Chapter 76

"Can it be a bond?"

The sentence hung in the air above us. His eyes snapped back to mine.

"No."

The answer came too fast. I stared at him. "You mean because humans can't form bonds."

"No. I mean yes, but not just that." He shook his head. "It's because that's not how a bond should feel. It's not how it feels for lupines." He paused. "It's not how it feels for me."

I blinked as his words fell and lodged themselves somewhere deep within me. We had been dancing around the possibility of it since the first day in the attic, but this was the first time he had truly confirmed it.

"The axis, you mean," I whispered and watched him nod. "You're sure, then?"

He let out a breath. A moment passed before he finally said, "Yes. I'm sure." The words were quiet and tired and settled inside me like a stone at the bottom of a lake. He looked away. "Don't look at me like that."

I blinked and only then did I realize I'd been staring. "I... I'm not. I just... Is it permanent?"

The speed and sharpness with which his eyes met mine again told me everything I needed to know.

My stomach felt heavy. It wasn't exactly shock, but to hear it spelled out like that made everything spin again.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, because I didn't know what else to say, and because I felt it in that moment. "I didn't..."

"Don't." He cut me off, sharp and final. "Because I'm not."

Something in me lurched. "You're not?"

He shook his head even as his hands curled at his sides. "I'm sorry about the circumstances. But not this."

I remained silent for a long time, searching for words that kept drowning in a mix of emotions I wasn't ready to untangle.

It felt like forever before I finally dared to ask, "And this pull I have been feeling? If it's not a bond, what is it?"

He looked away toward the spring. For the first time since I had known him, Ethan looked like he genuinely didn't have an answer.

"I don't know," he said finally.

The water moved over stone, clear and useless. His eyes flicked back to me, and some of the terrible focus softened, though not enough.

"Lupine bonds don't work like that, not from what anyone has ever told me. And humans aren't supposed to form anything beyond normal human feelings." He paused. "But this thing you're describing doesn't sound like ordinary human feelings either. It sounds like something in-between. Something I've never heard of. I don't think anyone else in the pack has either."

I let out a weak, humorless breath. "Great. I'm a whole new category of weird."

"You are not weird."

"Ethan."

"Kelse." His attention was fully on me now. "You are bloodkin. You're not like other humans. We haven't had one of you in the pack in a hundred and fifty years. The last bloodkin girl was thirteen. Whatever happened around her, it wasn't this. No one knows what it feels like from your side. No one wrote that down."

I stared at him. "Hearing you say it like that makes me feel like an even bigger freak than before."

He frowned instantly. "Kelse. You know I didn't mean it like that."

I sighed, using both hands to rub my temples before a headache could form. "I know. I'm just tired of all this."

He hesitated, then looked down at his own hands. "The way you're describing it, it sounds like, somehow, you can sense these things in me. First the inversion, then..." The corners of his eyes softened a bit. "Then the bond." He let a beat pass. "And your body is reacting to it. In its own way. That might explain the scent change you mentioned. And why I don't sense it."

A chill that had nothing to do with the spring moved over my skin.

"But I only feel the pull when you're close. When you're away, it's just me."

His expression changed at that. Something raw moved through it, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

"Yes," he said. "That's how I know it's not a lupine bond. At least not in the way we experience it."

This mattered. I did not know why, but it did. It mattered so much that for a second neither of us said anything. Still, he gently took hold of my hand.

"I know it's frightening," he said. "But part of me…" He swallowed, steadied himself. "I never thought we could share anything like this." He closed the distance between us fully, interlacing our fingers. "And whatever it is, I am grateful."

I rested my cheek near his collarbone and let the heat of his body and the pull envelop me like a warm blanket.

"Maybe it is some kind of bond," I murmured against his skin. "Just a weird, bloodkin version of it."

Instead of an answer, his hands released mine and his arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer.

"I don't know what to call it," he said after a while. "But it's a gift. And it's real. That part I know." His chin rested on top of my head. "That's what matters."

Something inside me clenched then released.

We stayed like that for what seemed like forever, unmoving, both reluctant to let go.

Then, abruptly, he looked toward the trees, his body hardening.

"We should finish before you freeze."

I lifted my head. "Why? Did you hear something?"

The muscle in his jaw twitched. "Two lupines. An older couple. Half a mile in that direction." He pointed westward. "They're slowly moving north. Away from here. The wind is coming from them to us, so they won't be able to scent us. Yet. But still, to be safe, we need to finish before the wind shifts. And to avoid you getting sick from the cold."

I nodded and let him help me finish cleaning the bag. Or rather, I insisted on cleaning it while he could smell anything, and he performed silent, tense assistance while clearly memorizing every detail as evidence in a future trial I did not intend to attend. He wrung the water out more effectively than I could. He found a branch where the backpack could hang open in the wind. He carried the wet books away from the damp rock and laid them on the large, dry one. And the whole time he was listening and scenting the woods to make sure no one came near.

By the time the worst of it was done, I had scrubbed my face, neck, and every patch of skin that had touched him, then dampened and rubbed down the shoulders and front of my jacket where we had been closest. The sun had dropped lower, and the air had grown colder.

"I have to go home," I said.

He looked at me as if he disliked every word in that sentence. "I know."

For a moment, the spring moved between us, saying nothing useful at all. He reached out as if to brush his thumb beneath one eye, to catch the last damp trace there, but then pressed his lips together and pulled back. I used my sleeve to wipe it away myself, watching his shoulders tense, hands clenching into fists at his sides. When he spoke, his voice was rough at the edge.

"Remember what you promised me. You won't hide things like this from me again."

A painful lump formed in my throat at once. He didn't move.

"Kelse," his tone softened by force. "I said I won't do anything for now, and I won't. But you must promise me this."

I knew what he was asking was probably a disaster on a countdown, but he didn't leave me much choice. All I could do was pray that the mouse was enough to satisfy the perpetrators. So I nodded once, because that was truly all I could do.

Before I left, I knelt by the spring again and washed my hands, face and neck one more time, just to be sure. Ethan stood watch with his back partly turned, scanning the trees, giving me privacy and guarding me at the same time. When I rose, he walked me through the forest.

By the time we arrived at the car, my bag smelled mostly of cold water, soap, and wet fabric. Ethan stopped just before the last of the trees parted and handed it to me without words. The books were damp at the corners. My hands hurt. My eyes felt swollen, but the air had cooled my face enough that I hoped it would pass for wind.

He leaned in as if he meant to touch his lips to my forehead, then stopped just short, breath warming my skin instead. He closed his eyes, only for a moment. "Drive safely."

And then he turned so fast a rush of wind hit me, dropped to the ground with a series of snaps that happened too quickly for my brain to process, and disappeared into the woods in a flash of midnight fur.

I blinked, realizing that I had stopped breathing for a moment. I turned, opened the car door, and sat inside just staring at the swaying branches until everything inside me settled enough that I could turn on the ignition without my hands shaking.

***

When I walked into the house, I found Hailey at the kitchen table coloring something with ferocious concentration. Elise stood by the stove, staring into the oven at a roast like her life depended on it. Dad sat near the window with a mug between his hands, and Jack was by the back door taking off his boots. All four of them looked up when I came in. Hailey smiled. The others didn't.

Elise was the first to ask. "What happened to the backpack?"

I forced a smile. "Fell into a dirty puddle and lost a fight with it, apparently."

Hailey gasped. "Your backpack can fight?"

I let my smile widen. "Obviously not well."

Elise's eyes narrowed slightly, moving from my damp sleeves to the wet bag in my hand. Jack looked at the bag for half a second too long. Dad stayed very still. His gaze moved from my face to my hands, red from cold and scrubbing, then to my throat, then to the bag.

For one awful moment, I thought he would ask. Dig deeper.

He did not. His fingers tightened around the mug, just once, and then loosened with visible care.

"Puddle," he said. It was not a question. That made it worse.

"Yep. A very dirty, muddy one."

Hailey giggled. Elise turned back to the stove too smoothly. Jack lowered his eyes to his boots, but his nostrils flared once.

Dad looked at me for another second. Something I couldn't discern moved across his face. Then he forced his gaze down to the mug in his hands.

"You seem cold," he said, looking at my hands. "Your hands are red."

"Yeah." There was no point in denying it. "I had to wash it, and the school doesn't have any hot water."

He seemed to consider that, and then the lines of his body softened. "Go warm up before you catch a cold."

Relief flooded my chest. "I'm going."

"After you're done, come back down. Dinner will be ready soon," Elise looked up.

This time when I smiled, it was genuine.

***

Back in my room, I pulled the chair close to the radiator and hung the backpack over it. In the bathroom, I stood under the shower and scrubbed my whole body with hot water until the ache of cold became the ache of heat. I changed clothes. Then I spread the damp books across the floor by the radiator and opened the window an inch despite the cold. From my bottom drawer, I pulled out the little box of cleaning supplies I had begun keeping there without ever admitting to myself why: baking soda, a travel bottle of detergent, two plastic bags, and an old toothbrush I had stolen from the bathroom after Jack said worn bristles were good for scrubbing seams. Apparently, secret romance had turned me into a girl with tactical scent-eradicating logistics.

I sat on the floor and scrubbed the backpack again. Every seam. Every zipper. Every pocket. I sprinkled baking soda into the lining and worked it into the fabric with the toothbrush. I wiped down each book cover. I moved the worst folder into a new one and shoved the old one into a plastic bag I would take out later, when no one was watching too closely.

The whole time, I listened. To Hailey's voice downstairs. To Elise answering softly. To Jack's deeper rumble. To Dad's silence, which somehow had more weight than all of them.

I wondered if he knew. Not about the mouse. Not specifically. Just that something in me had come home carrying another little bruise no one could see.

My phone buzzed on the bed. I froze, then reached for it. Warmth flooded me from within. It was Ethan.

Arrived home safely?

I typed: Yes.

The answer came a second later. Good.

Then, after a pause: I hate this.

I stared at the words until my throat tightened. Me too , I wrote.

For a moment, the screen stayed still. Then: Take all the time you need. We can skip tomorrow.

I looked at the damp backpack, the books spread across the floor, the open window letting cold air into the room, the baking soda dusting my fingers like powder. Then I thought of the spring. Of water clear enough to wash away what could be washed. Of his hands warming mine. Of the moment his face changed when I said pull. Of the fact that whatever stood between us now had a name neither of us knew or understood.

I'll be there , I typed. Then I locked the screen and set the phone face down on the bed.

Then I kept scrubbing until the room smelled like soap and cold air and almost nothing else.