Josie
I didn't speak.
Even with Varen's finger pressed lightly to my lips, even with my pulse thundering in my ears, I just froze.
He stood so close I could see every fleck of gold in his eyes—eyes that were watching me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world. His sugarcane dangled from the corner of his mouth, half-chewed, forgotten.
The scent of him—smoke and crushed pine needles—wrapped around me like a stormcloud. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't think. My heart pounded against my ribs like a warning, but I couldn't tell if it was because I was terrified or because he was touching me.
"Tell me everything," he said again, his voice low, smooth, dangerous.
It wasn't a demand. It wasn't even a plea. It was something worse—inevitable.
"I… I don't…" My voice cracked. I backed up until my knees hit the edge of the bed. My legs folded beneath me like broken wings. "You shouldn't be here. If my parents—"
"If your parents what?" he cut in, his tone deceptively calm. "Hit you again?"
I flinched. The word hit landed harder than any blow.
His jaw tensed. The air in the room seemed to change—charged and crackling, like a storm waiting to break. He wasn't angry at me. I could feel that. But his fury was a living thing, coiled behind his ribs, looking for something to tear apart.
"I didn't come here to hurt you," he said, softer now. His voice dropped like velvet sliding over glass. "I just want the truth."
I looked away, wrapping my arms around myself. My whole body felt too exposed. Like he could see every wound, every bruise, every secret I'd spent years burying. I wanted to shrink, to vanish, to dissolve into the shadows and never be found again.
"There's nothing to tell," I whispered. My voice was so quiet, it didn't feel like it belonged to me.
"Don't lie to me, Josie."
He stepped closer. But not enough to touch me. Just enough for his presence to weigh on my skin like heat. The space between us sizzled with tension—not the soft kind, not the flirty kind. The kind that split skin and demanded blood.
"You flinched when I raised my hand. Your voice shook when you said their names. You're scared of your own damn house."
I stayed silent. What was I supposed to say? That he was right? That I'd been scared for so long I didn't know what safe felt like anymore?
"I'm not scared," I lied.
His laugh was bitter. It cut. "You are. And that should never be the case in your own home."
I squeezed my eyes shut. The pressure behind them ached. My throat tightened like a noose.
"My parents…" I paused, then bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. "They never wanted me. Not really. I was an accident. An omega disappointment. They always said I was a burden. That I ruined their chances of a better life."
The words spilled out like poison from a wound.
Varen didn't speak. But something in his silence told me he was listening. Really listening. Not the way teachers did when they asked if something was wrong and hoped you said no. He listened like he was gathering pieces of a broken thing he planned to fix with his bare hands.
"They made sure I knew it," I continued, the words coming faster now, tumbling out like they'd been trapped for years. "No birthdays. No training. No affection. Just chores. Silence. And sometimes... worse."
His knuckles whitened around the edge of my desk. He didn't say anything, but the tension in his shoulders screamed louder than words ever could.
"You mean the slap tonight?" he asked, low.
"That's nothing," I said quickly. Too quickly. "That was... normal."
He exhaled slowly through his nose, like he was trying to rein something in. His eyes gleamed—sharp, angry, lethal.
But still, he didn't touch me. Didn't say anything cruel or pitying.
He just stood there, soaking in every word like it meant something. Like I meant something.
"They said I had to reject the bond," I added quietly. "That I'd shame you if I didn't. That you'd leave me anyway."
"And did you believe them?"
I hesitated. A beat. A breath. A lifetime.
He stepped forward again—just a little. "Because you shouldn't."
I swallowed hard. "It's easier not to hope."
That changed something in his expression. His anger twisted, morphed into something more dangerous.
Determination.
"I'll fix this," he said.
Then, just as quickly as he came, he turned and vanished out the window with silent, terrifying grace.
*************
I didn't sleep.
Not after that. Not after him.
The silence of the house was suffocating. I kept expecting my parents to barge in again, screaming, hitting, dragging me down the stairs like a problem to be solved. A mess they could scrub away.
But they didn't.
They were pretending I didn't exist again.
I almost preferred the yelling. At least then I knew I was real.
In the morning, I didn't argue when my mother shoved a grocery list into my hand and snapped, "Don't be seen."
I nodded, numb.
"Take Marcy if you have to. But keep your head down."
I didn't bother responding.
The market was crowded with familiar faces that didn't know mine.
I stayed close to the stalls, hood up, Marcy at my side like a shadow. We didn't speak much. She kept glancing at me like she wasn't sure what to say, or maybe she didn't trust her voice to hold steady.
"I still can't believe last night," she whispered, glancing at me sideways. "You really weren't faking it?"
"Why would I fake that?" I muttered, picking through some tomatoes with trembling fingers.
"I don't know," she said quickly. "Sorry. I just—Josie, the triplets. The Moonborn. That bond—"
"I know," I said, my voice small. "I'm trying not to think about it."
But fate didn't care what I wanted.
Because the moment I turned down the alley behind the baker's stall, he was there.
Varen.
Leaning against a post like he'd been waiting hours.
His eyes found mine instantly, and he didn't smile.
Just… watched.
Marcy gasped softly behind me. "Oh stars…"
"Josie," Varen said, voice smooth as velvet. "Fancy seeing you here."
I took a step back. "What do you want?"
He didn't answer with words. Just tilted his head and scanned my face.
His expression darkened.
I touched my cheek without thinking. The bruise must've bloomed overnight.
His gaze was fire.
"Who did that?"
I said nothing.
"Josie," he said again, quieter now. "Who hit you?"
Still, I stayed silent.
My throat locked up. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't explain why telling him felt more dangerous than hiding it.
And then Marcy spoke.
"She's been suffering in silence," she said fiercely, stepping forward. "For years."
I froze.
Varen didn't move. Didn't blink. His entire body went still, like he'd been carved from stone.
"What?" he said, barely audible.
"She never told anyone. Not even me until a year ago," Marcy said quickly, eyes darting between us. "They treat her like trash. I've seen it. Her own mother—"
"Marcy," I croaked, but she wasn't listening.
Varen stepped forward.
And everything else disappeared.
His scent. His heat. His intensity.
He stood inches away, so close I could feel the anger vibrating beneath his skin.
He leaned in—close enough that his nose brushed mine.
"Do you trust me, Josie?"
His voice was soft, but it carried power.
I hesitated.
Tried to lie. "I—"
He leaned closer still.
"Because I'm about to burn your world down."