44. Wes
Wes
An hour’s passed since breakfast, and I’m still nursing coffee gone cold.
The others have dispersed—planning, preparing, doing whatever needs doing before the Council arrives. But I’m distracted. Something has been shifting since Bree walked out, subtle but wrong. Like the air pressure dropping before a storm. But it feels like a warning.
I’m about to convince myself I’m imagining it.
Then she’s there.
Bree passes through the kitchen dressed and focused, her magic wrapped tight around her now—armoring herself. I notice before I mean to. Can’t help it. That humming pull under my skin, the way her emotions taste before she even speaks.
My hunger flickers. Not the kind that asks to take. The kind that demands I keep her safe.
Gray’s near the doorway, leaning wolf-casual but watching the courtyard with that feral alertness he gets since the Void.
Bree walks past us, intent.
“Where are you going?” I call out.
She pauses. Turns. “Oath Chamber. Checking on the Feeders going through.”
Gray straightens immediately, body language sharp.
I set my mug down, already moving. “Not to be overprotective, but one—or both—of us is coming with you.”
She starts to protest .
Gray cuts in. “This isn’t about stopping you. It’s about not letting you walk into something alone.”
Bree meets both our eyes. Something shifts in her expression—not surrender, just acceptance.
“Fine.”
We fall into step beside her.
Morning light filters through the garden, dew still clinging to the grass. The Ether feels heavier here, like fog before a storm. Bree’s emotions pulse steady but distant, as if she’s already somewhere else.
Gray walks slightly ahead, every movement watchful.
A few Feeders pause their work as we pass—rebuilding something near the gate, tending the gardens. I catch faint flickers of what they’re feeling. Worry. Reverence. Curiosity. None of it reaches Bree. She’s single-minded right now.
Gray breaks the silence first, voice lazy but amused. “So. Pants.”
Bree’s stride doesn’t falter. “What about them?”
“You found some,” I say. “After breakfast.”
Her mouth quirks. “I did.”
“Impressive turnaround time,” Gray adds. “Considering.”
She shoots him a look. “Considering what?”
“Considering you didn’t seem too concerned about them an hour ago.”
Bree’s cheeks flush but she doesn’t slow. “I was concerned about pancakes.”
“And that’s all?” I can’t help the grin. “Just pancakes?”
She doesn’t answer.
Gray’s smirk deepens. “What exactly did you, Rhett, and Jace get up to before you came down? ”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Actually, yes,” I say. “We would.”
Bree glances between us, something flickering in her expression—part amusement, part heat, part deflection. “Maybe I’ll tell you later. If you’re good.”
“If we’re good,” Gray repeats, voice dropping low.
Before she can respond, he catches her wrist and pulls her in.
His hand slides up to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair.
The kiss is slow at first—testing, tasting—then deeper.
His other hand settles at her waist, thumb pressing against her hip bone through the fabric.
She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat and Gray’s grip tightens slightly, like he’s anchoring himself.
When he pulls back, her lips are swollen, her breathing uneven.
I step in before she can recover.
My hand cups her jaw, tilting her face up.
Her pulse hammers against my palm. I kiss her slower than Gray did, savoring the warmth still there from him, the way her mouth opens under mine without hesitation.
My other hand finds the small of her back, pulling her closer.
She tastes like morning and heat and something sweeter underneath—maple syrup, maybe, or just her.
Her fingers curl into my shirt.
When I finally pull back, she stays there for a moment, eyes half-closed, chest rising and falling.
Then she opens her eyes and looks between us. Waiting.
Gray and I exchange a glance.
“What?” I ask.
“Your turn,” she says simply.
Gray blinks. “Our— ”
But I’m already moving.
I catch his jaw with one hand, rough enough that his eyes flash—surprise first, then something darker. I don’t give him time to think. Just lean in and kiss him.
He freezes for half a second.
Then his hand comes up to grip my shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
His mouth is different than Bree’s—more demanding, less yielding.
There’s stubble against my palm, the taste of coffee still on his tongue.
He kisses like he fights—controlled but barely, like he’s holding himself back from something.
My other hand fists in his shirt and he makes a low sound in his chest. Not quite a growl. Close.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing harder.
Bree’s watching us with that look—pupils blown wide, lips parted, the Ether curling around her like visible heat.
“Yep,” she says, voice slightly breathless.
Then she turns and keeps walking.
Gray and I stand there for a beat, both trying to remember how to think.
Then we follow.
The teasing energy fades as we draw closer to the Chamber. Nodding to a few Feeders as we pass them. The air shifts, heavier now. The veins of Ether at our feet becoming thicker the closer we get.
Gray murmurs, “It’s strange, isn’t it? Ethos wasn’t with the others.”
Bree freezes slightly at that name.
My senses sharpen feeling her heartbeat spike, her magic tremor. Her fear tastes like static and metal, but she’s holding it down hard. The same way she did that first night in the Sanctuary. She always does. I just didn’t know that’s what it was then.
Gray and I exchange glances. Something about Ethos’s absence doesn’t sit right.
“If Nyx is missing, and Ethos isn’t here…” Gray says. “That’s not coincidence.”
Bree doesn’t respond. Just keeps walking.
The trees thicken. The air changes.
The entrance appears—a stone stairway half-swallowed by roots and mist. The Ether gathers here, silver-bright and waiting, like it knows what’s coming.
I feel it against my skin. Pressure. Anticipation. Fear.
Bree slows, shoulders squaring, eyes fixed ahead.
Gray glances at me. Silent communication: Stay close. Don’t let her out of reach.
The moment we step off the stairs and into the chamber, the air stills.
The mist curls inward, gathering like breath being held.
Then—a voice. Smooth, feminine, threaded with shadow.
“Hello, Bree.”
Bree freezes.
My magic surges, instinctive and predatory. Gray moves closer, a low growl building in his throat.
And just like that, the light from the kitchen is gone.
Only the storm remains.