Chapter 31 Gray
Gray
The attack replays behind my eyelids every time I blink.
I'm standing in the doorway of Thane's room, arms crossed, trying to look casual while my mind runs though everything I should have done differently. Should have been faster. Should have seen it coming. Should have been the one between her and danger.
Instead, I froze.
And Thane moved.
The memory tastes bitter. The way he materialized from shadow, with his controlled violence and deadly precision. The wet sound of fangs finding flesh. The dark stains spreading across his shirt as he threw that Feeder aside like he weighed nothing.
I should be grateful. I am grateful.
But it burns anyway.
"You fanged out in front of a hundred Feeders," Stellan says from his spot against the dresser, voice dry as dust. He's watching Thane with something that might be amusement if it wasn't so calculating. "Subtle."
Thane shifts against the pillows, wincing slightly as the movement pulls at his bandages. Bree immediately leans closer, one hand hovering near his shoulder like she can't decide whether to touch or give him space.
"It was necessary," Thane says, but his tone lacks its usual edge. Soft. Almost gentle.
The change in him is unsettling. This isn't the controlled, strategic Thane who showed up at our door a little over a week ago. This version lets Bree fuss over him. Accepts her worry. Lets her see him bleed.
"Necessary," Stellan repeats, that knowing smirk tugging at his mouth. "Right. Had nothing to do with protective instincts."
"Stellan." The warning in Thane's voice should be terrifying. Now it just sounds tired.
"You just gave yourself away," Stellan continues, ignoring the warning entirely. "This isn't the Thane I know."
And that's the problem, isn't it? None of us are who we were.
Jace paces near the window, flipping knives in a steady rhythm that betrays his restless energy. Rhett stands silent in the corner, fists clenched, jaw tight with the kind of self-blame I recognize because it's eating me alive too.
Theo sits in the chair near the bed, calm but reading the room with that deeper insight of his. His eyes keep flicking between Bree and Thane, noticing something, though I have no idea what.
And Wes—
Wes leans against the doorframe beside me, arms crossed, tension radiating from every line of his body. But it's not the same tension the rest of us carry. His feels... hungrier. More aware.
Our eyes meet briefly, and something flickers between us. Heat. Recognition. The memory of the woods, of his mouth on mine, of the confusion that followed.
It hasn't come up again. We haven't talked about it.
But it's there. Waiting.
I look away first, focus on Bree instead. She's adjusting Thane's pillows with careful hands, and he's letting her. Actually letting her. The same man who as far as I can tell barely tolerates being touched is accepting her attention like it's oxygen.
That's when I notice it—the way Wes tracks her movements.
It's not casual observation. Something deeper.
His gaze follows the curve of her neck as she leans forward, the way her hair falls across her shoulder.
When she laughs at something Stellan says, Wes's body goes still like he's listening to music.
But then his eyes flick to me, and there's something like fear in them. Like he knows I'm watching. Like he knows something's changing and he can't stop it.
The hunger. It's getting stronger.
I file the observation away, another piece of a puzzle I don't have all the pieces to yet. But I can feel the shape of it forming. The way magic pulls at all of us now. The way Bree's presence amplifies everything we thought we understood about ourselves.
The way none of us fit in our own skin anymore.
"I need some air," I say suddenly, pushing off from the doorframe.
"Gray—" Rhett starts, but I'm already moving.
I make it three steps down the hallway before Wes follows.
"Hey." His voice is quiet, careful. "You okay?"
I stop, hands flexing at my sides. Turn to face him.
He looks different in the soft light filtering through the sanctuary windows. Sharper somehow. More present. Like he's been sleepwalking for years and is finally starting to wake up.
There's something else too—something I can't quite put my finger on.
His features seem more defined than they were weeks ago.
The line of his jaw a little cleaner. His cheekbones a touch more pronounced.
Still Wes, but like someone took an eraser to the softer edges and left behind something that catches the eye.
"Are you?" I ask instead of answering.
Something flickers across his expression. Uncertainty. Want. Fear.
"I don't know," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "I feel... different. Like something's crawling under my skin. Like I'm hungry for something but I don't know how to feed it."
The honesty hits me harder than I expect. Because I understand. Maybe not the hunger, but the feeling of being unmade. Of watching pieces of yourself you thought were fixed start to shift and change.
"It's the magic," I say. "It's changing all of us."
"Is it?" His eyes search mine. "Or is it just showing us what was already there?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with implications I'm not ready to examine. Because if he's right—if this is who we've always been, just buried under years of denial and fear—then everything I thought I knew about myself is wrong.
"The woods, the stairs" I say suddenly.
Wes goes very still. "Gray—"
"I don't regret it."
The words come out before I can stop them, raw and honest in a way that makes my chest tight. Wes's eyes widen slightly, and I see the exact moment something in him shifts. Not breaking. Opening.
"I don't either," he breathes.
We stand there in the hallway, three feet apart, the air between us charged with possibility. With want and confusion and the growing certainty that whatever's happening to us isn't going to stop.
The sound of laughter from Thane's room breaks the moment. Bree's voice, warm and bright, followed by Jace's snort of amusement. Life continuing around us while we stand frozen in the space between what was and what might be.
"We should get back," Wes says, but he doesn't move.
"Yeah," I agree, but I don't move either.
Instead, I take a step closer. Close enough to see the way his pupils dilate slightly, the way his breathing changes. Close enough to catch that scent that's been driving me quietly insane for days—sandalwood and something deeper, something that makes my mouth water.
"Gray." My name sounds different in his voice. Like a prayer. Like a question.
Before I can respond—before I can do something stupid like kiss him again—footsteps echo from the main hallway. Multiple sets, moving with purpose.
"Sounds like Zira's back," Wes says, stepping back. The moment breaks, but the tension doesn't fade. If anything, it thickens.
"With food, probably," I add, grateful for the distraction and disappointed by it in equal measure.
We head back toward Thane's room, the space between us charged with unfinished conversation. But as we reach the doorway, I catch sight of something that stops me cold.
Bree is sitting on the edge of Thane's bed, one hand resting lightly on his forearm. It's a simple touch. Casual. The kind of contact she usually braces for.
But her hand doesn't shake. She doesn't flinch or pull away when he moves beneath her touch.
She trusts him. Completely. Unconsciously.
The realization hits me hard. Not because I'm jealous—though there's an edge of that too—but because it means something fundamental has shifted.
Bree isn't just surviving anymore.
She's choosing. Even if she doesn't realize it yet.
And as I watch, the mist curls lazily around her ankles, content and settled in a way I've never seen before.
Like it knows something the rest of us haven't figured out yet.
Zira's voice echoes from down the hall, bright and irreverent as she calls out something about feeding the wounded. Behind her, I can hear Kellan's quieter response, probably carrying whatever his mother insisted on sending.
The crisis is over. The room is settling back into something normal.
But everything has changed.
I catch Theo watching me from across the room, that small, knowing smile playing at his lips. Like he can see exactly what I'm thinking. What I'm realizing.
The attack was just the beginning.
Something’s changing between all of us. Not just the magic. The way we move. The way we look at each other. Like gravity’s been rewritten.
And for the first time since this all started, I'm not afraid of it.
I'm hungry for it.
"Better grab a plate," Zira announces as she sweeps into the room, arms full of containers that smell like heaven.
"Mom made enough to feed an army." Kellan appears behind her, grinning sheepishly as he sets down a tray of drinks. "She said warriors need proper nutrition."
The mood in the room shifts, lightens. Jace immediately gravitates toward the food. Rhett's shoulders loosen slightly. Even Thane accepts a water bottle without protest.
But I keep watching Bree. The way she laughs at something Zira says. The way her posture has relaxed completely. The way the mist around her feet seems to pulse in rhythm with her heartbeat.
She didn't flinch when I touched her.
That's all the proof I need.
The Ether knows. Even if she doesn't.
And whatever comes next—whatever we're all becoming—I'm ready for it.
All of it.
Even the parts that scare me.