Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Cal's room was small.
Not a cell — not like Stone's. But not much bigger either. A bed he never used, a window that looked out over the back courtyard, a chair that had become mine during the long hours I'd spent here before the mountain. Before everything changed.
James was sprawled on the floor, textbook open in front of him, pretending to study. His shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of tan skin above his waistband. I kept catching myself looking at it. At him.
The bond between us hummed with low heat — constant, present, impossible to ignore.
Even doing something as mundane as homework, I was aware of him.
The breadth of his shoulders. The way his forearms flexed when he turned a page.
The memory of those arms around me, holding me together when I was falling apart.
I forced my attention back to my book.
Cal was in the corner. Wolf form, as usual. Watching us with golden eyes that held more awareness than they used to.
"I don't understand how anyone is supposed to care about transformation narratives right now," James muttered, flipping a page with more force than necessary. "Tomlinson wants three thousand words on the 'liminal space between human and animal consciousness.' What does that even mean?"
"It means he wants you to think about what it's like to be both things at once," I said absently, highlighting a passage I'd already highlighted twice.
"I know what it's like. I live it." James closed the book. His eyes found mine, and the heat in the bond flared. "Writing about it feels redundant."
I swallowed. "Write about that, then. The redundancy. The way academic language tries to capture something that can only be experienced."
James stared at me. Something shifted in his expression — appreciation bleeding into want. "That's actually not terrible."
"I have moments."
A soft sound from the corner. Not quite a laugh — Cal couldn't laugh in wolf form — but something close. An exhale that carried amusement.
I looked up.
Cal was watching us with an expression I'd learned to read over the past weeks. Not the empty stare of the feral he'd been. Something warmer. More present.
More aware of what was simmering between James and me.
"You could join us," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. "If you wanted."
His ears flicked. Uncertainty.
"No pressure. But the floor is big enough for three."
James shifted to make room, a wordless invitation.
Cal hesitated. I felt the conflict through our bond — the pull toward connection warring with the fear that being human still carried. He'd been wolf for so long. The other form felt foreign now. Dangerous.
But slowly, carefully, he stood.
The shift was quiet. No dramatic cracking of bones, no violent transformation. Just a ripple, like water settling, and then Cal was human. Kneeling on the floor where the wolf had been.
Naked.
My breath caught.
He was thin — too thin, ribs visible, hipbones sharp. But underneath the evidence of years of starvation, there was lean muscle. The body of someone who had survived through strength as much as luck. His hair fell into eyes that were the same gold they'd been in wolf form.
The bond between us pulsed. Want, sharp and sudden, mixing with tenderness.
I looked away. Felt my cheeks heat.
James tossed Cal a blanket without comment. But I caught the look that passed between them — something knowing, almost amused. Cal caught the blanket, wrapped it around his shoulders, but not before I'd seen... everything.
The bond didn't let me forget it. Images flickered through our connection — not from Cal, but from my own traitorous mind. What it would feel like to touch him. To trace the lines of his body. To press my mouth against the hollow of his throat and feel his pulse race.
Stop it, I told myself firmly. He's fragile. This isn't the time.
But the wanting didn't care about timing.
"Can I—" I stopped. Started again, my voice too thick. "Can I hug you?"
Cal went still.
I waited. Didn't move toward him, didn't pressure. Just held the question open, giving him space to answer however he needed to.
The bond between us pulsed. His uncertainty, his longing, his fear of being touched and his desperate need for exactly that. And underneath it all — an echo of the same want I was trying to suppress.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
I slid off the bed. Crossed the small space between us. Knelt in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his bare skin.
"You can say stop," I said. "Anytime. For any reason."
He nodded again. His eyes were dark. Hungry in a way that had nothing to do with food.
I reached out. Let my arms wrap around him, gentle, careful.
The contact was electric.
His skin was warm against my palms. I felt him tense — a full-body flinch — and then, gradually, relax into me. His head dropped to my shoulder. His breath ghosted across my neck, and I shivered.
The bond roared.
Not just mine and Cal's. James's too — I felt him react, felt the spike of heat that shot through him as he watched us. Not jealousy. Something else. Something that wanted to be part of this, that ached with the need to touch and be touched.
Cal made a sound against my throat. Not a word. Just a breath, shaky and wet, carrying everything he couldn't say. His hands found my waist — tentative, trembling — and pulled me closer.
I could feel him. All of him. The blanket had slipped, and there was nothing between us but my thin shirt and the desperate wanting that pulsed through the bond.
James moved closer. His hand found Cal's back, rested there — warm, solid, present. His other hand found my hip, fingers curling into the fabric of my jeans.
The three of us, tangled together. Breathing the same air. The bonds between us singing with heat and longing and something that felt dangerously close to need.
That's when Neal walked in.
He stopped in the doorway.
For a moment, no one moved. Neal stared at us — me pressed against Cal's bare chest, James's hands on both of us, the three of us wrapped around each other in a way that was clearly more than comfort.
His eyes darkened.
The bond between us — the one he kept trying to ignore — flared to life. I felt his want slam into me like a wave. The desperate, denied longing of a man who had been holding himself apart for weeks. Who watched us touch each other and ached to be included.
Who was terrified of how much he wanted this.
"I can come back," he said. His voice was hoarse. Strained.
"No." I didn't let go of Cal, but I turned my head to look at Neal. Held his gaze. Let him see that I knew. That I felt everything he was trying to hide. "Stay."
He hesitated. The war on his face was almost painful to watch — the part of him that wanted to cross the room and join us fighting against the part that still thought he shouldn't.
"Neal." James's voice was low. Rough with the same heat that was coursing through all of us. "Get over here."
For a moment, I thought he'd refuse. Then something in his expression cracked — resignation, surrender, the final collapse of walls he'd been building for weeks.
He stepped into the room. Closed the door behind him.
He didn't join the pile on the floor. That would have been too much, too fast. But he sat down in the chair — my chair — close enough that his knee brushed my shoulder.
Close enough that I could feel the heat of him. Close enough that the bond screamed with how badly I wanted to pull him down here with us.
Cal lifted his head from my shoulder. Looked at Neal with those gold eyes that saw too much.
"You came," he said. The words were clearer now. Stronger.
"I came." Neal's voice was rough. Wrecked. His hand moved — hesitated — then settled on my hair. A tentative touch, barely there. "I'm here."
The bond between the four of us hummed. Complicated, tangled, aching with unfulfilled want. But present. Real.
We sat in silence for a while. Just existing in the same space. Learning what it felt like to be together. To want and not take. To let the longing build without demanding satisfaction.
It was torture.
It was perfect.
"They're calmer."
Cal's voice broke the tension. He'd shifted position — still wrapped in the blanket now, but sitting up, leaning against the bed frame. The heat in the room had settled into something more manageable. Still present, but banked.
"The others," he clarified. "My pack. They're... better."
"Better how?" Neal asked. His hand was still in my hair, fingers threading through the strands absently. Like he couldn't quite make himself stop touching me.
"Less afraid. Still lost, but—" Cal struggled for words. "The gray one. He looks at me now. Really looks. Like he's trying to remember."
"That's progress," I said.
"Is it?" Cal's expression flickered. "They're still so far away. I can feel them through the pack bond, but it's like... like shouting across a canyon."
"Give it time," James said. He'd shifted too, his back against the wall, but his hand still rested on my thigh. Warm. Grounding.
"The Council gave us thirty days," Cal said. "What if it's not enough?"
"One day at a time." I reached out, took his hand. "That's all we can do."
"Speaking of figuring things out."
Neal's voice had shifted. Harder now. The doctor surfacing through the man who'd been touching my hair like he couldn't help himself.
I looked up at him.
"When did you last eat?"
The question was cold water on the heat still simmering between us. I tried to remember. Breakfast? Lunch?
"That's what I thought." Neal's jaw tightened. "And sleep?"
"Four hours. Maybe five."
"You're running yourself into the ground." His hand fell away from my hair. I mourned the loss of it. "The visits to Stone, the time with Cal, the classes — something has to give."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're exhausted, underweight, and—" He stopped. Took a breath. "You can't take care of them if you don't take care of yourself."
"Because I can't stop." I pulled my hand from Cal's, wrapped my arms around my knees. "Stone needs me. Every day, twice a day."
"Then we find a way to make him respond to others."
"There is no one else."
"Lumi." Neal crouched down, putting himself at my eye level. This close, I could see the strain around his eyes. The want he was still fighting. "I'm not asking you to abandon him. I'm asking you to set limits. Three meals. Six hours of sleep. Breaks between visits."
The truth of it hit me.
He was right. My body had been sending warning signals for days — the headaches, the trembling hands, the way my vision blurred.
"Okay," I said quietly.
Relief flooded through the bond — from all three of them.
"Thank you," Neal said.
"Don't thank me yet." I managed a weak smile. "I'm terrible at self-care."
"I know." Something softened in his expression. "That's why I'm going to enforce it."
They left eventually. James to his advisor meeting. Neal to check on the other ferals. Cal shifted back to wolf form, easier for him than maintaining human shape.
I should have gone to dinner. Followed the rules I'd just agreed to.
Instead, my feet carried me to Stone's cell.
Just a quick visit, I told myself. Then dinner.
He was lying down when I arrived. Watching the barrier. Watching for me.
"Hey," I said softly, settling into the chair.
His ear twitched.
"I'm supposed to be at dinner. Neal made me promise to take care of myself." I pressed my palm against the window. "I'm already breaking the rules."
Stone didn't respond. Just watched.
The bond between us pulsed. Different from the others — darker, more painful. But underneath the ache, something else. A longing that matched what I'd felt in Cal's room.
He wanted me too. Even through the rage, even through the fear.
The bond didn't let either of us forget it.
"I'll come back tomorrow," I said. "Morning and evening."
His tail moved. Once. Twice.
Almost a wag.