Chapter 95

Lauren

The sink was full again.

No matter how bad your day was the task of chores never, just, get’s done. It’s weird, I blinked and suddenly I didn’t make my mom picking up after me, and I was one.

A good one? Well, that felt up to debate lately.

I let the water run, watching the steam curl upward in thin wisps, fogging against the windowpane. My fingers curled against the edge of the counter, gripping it tighter than necessary. The scent of dish soap—sharp, lemony—burned my nose in a way it never had before. Everything was too much now. The chemicals in the soap. The lingering smell of dinner clinging to the plates. The faintest traces of them—Owen and Abigail—from where their hands had touched their glasses, their plates, their forks.

Dinner had been quiet. Even Abigail’s bouncing light seemed more distant today. Maybe they were just growing up.

I swallowed, reaching for the sponge. It was soft, already damp, the faintest trace of mildew in its fibers. I shouldn’t be able to smell that.

But I could.

Hyper scent. That’s what Liam had called it. Like it was just another piece of this—this thing that lingered.

I have gottan control of these hunting urges, the squirrels now safe in my yard, (Ugh embarrassing.) But suppression didn’t mean I stop feeling them.

I scrubbed at a plate too hard, the ceramic rattling against the sink. My jaw clenched. It wasn’t just the scents. It was everything. The way my body felt primed, all the time. How my own skin wasn’t entirely my own anymore, stretched too tight, crawling with a kind of energy I didn’t understand.

And worst of all—the commands.

My stomach twisted at the thought, remembering that dinner, those unfamiliar lips on mine.

Worst of all, the fact that Liam had two left.

And I never told Alexander. It’s not like I had the chance.

I could still hear his voice from that night, the roughness in it just before he kissed me. “I won’t use another one.”

But I knew better. I knew that if he wanted to, he could. All it would take was a simple phrase, a whisper from his lips, and I’d have no say in the matter.

My freedom wasn’t mine anymore.

I swallowed, the plate slipping slightly from my grip. Soap suds clung to my hands, slithering between my fingers.

Maybe I should’ve fought harder. Maybe I should’ve—

Blood on my hands.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the edges of the sink. The memory crashed in like a wave, freezing, unrelenting. The purse robber. The way he’d hit the ground, his body twisted wrong, his scream still sharp in my ears.

That hadn’t been me. Not really. That had been something else, something primal, something new.

What if it happened again?

What if I wasn’t safe to be around?

I forced a breath through my teeth, blinking hard as I rinsed off the last dish. The water swirled down the drain in a soapy spiral, carrying my thoughts with it. Or at least, I wished it would.

I dried my hands on a dish towel, fingers trembling just slightly.

Normal. Calm. Just calm down.

Across the room, Abigail sat at the kitchen table, a set of colored pencils scattered across the wood. Owen sat across from her, his head bent over a math worksheet, brows furrowed in deep concentration. Normalcy.

For a moment, I just stood there, watching them.

So much had happened, so much had changed, and yet here they were, still just kids. Still doing homework. Still coloring.

And I had missed so much.

They even looked older. Which felt me with a mix of feelings.

I exhaled, smoothing my hands down my jeans before making my way over. “What are you drawing, sweetheart?” I asked, peering over Abigail’s shoulder.

She glanced up, her golden eyes bright, before tilting the page toward me.

Red hair.

Tall frame.

A face with sharp features, sketched with more care than the others.

My stomach dropped.

Theo.

I forced my expression to stay neutral, but something in me went taut. “That’s… very detailed,” I said carefully.

Abigail smiled, returning to shading the hair. “I had a good reference.”

I kept my voice light. “You haven’t gone to see him, right?”

Her hand hesitated just slightly before filling in another line. “No.”

I narrowed my eyes just slightly. “Abigail.”

She sighed, setting the pencil down. “He’s my friend, Mom.”

Something sharp dug into my ribs at that.

I’d been so focused on what Theo was, I hadn’t stopped to ask what he meant to her.

I pulled out a chair, lowering myself onto it. “How long have you known him?”

She twirled a pencil between her fingers. “Since he showed up at the window.”

I blinked. “The window?”

Owen finally looked up from his homework, sighing like this was all old news. “Yeah, like some monkey. We never told you because you and Dad were busy.” His gaze flicked, just briefly, to the two marks under Abigail’s and my eyes.

A reminder.

I didn’t miss the bitterness in his voice.

Abigail sat up straighter. “He didn’t mean to cause trouble. He just needed somewhere to sleep.”

“Abigail—”

She cut me off. “He’s not a bad person.”

A flicker of something ran through me. He slept in there room? Had we really missed so much?

“Bad people don’t always look bad,” I said carefully.

She frowned. “I know that.”

I reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just need you to be careful, sweetheart.”

“I am careful.”

“Then why were you and Owen trying to force a transformation?”

Abigail stiffened, her fingers curling against the paper. Alexander had filled me in on the rumors of that shrine, but even he was avoiding me.

I kept my voice soft. “You both know it happens with puberty. You would hvae just had to wait. Why risk something like this?”

Abigail glanced at Owen. He stared at the table, silent.

Then, finally, she spoke.

“I wanted to be strong.” Her voice was small. “For you and Dad.”

A knot formed in my throat.

She looked down at her hands. “You guys are already stressed enough. If we could just help, it’d be better.”

Owen nodded quietly beside her.

“Owen told me not to,” she said, shame cracking into her voice. “But I didn’t listen… I just… I don’t want to be some little kid anymore. Get kidnapped again and be a problem for you guys. I want to be strong too, to protect myself so you and Dad don’t feel so stressed to. We’re… special, right? But special isn’t starting to feel… good.”

I felt something in me crack.

God, how had I missed this? How had I been so wrapped up in everything else that I didn’t notice what this was doing to them?

I exhaled slowly, before pulling them both in.

They didn’t hesitate.

Abigail burrowed into my side, her small fingers gripping my sleeve, while Owen—normally less eager for affection—let himself lean against me, just for a moment.

I pressed a kiss to Abigail’s temple. “You don’t have to be strong for us, sweetheart. That’s our job.”

Owen mumbled something against my shoulder.

I ruffled his hair. “What was that?”

He pulled back, making a face. “I said you smell like lemon soap.”

I huffed a laugh. “Better than wet dog, I guess.”

Abigail giggled. “For now.”

I smiled, but my thoughts remained heavy.

I had to do better.

For them.

For myself.

And… Alexander.