight, too sensitive, like every nerve is hyperaware. The warmth in my chest hasn’t faded, and I hate myself for noticing, for wanting more of whatever that was.
When Wes reaches for me, his touch burns in a way that has nothing to do with his awakening magic. Everything feels too much, too intense. I can smell Gray’s concern, hear Rhett’s heartbeat hammering, feel Theo’s exhaustion from his rescue attempt. Jace’s eagerness to help.
And Thane—he takes one step toward me, hand half-raised as if to steady me… then stops. Pulls back just enough to make it look like he’s giving me space, like it’s for my sake. But I see the flicker in his eyes before the mask drops back into place.
Fear.