Chapter 5
Chapter five
Tomlinson's private study was smaller than I expected.
The room was hidden behind his classroom office, accessed through a door disguised as part of the bookshelf. When I asked if Ivy and I could research feral recovery, he studied me for a long moment before opening it.
The shelves were crammed floor to ceiling with books that shouldn't exist. Texts on pack dynamics. Feral classification systems. Histories of bloodlines that the human world had never heard of. Tomlinson had spent decades building this collection.
It was the most complete supernatural library at Frosthaven. Maybe anywhere.
"This place is unsettling," Ivy said, running her finger along a row of cracked spines. "It's like he's been preparing for the apocalypse."
"Maybe he has."
She shot me a look. "That's not comforting."
"Wasn't trying to be."
She pulled a heavy tome off the shelf and dropped into one of the worn leather chairs. The thing had to weigh ten pounds. She opened it like it was nothing.
"I'll take bond theory," she said. "You start on feral classification. We meet in the middle."
I grabbed my own stack and settled onto the floor, back against the radiator. The metal was cold through my shirt.
Three hours later, I had nothing.
Not nothing exactly. I had plenty of information about ferals—their causes, their symptoms, their treatment protocols.
I knew about the different stages of regression, the markers that indicated whether a wolf could be saved.
I knew about the history of ferals, the packs that had been decimated, the wars that had been fought over territory and bloodlines.
But nothing about what I could do.
Nothing about why they responded to me the way they did.
"Anything?" Ivy asked.
I shook my head. "You?"
"Bond theory is fascinating, but it's all about established bonds. Mate bonds, pack bonds, familial bonds." She flipped through her notes. "Nothing about whatever's happening with you and those ferals."
"Maybe I'm looking in the wrong place."
"Maybe." She chewed on her bottom lip. "What exactly happened during the run? You never gave me the full story."
So I told her.
The gray wolf sitting at my feet the moment I walked up. The other feral pressing his forehead to my thigh like I was something holy. Stone's vicious growl when another wolf got too close. The way they'd all arranged themselves around me like I was the center of something.
Ivy's face grew more troubled with every word.
"And Cal said they were treating you like pack?"
"Like I was their pack. All of them." I pulled my knees up to my chest. "Not just the ones I'm bonded to."
She sat back. Stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
"Maybe you're just really good at this," she said finally. Her voice was light. Teasing.
Her eyes weren't.
"Ivy."
"I don't know, Lumi." She spread her hands, gestured at the books surrounding us. "There's no classification for this. No theory. No precedent in any of these texts. And this is Tomlinson's collection—if it existed anywhere, it would be here."
That should have been reassuring. Maybe I was just special. Maybe I had some gift no one had documented before.
But it didn't feel reassuring.
It felt wrong. Like a hole where something should be.
"I'm going to talk to Neal," I said. "Maybe the medical archives have something."
Ivy nodded slowly. "Keep me posted?"
Neal's office was quiet.
He was behind his desk when I arrived, laptop open. His white coat was draped over the back of his chair, sleeves of his henley pushed up to his elbows.
He looked tired. He looked gorgeous.
"Lumi." His face softened when he saw me. "This is a nice surprise."
"I need to ask you something."
The softness faded. He closed his laptop and gave me his full attention.
"What is it?"
I sat in the chair across from him. Made myself keep still.
"The old council records," I said. "The ones from before the restructuring. Do you have access to them?"
"Some of them. Why?"
"I need to know if there's any precedent for what's happening to me. The way the ferals respond. The way they treat me like—" I stopped. Took a breath. "Like pack."
Neal was quiet for a long moment.
"I've looked," he admitted. "After the run. I spent hours going through everything I could access."
"And?"
"The archives are fragmented. Incomplete. Entire sections are missing."
"What do you mean, missing?"
"Gone. Not redacted, not sealed. Gone." He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
The frustration I'd been carrying all afternoon cracked open.
"So there's nothing?" My voice came out sharp. "No answers, no explanations—"
"Lumi—"
"—nothing that tells me what's happening to me or why I can do things no one else can—"
"Lumi."
"—and I'm supposed to just accept that? Just walk around not knowing what I am?"
"Come here."
The command cut through my spiral.
Neal had pushed back from his desk. His eyes were dark. Focused. Intent in a way that made my breath catch.
"Come here," he said again. Softer.
I stood. Walked around the desk on legs that felt unsteady.
He reached for me. His hands found my hips, pulled me forward, guided me down. I straddled his lap without thinking, knees bracketing his thighs, hands landing on his shoulders to steady myself.
"You're spiraling," he murmured.
"I know."
"Let me help."
His mouth found mine.
The kiss started gentle. Patient. His lips moved against mine with the quiet confidence that was so essentially Neal. He let things build, let the heat gather until it was ready to catch fire.
I was already burning.
I deepened the kiss. Poured my frustration into it, all the confusion and fear I couldn't name. My fingers slid into his hair and gripped. He groaned against my mouth.
"Lumi." My name came out ragged.
"Don't stop."
He didn't.
His hands traveled up my sides, palms hot through my shirt. One pressed flat against my lower back, holding me against him. The other cupped the back of my neck, angling my head so he could kiss me deeper.
I felt him harden beneath me.
Thick. Insistent. Pressing against my center through too many layers of fabric.
I gasped. Rocked my hips instinctively.
"Fuck." Neal's composure cracked. His hips thrust up, grinding his length against me, and the pressure hit exactly where I needed it.
"Again," I breathed.
He thrust again. Harder. His hands gripped my hips, rocking me against him, setting a rhythm that made my thoughts scatter. The seam of my jeans dragged against my clit with every roll of his hips.
"That's it." His mouth found my throat. Teeth grazed my pulse. "Let go. I've got you."
I couldn't think. Could only hold on as he moved beneath me, his hard cock dragging against my center, the friction maddening through our clothes. Not enough. Too much. Both at once.
"Neal—"
"I know." His voice was wrecked. Strained. "I can feel it through the bond. Feel how close you are."
He thrust up again. Ground against me. Found that spot behind my ear with his mouth—the one that always undid me.
"Come for me, Lumi."
The tension snapped.
I cried out against his neck, my whole body shaking as the orgasm tore through me. He held me through it, arms tight, hips still rocking gently to pull every last wave from my body.
When I finally stilled, he was smiling.
"There." His hand stroked down my spine. "Better?"
I couldn't form words. Just nodded against his shoulder.
He nuzzled into my hair. I felt his satisfaction pulse through the bond—warm, proud, content.
"I did that," he murmured. Almost to himself.
I laughed weakly. "Your ego is showing."
"Absolutely." He pressed a kiss to my hair. "I love taking care of you."
We stayed like that. His arms around me. My weight against his chest. The bond humming between us, calm and steady.
The frustration hadn't disappeared. But it was quieter now. Manageable.
"We'll figure it out," Neal said softly. "Whatever's happening, whatever's missing from the records. We'll find the answers."
I walked back to the library to meet Silas in our study room.
He was waiting in his usual chair.
He looked older today. The lines on his face deeper, his silver hair loose around his shoulders. But his eyes were sharp as ever.
"Lumi." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
I sat.
"Rae tells me you've been asking questions."
"Lots of questions. No answers."
He nodded slowly. "I'm not surprised."
"What does that mean?"
He took his time responding. Choosing his words with the care of someone who knew what they cost.
"Some knowledge was deliberately removed," he said finally. "Entire categories of classification. Records that should exist. Theories that should have been preserved." He met my eyes. "Erased."
My stomach dropped.
"Erased by who?"
I leaned forward. "Silas. Please. Something is happening to me and no one can explain it because someone destroyed all the evidence. I need to understand."
He looked at me for a long moment. I could see him weighing things. Loyalties I didn't understand, secrets older than I was.
"What categories?" I pressed. "At least tell me that much. What was erased?"
He hesitated.
Opened his mouth.
Then he changed the subject.
"We should begin the vision work. There are things you need to see."
"Silas—"
"Not today, Lumi." His voice was gentle but final. "Some answers you'll have to find yourself. It's not that I don't want to help. The knowledge isn't mine to give."
I wanted to argue. To push harder.
But I saw the weight in his eyes. Whatever he was carrying, it had been there a long time.
"Fine," I said. "Let's do the vision work."
He reached for my hands.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
The pieces were connecting. The missing records. The erased classifications. Silas's careful deflections.
This wasn't random.
Someone had done this deliberately. Cut out entire sections of knowledge, made sure there would be no precedent, no explanation for what I was. And now Twilson was circling, asking questions, building a file.
The question was why.
The bigger question was who.
I thought about the ferals in the clearing, arranging themselves around me like I was their center. Cal's worried eyes. Neal's incomplete archives. Silas refusing to say more.
Someone had buried the truth about what I was.
I was going to dig it up.