10. Bree
Bree
Warmth.
I feel it before I feel anything else. Not cold. Not the endless ache of the Void pressing against my skin.
Just warmth.
It moves through me in pulses—slow and steady. Eight different rhythms, each one humming somewhere beneath my ribs where the bonds live.
Heat that crackles. Wind that whispers. Something heavy that anchors. Light that clarifies. Emptiness that no longer feels so empty.
They’re here.
I try to open my eyes, but my body won’t listen. Everything feels too heavy—like I’m wrapped in something thick, stuck somewhere between asleep and awake. But the warmth keeps pulling me back, coaxing me toward the surface one breath at a time.
The air smells different. Not metal like the Void. Not dust and old stone like the sanctuary. This smells like sunlight. Like citrus and something rich.
Silk against my skin. Cool sheets.
I’m not in the Void anymore.
The thought cracks something open. Relief so sharp it almost hurts.
They found me.
My Ether stirs—sluggish but awake. It reaches out on its own, following the threads back to wherever they lead. Pulling warmth and color back into me like I’m a cup that’s been empty too long .
Someone’s holding my hand. Calloused fingers, careful grip. There’s a faint buzz where our skin touches.
Wes.
I know him by the hunger alone—the way it echoes the way I feel right now, the way his presence always feels safe even when it shouldn’t.
Something shifts behind me. Weight and warmth. Familiar.
Stellan.
The air hums faintly. They’re all close—sleeping maybe, or half-awake. Watching over me.
They came for me. All of them.
I try to move—just my fingers, just enough to squeeze Wes’s hand—but I’m too tired. My body’s not ready. But something is happening, because slowly the warmth starts replacing the cold.
For the first time since everything started, I don’t feel like I’m falling apart.
I feel like maybe I can be put back together.
When I finally get my eyes open, the light hurts.
It’s not harsh—soft, coming through silk curtains—but after the dark for so long, even this feels like too much. I blink hard, and slowly the room comes into focus.
Cream walls. A ceiling painted with stars. Furniture that looks expensive and unused.
This isn’t the sanctuary.
My heart stutters. Where—
Movement next to me. I turn my head—slowly, everything hurts—and find Wes asleep beside me. His hand is still in mine, his face soft in sleep, dark curls falling across his forehead. I can’t stop my mouth from turning up.
I look down and there’s a glow where our hands touch. Silver mist curling between our fingers.
I watch it for a moment, the way the light pulses with his breathing. It doesn’t look like it’s hurting him. It just… glows. Like our connection made visible.
Gray’s curled at the foot of the bed in wolf form, taking up way too much space. His ears twitch when I shift, but he doesn’t wake.
Rhett’s slumped in a chair by the door, head tilted back, arms crossed. Even asleep he looks tense—like he’s ready to move at the first sign of trouble.
Theo sits near the window, eyes closed but his posture too straight to be real sleep. Probably watching from the inside.
Jace is sprawled on a couch in the corner, one arm over his eyes, blades on the floor next to him.
And Thane—
Thane’s standing near the far wall. Silver eyes open. Watching me.
Our eyes meet, and something twists sharp in my chest.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. Just watches with an expression I can’t read—relief and guilt and something that might be fear.
I want to say something. Tell him I’m okay. That I’m here. That whatever happened doesn’t matter now.
But my throat’s too dry and the words won’t come.
Before I can try again, I feel someone else. Watching.
I turn my head and realize—Stellan’s still behind me. I can feel his presence at my back, steady and quiet .
“You stayed,” I whisper. My voice comes out rough, barely there.
There’s a pause.
“I stayed.”
The memory surfaces—that night at the sanctuary when he came into my room. When I was breaking and he held me together even though it cost him. The way his control cracked just enough to let me feel safe.
This time, I reach for him.
I shift slowly—everything protests—and reach back, finding his wrist. Tug gently.
He goes still.
“Please,” I manage.
For a second I think he’ll say no. That he’ll pull back like he always does, wrap himself in that distance he uses like armor.
But he doesn’t.
He moves closer, and I take his arm and pull it around me, guiding his hand to rest over my ribs where I’m sure he can feel my heart beating too fast.
He goes completely still.
“Bree—”
“You did this for me once,” I whisper. “Let me do it for you.”
His breath catches. I feel the tension in his whole body, the war between what he wants and what he thinks he should do. But slowly—so slowly—he exhales, and I feel him relax.
The Ether responds.
Silver mist curls around us, warm and gentle, threading between us. It glows brighter where we touch, pulsing softly .
Stellan’s forehead drops to my shoulder and I feel the shudder that runs through him—relief or exhaustion or something deeper. His hand tightens slightly over my ribs, holding on.
“You’re alive,” he murmurs against my hair. Not a question. A promise.
“I’m alive,” I say quietly.
We just breathe together for a while. The Ether hums, wrapping us in light that doesn’t hurt—just warms. Just holds.
I let my eyes drift closed. Exhaustion pulls at me again, but this time it doesn’t feel like drowning.
It feels like I can finally rest.