Chapter 19 Wes
Wes
The sanctuary gardens feel hollow in the moonlight.
I sit on the low stone wall beside what used to be flower beds, watching silver light spill across my hands. The Ether should respond to me here—Bree’s magic is woven into every stone, every blade of grass. But when I reach for it, there’s nothing. Just the familiar ache gnawing at my ribs.
The first time I fed from her, I felt complete. Not just satisfied—seen. Like every hungry, desperate part of me finally had a place to rest. She touched me and I understood what it meant to be chosen instead of tolerated.
Now everything feels like echoes.
She kissed me today. Told me she missed me. But when her lips touched mine, I felt nothing. Or maybe I felt everything she wasn’t giving me. The warmth was there, the softness, but underneath it—silence. Like kissing a beautiful reflection that can’t kiss back.
I don’t understand what’s changed. Don’t understand why the hunger has gotten worse instead of better. Don’t understand why I feel more alone now than I did before she ever touched me.
Distant laughter drifts from the sanctuary windows. Probably Rhett telling one of his stories, or maybe Theo reading something amusing aloud. Normal sounds. Comforting sounds.
Sounds that make me feel like I’m drowning.
“If she keeps pulling me into her room like that, I’m not gonna survive the week.”
The voice comes from behind me, casual and amused. I don’t turn around. Don’t have the energy to pretend I’m okay when Jace’s swagger is the last thing I need right now.
“Seriously,” he continues, and I hear the soft splash of a stone hitting the fountain. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’m not complaining. But damn, she’s been… intense lately.”
Something cold settles in my stomach. The way he says it. Like he’s bragging. Like he’s grateful.
Like he’s getting something I’m not.
Footsteps on gravel, then the stone shifts as he settles beside me. When I finally glance over, he’s shirtless, shirt slung over one shoulder, that familiar smug grin on his face.
The grin fades when he sees my expression.
“You okay?”
I don’t answer immediately. Can’t figure out how to explain that I’m starving in the middle of a feast. That every day I feel more like I’m disappearing.
“I don’t think she’s feeding me anymore,” I say finally.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m hungrier now than I was before I ever touched her.”
The words taste bitter. True in a way that makes my chest tight.
Jace goes quiet. Studies my profile in the moonlight with something that might be concern. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its usual edge of humor.
“What can I do?”
The question hits me sideways. Not what’s wrong or are you sure or any of the things I expected. Just—what can I do to help.
Before I can think, before I can second-guess or analyze or talk myself out of it, I grab him by the back of the neck and kiss him.
Hard. Desperate. Like he’s air and I’ve been drowning.
He freezes completely—body going rigid, breath catching against my mouth. For a moment that stretches too long, he doesn’t move at all. Just sits there, lips pressed to mine, eyes wide open.
I pull back, immediately regretting it. “Shit. I’m sorry, I—”
But Jace is staring at me, green eyes huge and searching. I can practically see his thoughts racing—confusion, surprise, something that might be want if he’d let himself admit it.
“What the hell was that?” he whispers, but there’s no anger in it. Just wonder.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just… I needed it to stop.”
“The hunger?”
“The silence.”
He blinks, processing. His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. I watch him swallow hard, watch something shift in his expression.
Then, slowly—so slowly I almost think I’m imagining it—he leans forward.
This time the kiss is soft. Hesitant. Like he’s testing the feel of it, the rightness of it. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, fingers trembling slightly.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I keep thinking about the pantry,” he says quietly. “About you and Gray. About how watching made me feel.”
“How did it make you feel?”
He looks away, color rising in his cheeks. “Like I wanted to be part of it. Which is crazy, because I’ve never—I don’t usually—”
“Hey.” I catch his chin gently, turn his face back to mine. “There’s no usually here. Just this.”
He searches my eyes for a long moment. “You’re not gonna hurt me, right?”
The question should sting. Instead, it steadies something inside me. Makes me focus on him instead of the ache.
“Never,” I say, and mean it completely. “We go as slow as you want. We stop whenever you want.”
He half-laughs, nervous but not pulling away. “I don’t think I know what I want.”
“That’s okay.” I shift slightly closer, careful not to crowd him. “We don’t have to figure it out right now.”
His breathing changes when I lean in to press a soft kiss to his neck. Nothing demanding, just a whisper of contact.
“Is this okay?” I murmur against his skin.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, it’s—fuck, Wes.”
I pull back to look at him, watching the way his pupils dilate in the moonlight. His lips are slightly parted, and there’s something vulnerable in his expression that makes my chest tight.
“You sure?” I ask quietly. “We can stop here. Just this.”
But he shakes his head, reaching up to touch my face with trembling fingers. “I don’t want to stop. I just—” He swallows hard. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Neither do I,” I admit. “Not really. We can figure it out together.”
Something in his expression shifts—relief, maybe, or recognition that he doesn’t have to have all the answers. When I move slowly to straddle his thigh, giving him time to object, he tenses for just a moment before relaxing into it. His hands come up to rest on my waist, tentative but sure.
“Close your eyes,” I whisper against the curve of his neck. “If it helps… picture her.”
“I don’t think I want to.” The words come out rough, honest. “I think I just want this. With you.”
They hit something deep in my chest that I didn’t know was waiting.
“Good.”
I slide down slowly, giving him time to process, to object if he wants to. When my knees hit gravel, I look up at him.
“Can I?”
His eyes are dark, pupils dilated, but there’s trust there too. He nods, then seems to realize that might not be enough.
“Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “Yeah, I want—please.”
My hands move to his belt, fingers careful and deliberate. He lifts his hips slightly to help when I work his jeans down just enough. The simple cooperation, the trust in the gesture, makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
One of his hands comes to rest in my hair, not pushing or guiding, just touching. Like he needs the connection as much as I do.
This isn’t about taking. It’s about giving something real, something that matters. About quieting the gnawing emptiness by focusing entirely on someone else’s need.
I start slow, just my mouth against him, tasting salt and warmth. His breathing changes immediately, becomes uneven and sharp. The hand in my hair tightens slightly, and I can feel the tension radiating through his whole body.
“Fuck—Wes—” The words come out broken, desperate.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur against his skin, meaning it in every possible way.
I take him deeper, setting a careful rhythm. He tastes like need and trust, and every soft sound he makes sends heat through my chest. His thighs tremble on either side of me, and I can feel him fighting to stay still, to not overwhelm me.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, pulling back just enough to speak. “Let go.”
When I return to him, using my tongue to trace patterns that make him gasp, his control finally cracks. His hips jerk slightly, and the hand in my hair goes from gentle to desperate.
“I’m close,” he warns, voice rough, then lets out a strangled laugh. “Fuck, I feel like a teenager again.”
I hum against him in response, doubling my efforts, and feel the exact moment he surrenders completely. His whole body goes taut, back arching off the stone wall as he comes apart with a broken sound that’s half my name, half prayer.
The taste of him floods my mouth, and I work him through it until his whole body shudders and the hand in my hair goes gentle, almost reverent.
I rest my forehead against his thigh for a moment, both of us breathing hard.
A memory flashes through me—the first time Bree fed me. That breathless fullness, like every hollow space inside me had been filled with light. The way I felt seen, chosen, complete.
This feels… different. Closer, somehow. Like instead of being filled from the outside, something inside me is finally awake.
Then Jace is sliding down beside me, chest rising and falling in sync with mine. Neither of us speaks for a long moment. The silence doesn’t feel empty now—it feels full of something I can’t name.
“Still hungry?” he asks finally.
“Less than before.”
“Good.”
Another pause. Comfortable this time.
“You gonna be okay?”
“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m not alone.”
Jace gets up slowly, reaches for his discarded shirt. Pulls it over his head with that easy grace of his.
“I should head in.”
“Thanks,” I say.
He pauses, looking down at me. “For what?”
“For letting me be real with someone.”
A small, crooked smile tugs at his lips. The first genuine one I’ve seen from him all day.
“Anytime.” He pauses, shaking his head slightly like he can’t quite believe what just happened. But there’s no regret in his expression, just wonder. “I mean it. If you need… whatever this was. I’m here.” He starts walking toward the sanctuary, then glances back over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Wes.”
I watch him go, waiting until his footsteps fade before I turn back to the garden.
The hunger is still there, but muted now. Manageable. Like a constant ache that’s finally been acknowledged instead of ignored.
I exhale slowly, letting the night air fill my lungs.
That’s when I hear it.
A rustle in the treeline. Soft, deliberate. Not the random movement of wind through leaves.
I go still.
Two glowing eyes blink from the shadows—bright, intelligent, unmistakably wolf. They watch me for a long moment, unblinking and intent.
My pulse spikes.
“Gray?”
No answer. Just those steady, luminous eyes reflecting moonlight.
Then they disappear, melting back into darkness like they were never there at all.
I sit alone in the garden, heart hammering against my ribs, wondering how long he was watching.
Wondering what he saw.
What comes next.
And if he’ll ever look at me the same way again.