Scarlett’s POV
The clock on the wall ticked with a heavy, rhythmic thud that sounded like a countdown. 9:00 PM. In three hours, I would turn twenty. I would either feel the soul-shattering snap of my first shift or remain a wolf-less human, destined to be an even lower target for this pack.
But I wouldn’t be here to find out. By tomorrow morning, I would be crossing the border.
I stood before Leon’s door, my hand hovering over the handle. My heart felt like a trapped bird. I didn’t want to be here, but so twisted part of needed this. I needed one last look at him—not as my torntor, but as the boy I had once loved. I wanted to use this night as a silent goodbye, a secret funeral for the frienship bond we had broken.
I knocked.
"Co in," his voice rasped. It sounded shredded, deeper than usual.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dim, lit only by a few flickering candles that cast long, dancing shadows against the stone walls. The scent of burnt wood and musk was suffocatingly thick, laced with the sharp, acidic tang of expensive bourbon.
Leon was sitting in a high-backed leather chair, a glass gripped in his hand. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, his bronzed chest scarred and powerful in the low light. But it was his face that stopped . He looked pale, his brown eyes bloodshot and haunted.
The morial. Every year, the weight of their mother’s death seed to crush the triplets, turning their grief into a sharp, lashing rage. Tonight, that rage looked like exhaustion.
"I’m here..." I whispered, staying near the door, my fingers twisting the hem of my tunic.
He didn’t move for a long mont; he just stared at through the amber liquid in his glass. Then, he set the bourbon down on the side table with a heavy clink and stood up. He moved toward with a slow, predatory step that made my breath hitch.
"You’re late, Scarlett," he murmured, stopping just inches from . The heat radiating off his body was intense, clashing with the chill of the room. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed a strand of hair away from my face. His touch wasn’t cruel tonight. It was tender.
"I had duties," I lied, looking down at his collarbone because I couldn’t bear to look into his eyes and see the ghost of the friend I was leaving behind.
"Look at ," he commanded, though it sounded more like a plea. He hooked a finger under my chin and forced my head up. His gaze searched mine, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. "You’ve been crying again. Still thinking about those graves in the woods?"
I swallowed hard, the secret burning in my throat. I’m leaving, Leon. I’m never coming back.
"It’s just the date," I whispered. "Tomorrow is a hard day for everyone."
Leon’s jaw tightened. He leaned in, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. I could sll the bourbon on his breath and the raw, aching grief in his scent.
"You will stay here for the next one."
Leon’s words hung in the air, heavy and sad. He looked so broken that for a mont, I forgot to be afraid. I forgot that he was the person who had spent the last two years making my life a nightmare.
"I can’t stay here, Leon. What if your brothers co in?" I whispered. My voice was small, and it shook.
He didn’t listen. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled against him. He was so hot, almost like he had a fever. I could feel his heart beating fast against my chest. He buried his face in my neck and took a deep breath, like he was trying to morize how I slled.
"Just for an hour," he groaned. "The house is too quiet. The ghosts are everywhere tonight, Scarlett."
I knew he was talking about his mother. Tomorrow was the anniversary of her death. It was the day my parents were executed. This date was a scar on both of our lives.
He pulled back just enough to look at . His brown eyes were dark and ssy with emotion. "Scarlett, sothing is wrong with you... what is it?"
I looked at his lips, then back at his eyes. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to scream that his fathers were kicking out at midnight. But I stayed silent. If I told him, he might lock in this room and never let go. Or worse, he might realize he didn’t care at all.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my stomach. I gasped and grabbed his shoulders. My skin felt like it was starting to burn from the inside out.
The clock on the wall read 9:30 PM.
Leon’s eyes narrowed as he watched doubled over. For a split second, a flash of recognition crossed his face—he knew exactly what this heat ant. It was the pre-shift fever, the slow burn of a wolf trying to claw its way to the surface.
"Leon... I feel so hot," I gasped, my fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. I felt like a coal being dropped into snow, my internal temperature skyrocketing so fast it made my head spin.
He didn’t pull closer to comfort . Instead, he frowned, his expression darkening into sothing unreadable. He abruptly let go of my waist, the sudden loss of his support making stumble. He sat back down in his heavy leather chair, picked up the glass of bourbon, and took a long, slow swallow.
"I have a gift for you," he said, his voice dropping into a low, hollow tone. "For when you turn twenty."
I blinked through the haze of pain, my heart thumping against my ribs. "What? A gift?"
I waited for him to explain, to show a trinket or tell a secret, but he didn’t look at . He just stared at the flickering candle on the table, his hand tight around the glass. The silence in the room beca heavy, thick with the scent of his grief and sothing else—sothing that slled different.
"Leon?" I whispered, taking a shaky step toward him. "What’s wrong? You’re acting... different."
It wasn’t just about his mother’s morial. I could feel it in the air. The way his jaw was locked, the way he refused to et my eyes—it felt like he was mourning soone who was still standing right in front of him.
"Just be quiet, Scarlett," he snapped, though there was no heat in his anger, only a deep, weary sadness. He took another slow drink, his gaze fixed sowhere on the wall.
Then he spoke again.
"Undress."
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