18. Bree
Bree
I’m still catching my breath, tucked between them, when the giggle escapes.
I can’t help it. The absurdity of it all—the intensity, the way my body still hums with pleasure, and the sudden thought that—
“I wonder if the guys actually felt that,” I say, trying to sound casual and failing completely.
Wes looks down at the mess he made on my stomach, his expression somewhere between satisfied and mortified. “Oh god.”
Stellan chuckles, low and warm against my back. “They definitely did.”
My face heats. “All of them?”
“Every single one.” Stellan’s voice carries amusement and certainty. “The bond doesn’t discriminate. They felt exactly what you felt.”
“Fuck,” Wes mutters, but he’s grinning.
I should probably feel embarrassed. Instead, I feel… powerful. Like I just claimed something that was always mine.
“I need a shower,” I announce, suddenly very aware of the state I’m in.
Wes shifts, starting to move. “I’ll—”
“Stay,” I say softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Both of you. Rest. I’ll be back.”
I slip out of bed, grabbing one of Wes’s shirts from the floor—oversized and soft—and pull it on before padding toward the bathroom .
The bathroom is almost obscenely nice. All marble and gold fixtures, a shower big enough for ten people, towels so soft they feel like clouds. I turn on the water and don’t wait for it to warm—I step under the spray immediately.
The heat hits my skin and I gasp.
A year. I haven’t showered in a year.
The Void didn’t have water. Didn’t have soap or warmth or anything clean. Just endless darkness and Ethos’s voice and the slow elimination of everything I was.
I stand there, letting the water pour over me, and something breaks open in my chest.
A sound escapes—half sob, half laugh. My knees buckle and I catch myself against the tile, water streaming over my face, into my mouth. I taste salt. Tears, I think, but I’m not sure. Everything is water now. Everything is warm.
I press my forehead against the cool tile and just breathe. Let the water run. Let myself feel it—all of it. The relief. The grief. The impossible truth that I’m here, I’m out, I’m still alive enough to break.
I wash my hair. Once. Twice. Three times. Watch the water run dark at first, then clearer. Scrub my skin until it’s pink and raw and new. The soap smells like lavender and something green, and I use too much of it, not caring, just needing to feel clean.
My hands shake as I work the conditioner through my hair. A year of nothing, and now this. Hot water. Soap. The simple luxury of being able to wash away what touched me.
I stay under the spray long after I’m clean. Just stand there, feeling the heat soak into my bones, washing away months of cold and dark and hunger .
When I finally step out, wrapped in one of those impossible towels, I feel almost human again.
Almost.
There’s an outfit laid out on the counter.
I stop, staring at it.
Pale leather pants and a fitted top, soft as butter. Leather straps designed to hold weapons at my thighs. And on the chest of the top, embroidered in silver thread that catches the light—
I stop breathing.
A daisy. Impossibly beautiful with radiating petals that look almost crystalline.
The same ones I planted by the oak tree in the backyard—from seeds I found scattered beneath that door in the attic. The same symbol that was carved into the doorframe itself. Back then, it was harder to see clearly, like my eyes kept sliding off it.
I don’t know how I know this is the same, but I can feel it deep in my bones. And now? Now I can see every detail. Every petal, every line.
What does that mean?
My hands shake as I reach for it. The moment my fingers brush the embroidery, the petals flicker to life—silver light blooming outward like my Ether recognizes something it’s been searching for.
This wasn’t made for me.
The leather is worn in places, softened by time and use. The stitching is old but perfect. This is an heirloom. Something that’s been waiting.
Brought for me.
How ?
I touch the daisy again, watching the light pulse under my fingertips. It feels like coming home to something I didn’t know I’d lost.
I never thought I’d have something like this. Something passed down, chosen, meant for me.
Not with my mother leaving when I was seven. Not with Kevin, who never saw me as a daughter—just another thing he owned, another object to use however he wanted.
But this was waiting anyway.
I dress slowly, feeling the weight of the clothes settle against my skin. They fit perfectly—like they were always meant to be mine. The leather is supple, the straps secure. Even without weapons, I feel… ready. Strong.
I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the woman looking back.
She looks like someone who could wear a crown.
I leave the bathroom to find the bedroom empty—Wes and Stellan must have gone downstairs already. The house is quiet except for the low murmur of voices somewhere below.
I follow the sound down the stairs and through a hallway until I reach what looks like a sitting room.
A man I don’t recognize stands near a window, coffee cup in hand, talking quietly with Thane. He’s older—maybe mid-forties—with dark hair threaded with silver and amber eyes that catch the morning light.
When I step into the doorway, conversation stops.
Every head turns.
Jace whistles—low and appreciative. “Well damn. ”
Thane’s eyes track over the leather, the straps, the glowing daisy embroidered on my chest, and he chokes on whatever he was about to say. His hand goes to his throat like he’s forgotten how to breathe.
Rhett’s fire flares—actual flames rippling across his shoulders, smoke curling into the air. His eyes are molten gold when they meet mine.
Stellan crosses the room in three strides, moving with that elegant predator grace. He stops in front of me, silver-gray eyes taking in every detail.
“You take my breath away,” he says quietly. Then, softer, with something almost like pride: “You’re such a badass.”
The stranger by the window chuckles, warm and genuine.
Stellan glances back at him, then at me. “Bree, this is Auren. He’s… well, he’s the reason we’re all still breathing.”
“And you,” Auren says warmly, setting his cup down and crossing the room, “must be Bree.” His amber eyes are kind, welcoming. “The Source everyone’s been searching for.” His gaze tracks to the daisy on my chest, and something like reverence crosses his face. “And wearing the sigil. It suits you.”
“Thank you,” I say, suddenly uncertain. “For… everything. The room, the clothes, letting us—”
“Don’t.” He waves a hand. “You’re welcome here. All of you. For as long as you need.”
He says it like he means it.
I glance past him and find the others scattered around the room. Theo sits at a small table near the window, a book open in front of him. Rhett leans against the wall, arms crossed, looking more rested than I’ve seen him in weeks. Jace is sprawled in a chair, playing with one of his knives.
I don’t think. I just walk over to Theo and drop into his lap.
He freezes. Goes completely still except for the sharp intake of breath.
Jace snickers. “Smooth, Bree.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but I’m smiling. Theo’s arms come around me carefully, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he holds on too tight.
I lean closer, my lips near his ear. “I missed you,” I whisper.
His arms tighten just slightly, and I feel him exhale against my hair.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, his voice close to my ear.
“Getting there.”
Auren pours coffee from a carafe on the side table and brings it to me himself. “You look better. Less like you’re about to shatter.”
“I feel better.” I take the cup gratefully. “What did I miss?”
His expression shifts—still warm, but serious now. “Quite a bit, actually.”
He settles into a chair across from us, and Thane moves to stand behind him. The rest of the guys shift closer, sensing the change in tone.
“How long?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended. “How long was I gone?”
Auren’s amber eyes soften with something like sympathy. “For you? The Void distorts time. From what the others have told me, it felt like a year inside.”
“But out here?” My chest tightens.
“Five years.”