Chapter 23 Wes
Wes
Through the windshield, I watch three figures walk down from the upper path like they've found their own way here.
Bree moves between Thane and Stellan, and even from this distance, there's something different about her—something that makes the hunger in my chest twist tighter, sharper than it's been all day.
Rhett's hands are steady on the wheel, but I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.
The silence in the truck feels thick enough to choke on.
In the car ahead, Gray drives while Theo sits passenger, both of them focused on the approaching group with that careful attention that means everyone's trying not to fall apart.
I press my fingers into the leather seat, trying to keep myself anchored. The hunger isn't pain anymore—it's an absence that's been growing louder with every breath, like a frequency I can't quite tune out but can't ignore either.
"You hanging in there?" Rhett asks, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.
"Always."
The lie tastes familiar by now. We both know it's bullshit, but Rhett just nods and doesn't push. I'm grateful for that—for the space he gives me to fall apart quietly.
The cars park side by side at the base of the hill. Ahead of us, a path cuts through the overgrowth toward what must be the sanctuary's threshold, and the air here feels different. Older. Like the land itself has been holding its breath for centuries, waiting for her to come home.
Bree looks radiant—there's no other word for it. She stands between Thane and Stellan like she's finally found her place in the world, the Ether curling around her ankles with something that looks almost like contentment.
The guys step out of their cars—Jace from the BMW he drove alone, Gray and Theo from Jace's car. Doors slam in the afternoon quiet, but I hang back, one hand still on the doorframe. Everything feels too bright—like the light's pressing in where my skin's already too tight.
Gray notices. Of course he does. He always notices the things the rest of us try to hide.
"Hey," he says, voice pitched low enough that the others can't hear. "Come here a sec."
He doesn't wait for me to argue, just starts walking toward the tree line where the sounds of the group will fade into something manageable. I follow because I don't know what else to do, and because the alternative is standing here pretending I'm fine while everyone watches me fail at it.
We find a spot where the undergrowth is soft and the afternoon light filters through leaves in patterns that should feel peaceful. Instead, it just makes me more restless, like even the forest knows something's wrong with me.
Gray turns to face me, hands in his pockets, expression careful in that way that means he's already figured out more than I want him to.
"You're not okay."
"Is anyone?" I ask, aiming for humor and missing by miles.
"You didn't touch your food this morning. Didn't speak on the drive. You look like you're about to bolt." His gray eyes study my face with that quiet intensity that sees everything I'm trying to hide. "You're starving."
The word hits too close to real, and suddenly I can't keep the words inside anymore. They tear out of me, raw and sharp and more honest than I intended.
"It's not just hunger. It's shame." I run a hand through my hair, hating how my voice cracks. "I don't want to want this. I don't want to be the guy who feeds off the people he cares about."
Gray steps closer, and I tense, expecting him to back away now that I've said it out loud. Because he knows what I am. Instead, his hand settles on my shoulder—warm and anchoring and completely unafraid.
"Then don't take," he says simply. "Just... feel. Try. You won't hurt me."
"Gray—"
"Trust me."
I close my eyes, hating how much I want to believe him. The Ether hums around us—not Bree's, but something else, something that feels like it's been sleeping inside me for years, waiting for permission to wake up.
I don't touch him. Just focus on the space between us, on the warmth radiating from his skin, on the steady rhythm of his breathing. Try to feel for whatever Stellan was talking about, that thread he said existed.
Nothing.
I try again, reaching for something I don't understand, and there's still nothing. Just the same gnawing absence that's been eating at me for too long.
"I can't—" I start to pull back, to brush this off like it was a stupid idea.
But Gray's hand tightens on my shoulder. "Don't give up yet."
He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Close enough that when I breathe in, I catch the scent of cedar and something that's purely him.
And then—there.
Just a sip. A taste of something warm and wanting that definitely isn't mine.
The hunger responds like I've touched a live wire. Instead of easing, it amplifies, compounds, creates this feedback loop that makes my knees buckle. Gray's desire hits me in waves—not just attraction, but something deeper, hungrier, more raw than I expected.
"What—" I gasp, eyes flying open.
Gray's pupils are blown wide, his breathing as ragged as mine. "I don't know," he says, voice rough. "But I don't want it to stop."
Neither do I.
His mouth finds mine before I can think, hot and desperate and tasting like coffee and want.
I pull him closer, fisting my hands in his shirt, and he responds by pushing me back against the nearest tree.
The rough bark bites into my spine, but I don't care.
The scent of cedar and sweat fills my lungs.
I can't tell where my hunger ends and his begins.
Every breath feeds the loop between us, makes it stronger, more desperate.
His teeth graze my bottom lip and I gasp, the sound swallowed by his mouth.
My hands find his hair, soft and thick between my fingers, and when I tug, the noise he makes goes straight through me.
The world narrows to this—his weight against me, the taste of him on my tongue, the way his heart pounds under my palm when I spread my hand across his chest. Heat pools low in my stomach, sharp and demanding, and I'm drowning in want that might be his, might be mine, might be both of us spiraling together.
When we finally break apart, I can barely breathe. My lips feel swollen, my skin too tight. Gray's forehead rests against mine, both of us shaking.
"Shit," I whisper, the word barely more than breath.
"Yeah," he agrees, voice wrecked. "That was..."
He doesn't finish. Can't finish. Neither can I.
"Shit." I take a step back, running shaking hands through my hair. "I'm sorry, I—"
"You didn't hurt me," Gray says quietly, and there's something in his voice that makes me look up.
"I wanted to."
"Yeah." A pause, and then his mouth curves into something that might be a smile. "Me too."
The admission hangs between us, weighted with everything we're not saying. I feel calmer now—still starving, but centered in a way I haven't been in weeks. Like I've finally found something that fits, something that makes sense of all the pieces of myself I've been trying to hide.
We walk back toward the group in silence, my shirt wrinkled and Gray's hair a disaster, neither of us bothering to pretend otherwise.
Stellan is waiting for us, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed and that knowing expression that suggests he's been watching the whole time.
"Well," he says, dry as dust. "That didn't take long."
Jace stares openly, his green eyes wide with something between surprise and approval. Rhett pretends not to notice, but his shoulders are tense with the effort of not looking. Theo blinks like he did notice but is already filing it away for later analysis.
I should feel embarrassed. Exposed. Instead, I just feel wanted—genuinely, completely wanted for exactly what I am. It's a feeling I could get addicted to.
Bree steps forward, and for just a moment, something flickers across her face—something that looks almost like longing before she covers it with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Ready?" she asks, and something in her voice makes the Ether around her pulse brighter, more alive.
I nod, Gray's warmth still echoing through that thread between us, and follow her toward whatever's waiting at the sanctuary gate.