[POV: JAXSON]
"Don't touch me, Remi. Just put the kit on the counter and walk away."
My voice was a shredded rasp, barely audible over the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. The locker room was dead silent, but the air was screaming. I sat on the low wooden bench, my head hanging between my shoulders, watching the crimson droplets hit the floor. One. Two. Three. Each splash was a drumbeat of failure.
"You're bleeding through your shirt, Jaxson. You can't reach the gash on your shoulder," she said.
Her voice was too soft. It was a velvet ribbon wrapping around my jagged nerves, pulling them tight. I could smell her the moment she stepped over the threshold. Lilies. Rain. And that underlying, intoxicating heat that made my wolf want to rip its way out of my ribcage.
"I said stay back," I growled, but the sound lacked its usual bite.
My back was a roadmap of agony. The hit at the boards had done more than crack a rib; it had opened an old wound, a reminder of a life I was supposed to have conquered. I felt the warmth of the blood soaking into the fabric of my jersey, heavy and cloying.
"The team doctor is gone. Our parents are three states away. Who else is going to do it?"
I heard her footsteps. They were light, hesitant, yet steady. Each step she took toward me made the air in the room grow thinner. My lungs burned as I tried to pull in enough oxygen to stay upright. The lights in the training room flickered, casting long, dancing shadows against the sterile white walls.
"I don't need your help," I hissed.
"Liars don't bleed this much," she countered.
I felt the bench shift as she sat behind me. The proximity was a physical blow. The heat radiating from her body was a localized sun, warming the chilled, sweat-damp skin of my neck. I closed my eyes, my jaw locking so hard I heard the bone creak.
I felt her fingers graze the hem of my jersey. It was the lightest touch, a mere ghost of a movement, but it sent a bolt of pure, unadulterated electricity straight to my marrow. My vision didn't just blur; it turned a molten, Alpha-gold.
"Lift your arms," she whispered.
I obeyed. Not because I wanted to, but because my body was no longer mine. I was a passenger in a vessel controlled by the bond we both pretended didn't exist. I pulled the jersey over my head, the fabric dragging against the raw skin of my back.
The air hit the wound, a sharp, cold sting that made me hiss. But the cold was nothing compared to the heat of her gaze. I could feel her eyes traveling over my scars, mapping the history of every fight I’d ever won—and the one I was currently losing.
"It's deep," she breathed.
I felt her hand settle on my shoulder blade to steady herself. Her palm was slick with a cold sweat that mirrored my own. Her touch was like a branding iron. Where her skin met mine, the world ceased to be a room of lockers and ice. It became a vacuum of sensation, a narrow tunnel where only the two of us existed.
[POV: REMI]
"Try to keep still. This is going to sting."
My hands were shaking so violently I almost dropped the bottle of antiseptic. My heart wasn't just hammering; it was a frantic, trapped thing, trying to break through my ribs to get to him. The sound of it echoed in my ears, a rhythmic thud that drowned out the hum of the industrial refrigerator in the corner.
I looked at his back. It was a landscape of power and pain. The muscles were bunched, quivering under the surface like a bowstring pulled to the breaking point. The wound was a jagged red line, weeping blood that looked too dark, too rich.
"Just do it," he growled.
I soaked a gauze pad and pressed it to the gash.
Jaxson’s entire body jolted. A low, guttural sound tore from his throat—not a scream, but a whine, deep and animalistic. It was a sound I felt in my own chest, a sympathetic vibration that made my wolf stir from its long, forced slumber.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking.
"Don't be," he snapped, his voice tight with an agony that had nothing to do with the antiseptic.
I moved the gauze in a slow, circular motion. The metallic tang of his blood filled my senses, mixing with the dark chocolate scent of his skin. It was an overwhelming combination, a drug that made my head swim and my knees feel like water.
I found myself leaning closer. I couldn't help it. The bond was a physical tether, pulling my chest toward his back. I wanted to press my face against his skin. I wanted to lick the blood away. The thoughts were intrusive, primal, and terrifying.
"Remi," he warned, his voice a low vibration that I felt through the tips of my fingers.
"I know," I said, but I didn't pull away.
My fingers moved from the wound to the uninjured skin of his shoulder. He was so hot. It felt like he was running a fever of a hundred and five. The heat wasn't just physical; it was spiritual. It was the mark on my neck finally finding its match.
I watched the skin of his back ripple as I touched him. A series of fine shivers erupted across his shoulders. I followed the line of a scar that ran from his neck to his mid-back, my touch lingering on the jagged edges.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked.
He turned his head slightly, his profile sharp and lethal against the dim light. His eyes were glowing, the amber light reflecting off the stainless steel of the medical cart.
"Because you're hurting," I said.
"We're both hurting," he countered. "Every second you're in this room, you're twisting the knife."
"Then let it twist," I said, a sudden, fierce defiance rising in my chest.
I moved my hand to the base of his neck, right where his own mark was hidden beneath the hair. The moment my skin made contact with that specific spot, the room exploded.
It wasn't a sound. It was a shockwave. A surge of white-hot energy blasted through my arm, hitting my heart with the force of a freight train. My vision went white. I felt a cry rip from my throat, but it was lost in the sudden, deafening roar of his own voice.
[POV: JAXSON]
"Enough!"
I spun around, my hand flying out to catch her by the waist. I didn't pull her in; I caught her as she fell. The contact was a catastrophe. The moment my hand closed around the silk of her dress, the bond snapped shut like a steel trap.
The heat was no longer a pulse. It was a wildfire. It roared through my veins, incinerating every bit of logic and restraint I had spent years building.
Remi gasped, her hands flying to my chest to steady herself. Her fingers dug into my pectoral muscles, her nails grazing my skin. Her eyes were wide, the gold irises glowing with a light that rivaled my own.
"Jaxson," she breathed, her voice a plea and a challenge all at once.
We stared at each other. The silence in the room was so thick it felt like we were underwater. I could hear her heart. I could hear the blood rushing through her carotid artery. I could hear the frantic, high-pitched whine of her wolf, answering the roar of mine.
The electricity between us was visible now, tiny blue sparks jumping between our skin where we touched. My skin felt like it was being peeled back, exposing the raw, aching soul beneath.
"You should run," I whispered. My hand on her waist tightened, pulling her closer until our chests were centimeters apart. "You should run as fast as you can."
"I'm tired of running," she said.
She did it then. She reached up and cupped my face. Her palms were hot now, the cold sweat gone, replaced by the fever of the bond. She looked at my mouth, and I felt my resolve shatter like glass under a hammer.
I leaned in, my nose brushing hers. I could taste her breath on my lips—sweet, like honey and desperation. My wolf was clawing at the back of my eyes, demanding I claim what was mine.
"If I touch you," I groaned, my eyes closing as I inhaled her scent, "I won't be able to stop. Do you understand? There is no brotherly love here. There is only this."
"I know," she whispered.
She leaned in, her lips grazing the corner of mine. It was a spark in a powder keg. I groaned, my head dropping to the crook of her neck. I buried my face in her hair, my teeth grazing the skin right above her mark.
I felt her shudder, a long, convulsive tremor that ended in her arching her back against my arm.
"Stay," I commanded, the word a ragged prayer.
"I can't," she whispered, even as she pressed herself closer.
We stayed like that for an eternity, two broken things trying to fuse together in the dark. The heat eventually settled from a wildfire into a slow, agonizing burn. The adrenaline began to recede, leaving us both trembling and hollowed out.
Eventually, the weight of the world returned. The ticking of the clock. The smell of the antiseptic. The reality of the lies.
I pulled back, my hands dropping from her waist as if I'd been burned. I couldn't look at her. I turned away, grabbing my discarded jersey and pulling it on with jerky, uncoordinated movements.
"Go home, Remi," I said, my voice dead. "I'll be back late."
[POV: REMI]
I didn't argue. I couldn't. My body felt like it had been turned inside out and left to dry in the wind. I walked out of the training room, my feet feeling heavy, as if I were walking through deep mud.
The drive home was a blur of streetlights and shadows. I felt like a ghost haunting my own life. When I finally reached the mansion, the silence of the house felt like a physical weight. I went straight to my room, locking the door behind me.
I needed to feel normal. I needed to touch something that wasn't Jaxson.
I reached for my phone, which I’d left charging on the nightstand. It felt unusually heavy in my hand. I frowned, turning it over. The custom case I’d bought—a thick, rugged plastic—seemed slightly misaligned at the corner.
I picked at the edge with my fingernail. It gave way with a soft click.
The case popped off.
I stared at the back of the phone. There, nestled in a small hollow of the plastic casing, was a tiny, flat silver disc. It was no larger than a shirt button, but it had a small, pulsing green light that blinked with a rhythmic, mechanical precision.
A tracker.
My stomach dropped into a cold, dark abyss. My hands began to shake so hard the phone clattered onto the hardwood floor.
I hadn't changed this case in six months.
I sat on the edge of my bed, the room spinning around me. Six months. Six months of every movement, every secret meeting, every desperate attempt to escape being broadcast to someone.
I thought of Jaxson’s face when he found me at the party. I thought of the way he always seemed to know exactly when I was planning to leave.
The door to the hallway creaked.
I looked up, my heart stopping in my chest. Jaxson was standing there, his silhouette framed by the hallway light. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the phone on the floor.
"You weren't supposed to find that, Remi," he said.
His voice wasn't angry. It was worse. It was disappointed. He stepped into the room, and I saw what he was holding in his hand.
It was a tablet. On the screen was a map of the city, and a single, glowing red dot was centered exactly where I was sitting.
"Who else is watching me, Jaxson?" I asked, my voice a hollowed-out shell. "Is it just you, or is the High Council on the other end of this too?"
Jaxson didn't answer. He walked to the window and pulled the heavy curtains shut, plunging the room into darkness.
"The Council isn't watching you, Remi," he said, his voice coming from the shadows. "They're using the tracker to find the man who's coming to kill us both."
The window behind him shattered.
