Chapter 18 Theo
Theo
The vision doesn’t ask permission.
One moment I’m standing in the new training hall—the one Bree insisted on yesterday, and the sanctuary reluctantly provided.
It stands out, black obsidian and ancient stone, colder than the rest of the sanctuary’s warm corridors.
Rhett’s demonstrating fire control to a group of newly arrived refugees, flames dancing between his fingers.
The next, the world tilts sideways and I’m falling through darkness that tastes like smoke and silver.
I try to fight it. I’ve gotten better at that—pulling back before the visions drag me under completely. But this one has hooks in deep, and when I try to surface, it just pulls harder.
Then I see her.
Bree.
She’s framed in a mirror—black iron scrollwork, ornate and ancient. The kind of mirror that belongs in a nightmare, not a sanctuary.
Where is she?
She’s wearing dark silk. Off-shoulder, clinging to curves I’ve memorized despite myself. The fabric pools around her like ink, like shadow given form. She’d never choose this. She barely owns anything silk at all, and when she does wear it, it’s soft colors. Cream. Lavender. Not this.
Not black.
The stone beneath her is polished obsidian.
Cold. I can feel it through the vision, radiating a chill that has nothing to do with temperature.
Silver fire burns in sconces along the walls—wrong, all of it wrong.
The flames don’t flicker like normal fire.
They pulse. Breathe. And they hum—low and unnatural, like a heartbeat beneath the stone.
She’s alone in the frame.
But she’s not.
Her breath catches. Shallow. Quick.
Her back arches slightly, and I watch her eyes flutter closed. Lips part. Just barely. The kind of response that comes from touch, from skin on skin, from—
I try to see who’s with her. Try to shift the vision, expand it, catch even a glimpse of movement or shadow.
Nothing.
Just her. Just her face, her body responding to something I can’t see.
Someone’s touching her.
Why the hell can’t I see who it is?
The realization hits like cold water. Someone is touching her, and she’s reacting. Her shoulders tense. Her head tilts back. The silk shifts as she moves, sliding lower on one shoulder.
Then I see them.
Marks on her wrists. Dark bands circling pale skin like bracelets. Not bruises—something else. Something that moves slightly when I try to focus on it, like smoke trapped under glass. They pulse once—like a heartbeat—then go still.
I don’t know what they are, but they look like shadow.
And I know they’re wrong.
Her breath catches again. Sharper this time. Her fingers curl against nothing—reaching for something, or trying to push it away. I can’t tell.
The silk slides lower.
Her eyes open.
For one impossible moment, she looks directly at me. Through the mirror. Through the vision. Through whatever barrier separates us.
Her green eyes staring right into my soul.
And she’s terrified.
But there’s something else in her eyes. Something that makes my stomach turn and my body respond in ways that fill me with shame.
Desire.
Need.
Surrender wrapped in fear wrapped in want.
“Please—” she whispers.
A tremor runs through me—not fear, something deeper. I smell smoke and silver, feel the ghost of her breath against my skin even though I’m not there. A sound echoes through the vision—soft, wordless, unmistakably hers.
The vision shatters.
Nausea hits first—sharp and immediate, crawling up my throat. Then the heat. My body is responding, arousal and revulsion tangled so tightly I can’t separate them. The room spins as I stumble backward, and strong hands catch my shoulders before I hit the floor.
“Easy.” Thane’s voice. Cold and controlled. “I’ve got you.”
I try to focus. The training hall comes back in pieces—polished wood floors, afternoon light streaming through high windows, the distant sound of Rhett’s voice still explaining something about flame control.
My body is shaking. I’m hard.
Disgusted with myself.
“Vision?” Stellan’s voice, quiet enough that only Thane and I can hear.
I nod once, not trusting my voice yet.
Thane’s grip on my shoulder tightens briefly, then releases. “Can you walk?”
Another nod.
“Come on.” He guides me toward the far corner of the hall—away from Rhett’s demonstration, away from the refugees, into shadow where we won’t be overheard.
Stellan follows, moving with that elegant silence of his.
I catch Wes watching us from across the room. His eyes are wary, tracking our movement. He knows something happened, but he’s too consumed with his own unfulfilled hunger to press.
And there—padding through the far door—Gray in his wolf form. White fur, massive, surrounded by other shifters. They’re laughing at something, the wolves play-fighting while the humans watch. It’s almost cute, seeing Gray like this. Relaxed. Part of a pack.
He doesn’t notice us slip away.
None of them do, not really.
Thane positions himself between me and the rest of the hall, blocking their view. Stellan leans against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“What did you see?” Thane asks quietly.
I force myself to breathe. To organize thoughts that feel scattered and wrong.
“A mirror,” I manage. My voice sounds wrecked. “Black iron. Ornate.”
“Where?” Stellan asks.
“I don’t know. Stone floors. Obsidian, maybe. Silver fire on the walls.”
Thane goes very still. I feel it—the sudden tension, the way his breathing stops for just a moment.
“She was wearing dark silk,” I continue, the words tasting like ash. “Off-shoulder. Black. She’d never—she wouldn’t choose that.”
“What else?” Stellan’s tone is careful now. Too careful.
“Marks on her wrists.” I swallow hard. “Shadow marks, I think. Circling like bracelets. They moved. Pulsed once, like a heartbeat. I don’t know what they are.”
Silence. The kind that feels heavier than sound.
“Was she alone?” Thane’s voice has dropped lower. Dangerous.
“I—” The memory makes my throat close. “No. Someone was touching her. I couldn’t see who. Just her reaction. Her face. Her body…”
I can’t finish. Can’t explain the way she moved, the way she surrendered. The horrifying intimacy of watching her pleasure without understanding its source.
“Was she afraid?” Thane asks.
“Yes.” The word tastes bitter. “Terrified. But also…”
I can’t finish. Can’t admit what else I saw in her eyes.
Stellan finishes for me. “Desire.”
The reality of it makes me flinch. But he’s right. That’s exactly what I saw. Terror and desire mixed in a way that one feeds the other.
“That’s not Bree,” Thane says. No emotion. Just fact.
“It looked like her,” I protest, but even as I say it, doubt creeps in. Because he’s right. The woman I saw—the way she moved, the doubt even in surrender, the dark silk she’d never choose—
But also… it was her. I know her face. Her body. The way her eyes look when she’s scared.
“I don’t know,” I admit finally. “It looked like her. Felt like her. But everything else was wrong.”
“The marks,” Stellan says. “You’re certain they were shadow marks? Not bruises or bindings?”
“They moved.” I try to visualize them again, but the memory is already starting to blur the way visions do. “Like smoke, circling her wrists but not touching. I’ve never seen anything like them.”
Stellan and Thane exchange a look. A long one. The kind of communication that happens between people who’ve known each other for centuries and don’t need words anymore.
“What?” I demand. “What do those marks mean?”
“Nothing good,” Stellan says finally. “But if that’s what I think they are—”
“Then wherever the real Bree is,” Thane interrupts, “she’s in deeper trouble than we thought.”
The real Bree.
The words hang between us like a death sentence.
“You think—” I can’t finish. Can’t voice what they’re suggesting.
“I think,” Thane says carefully, “the woman walking around this sanctuary is playing a part. And she’s very good at it. And I think whoever you just saw—wherever she is—is the real one.”
My stomach drops.
“Then where is she?” The question breaks out of me, raw and desperate. “If that’s the real Bree, where is she? What’s happening to her?”
“I don’t know,” Thane admits. His silver eyes are cold, calculating. “But your visions might be the only way to find out.”
The responsibility of it settles over me like a weight.
“The others don’t believe you,” I say quietly. Not a question. A fact.
“No.” Stellan’s expression doesn’t change. “They think we’re paranoid. That Bree’s just grown stronger after the Oath. More confident. More… herself.”
“But you don’t think that.”
“I know that’s not her,” Thane says flatly. “I’ve known since she came back. The way she looks at me. The way she moves. It’s almost perfect. But it’s not Bree.”
“And you want me to keep watching.” My voice comes out hollow. “Keep having these visions. Keep seeing her—whoever she is—being touched by something I can’t identify.”
“Yes,” Thane says simply.
“Even though my body responds.” The confession tastes like bile. “Even though I’m aroused watching her—”
“That’s not your fault,” Stellan says, and there’s something almost gentle in his tone. “Visions aren’t passive observation. They pull you in. Make you feel what the subject feels.”
“She was terrified,” I say, looking up at him. I know he can see the shame in my eyes. “And aroused. And I felt both. But my body only responded to one.”
“Because that’s what she was feeling strongest,” Thane says quietly. “You’re not aroused by her fear, Theo. You’re responding to her desire. To her pleasure. That’s what the vision showed you most clearly.”
“While someone I can’t see touches her,” I whisper. “While she’s trapped somewhere and I just—I just watch and feel—”
“You’re seeing her,” Stellan interrupts. “That’s what matters. You’re the only thread we have to wherever she actually is.”
Across the hall, Rhett’s demonstration is wrapping up. The refugees are dispersing. Soon they’ll notice us huddled in the corner, notice the tension crackling between us.
“What do I tell them?” I ask quietly. “When they ask what happened?”
“Nothing,” Thane says immediately. “Not yet. If the others think something’s wrong—if they start questioning her—whoever’s wearing Bree’s face will know we’re onto them.”
“So we just pretend everything’s fine?” The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. “While the real Bree is trapped somewhere being—” I can’t finish.
“While we gather information,” Stellan corrects. “While we use your visions to figure out where she is and how to get her back.”
“And if I’m wrong?” The question comes out broken. “What if these visions are just my fears? My desires twisted into nightmare? What if I’m seeing what I’m afraid of instead of what’s real?”
“Then we’ll figure that out too,” Thane says. His silver eyes meet mine, and for once there’s something almost gentle in his expression. “But right now, those visions are all we’ve got.”
I close my eyes, trying not to see her face. Her fear. Her need. The way she looked directly at me without recognition, like I was just another shadow in her nightmare.
“Okay,” I say finally. The word tastes like surrender. “I’ll keep looking.”
Even if it destroys me.
Even if every vision drives the guilt deeper.
Even if I never wash the shame of being aroused by her suffering.
I’ll keep looking.
Because if I don’t—if I let fear or shame stop me—then she’s lost.
And I can’t live with that.
Thane nods once. Stellan’s expression doesn’t change.
“One more thing,” Stellan says as we prepare to rejoin the others. “Don’t tell Wes. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s already unstable,” Thane says bluntly. “His feeding patterns are erratic. His control is slipping. If he knows the real Bree is trapped somewhere, being touched, he’ll spiral.”
I remember the way Wes looked earlier. The wary watching. The tension in his shoulders.
“He already suspects something,” I say.
“Let him suspect,” Stellan replies. “But don’t confirm. Not until we know more.”
I nod slowly.
We step back into the light of the training hall. Rhett waves us over, grinning about something. The wolves are still playing in the corner—Gray’s white fur bright among the others.
Everything looks normal.
Everything feels wrong.
And somewhere—in a mirror, in a place I can’t reach—Bree is terrified and surrendering while someone I can’t see touches her.
When I close my eyes, the mirror flashes behind my eyelids.
Just for a breath.
Just long enough to see shadow chains wrapped around pale wrists, tightening until they disappear into darkness.