When fate and worlds collide

26 | Wishful thinking

I spent the rest of the day with Rowan.

We talked about everything and anything. About my last scouting run. About his schooling, his training schedule, how he almost managed to beat Braydon for once, the people he tolerated and the ones he pretended not to notice. He even admitted, with all the awkward stiffness of a boy trying very hard to be brave, that he had a crush. I filed that information away for future teasing and possible strategic interrogation.

After sparring—where he nearly knocked me flat and looked far too pleased about it—we ran through a few workout sets, ate dinner, and then watched the sun bleed out over the city from the balcony of our room.

I missed days like this. Just him. Just us. No alarms. No politics. No weight of the world pressing down on my spine. For a few precious hours, we pretended we were normal. A family in a life that hadn’t ended. Cooking together. Trading insults disguised as jokes. Laughing like tomorrow wasn’t a gamble.

“You know I don’t like what Liam did to you, Mum,” Rowan spoke quietly, breaking the silence. I turned to him. The wind tugged at his hair, the last light of the sun painting his skin a deep honey-gold. He looked older than he should have. Stronger. Sharper. “I wanted to challenge him,” he continued. “When he carried you in here. Unconscious.” My chest tightened.

“I know,” I replied softly. “He lost control. And neither of us were able to contain it properly.” I hesitated, then added, “Promise me you won’t challenge him.” Rowan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached over and took my hand, his grip steady, grounding.

“I promise,” he replied at last. “For now. I’ll keep my place.” His jaw tightened. “But once I’m strong enough to defend you, I won’t tolerate that kind of loss of control.” I smiled—small, proud, and a little broken.

“Yeah, I know.” I murmured. “Let’s hope that day never comes.” We sat in silence after that, watching the city lights flicker on one by one as the last of the sun disappeared.

Eventually, Rowan said goodnight and headed to bed. I waited until his breathing deepened, until I felt him slip fully into sleep, before moving, slipping out into the hall. Braydon sat in the shadows outside our door, like he always did. A giant silent protector.

“I won’t be gone long,” I told him. “No one enters but me.” He nodded once and melted back into stillness. Besides Xavier, he was the next person I trusted to keep Rowan safe.

I moved through the Tower quietly, observing the night-shift workers—people trading low voices, sharing food, laughter soft but genuine. We had no curfew. We didn’t need one. Everyone knew their role. Everyone knew that rest mattered, especially when any day could be your last. My body wandered while my mind reached outward. I brushed my awareness across the Tower, gently touching every Aura within it. The stronger ones responded with a subtle nudge, acknowledging me, while the weaker barely registered the contact at all.

A knot twisted in my stomach, the feeling something big was coming. I had felt the ripple in my power, a distortion that refused to settle, and others were starting to feel it too. Even with the full moon only nights away, and preparations were already underway—lesser Auras and new pack members readying for the bunker as a precaution while they learned to control the change, the unease didn’t fade. Survivor numbers were thinning. Powerful Auras were becoming rare. Aside from Clarice, no one new had emerged in months. Jax and Glen’s group were the first in far too long.

I considered calling us what many people did—mostly our resident fantasy fanatic, who had opinions on everything and citations for none. The name he favoured for the downcast Auras. But saying it out loud felt absurd. Flippant. As if turning the word into a joke somehow dulled the very real danger we posed when the full moon rose.

Werewolves.

I snorted quietly. It was a ridiculous notion. Completely. And yet… uncomfortably close. Pack members and lesser Auras all shifted into oversized wolf-like forms, after all. The Ferals were simply the extreme end of that spectrum—what happened when there was no Alpha to rein the beast in. No humanity left. No shifting back. Just bloodlust and instinct until the body failed or was put down.

Still, that didn’t make us werewolves.

Did it?

First-generation Auras could shift at will, unbound by the moon’s cycle. That was the theory, anyway. In practice, even Xavier had admitted the experience terrified the s**t out of him. He’d described it once, late at night, voice rough and honest: the surge of heat, the violent rage, his body vibrating as something ancient clawed its way up from the depths of his mind, whispering to him. And the pain—Gods, the pain—as his bones twisted into something else entirely. He hadn’t shifted since.

And then there was me. The only Aura who hadn’t shifted at all.

Every time rage hit, I felt it—the vibration, the pressure, the sense of something waiting just beneath the surface. But the change never fully came. My teeth sharpened. My vision deepened. Scents grew so vivid they bordered on overwhelming. Strength flooded my limbs.

And then… nothing.

As if the rest of me refused to follow. I’d stopped trying long ago. Accepted the possibility that I was simply broken in some fundamental way. Another reminder of how little we truly understood about the monsters now sharing—no, ruling—our world.

I leaned over the balcony, looking down into the Tower’s hollow core. From above, it resembled a hive. Hand-built doors, walls, and windows stacked in careful chaos, each one enclosing a space someone dared to call home. Life layered upon life. Survival shaped into structure. Above me, the glass-domed ceiling caught the moonlight, metal beams webbing through it like veins. Chaotic. Improvised. Yet oddly beautiful. We’d chosen glass deliberately—light mattered, especially for the greenery growing on the top level. Since the fall, nature had thrived in humanity’s absence. Forests grew wild and dense, reclaiming land we’d stolen long ago. Even in the city, vines cracked through concrete, roots splitting asphalt as if it were paper.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. The world was healing—just without us.

However, venturing back into those forests now was a fantasy at best, a death wish at worst. No one knew how long it would be before we could ever enjoy natures true beauty once more. So, we compromised. We built our own green haven instead. Fruit trees. Berry bushes. Vegetation scavenged and nurtured with obsessive care, Auras poured power into growth, life, and slowly we transformed the top floor into a living, breathing refuge.

Aside from the roof—where Xavier and I sometimes sat—it was the most peaceful place in the Tower.

I often pretended it was bigger than it was. That I could get lost there. I would wander barefoot through leaves and soil, imagining myself running between trees, unbound by walls or responsibility or fear. The thought of dirt between my toes, wind in my hair, tugged at something restless inside me. The nearby forests outside seemed to whisper my name. Calling. Tempting me to run—fast and reckless—without direction, without purpose, without looking back.

I felt him approach before I heard him. His presence brushed the edge of my awareness—familiar, heavy, intentional. He’d been following me for a while, careful enough to keep his distance. For once. I glanced over my shoulder and caught the glint of glowing green eyes as his Aura brushed mine. Liam leaned against a tree, face blank, body rigid, like a predator pretending not to hunt.

“I thought we eradicated the vermin from this glade,” I quipped lightly, turning and walking backward, watching to see if the jab landed.

It didn’t. He didn’t move. Just stared at me like he was deciding whether to pounce or stalk first. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. His constant oscillation between self-aware and controlling was exhausting. One minute reason, the next instinct. Living with him was like cohabiting with a loaded weapon that occasionally apologized.

“I want you,” he growled. My traitorous body reacted instantly—adrenaline spiking, senses sharpening, heat coiling low in my gut. I hated how fast it happened. Hated that he knew it would. Liam enjoyed the chase, as I’d learned early on. The resistance, the tension—it fed something feral in him. When I didn’t move, didn’t provoke, he grew rougher instead. Hands everywhere. Teeth biting. Growls pulled from his chest when I made even the smallest sound.

And if I were honest—I enjoyed it too.

“Go satisfy yourself somewhere else,” I sneered. Our so-called agreement hadn’t magically rewired months of damage, and it certainly didn’t grant him ownership again. I heard the low growl roll out of him, felt it ripple through me like a physical touch. My body shivered, practically begging to be claimed.

I stayed still. Focused.

“I would rather satisfy myself with your body.” He pushed off the tree and stalked toward me. My stomach flipped. Heat surging between my legs in arousal. Images flashed through my mind uninvited—his hands, his mouth, the way he’d always taken what I pretended I didn’t want. I dug my fingernails into my palms, grounding myself through pain.

“And…if I say no?” I challenged. He stopped inches from me, gaze dragging slowly over my body, unhurried, possessive. Then his hand shot out and closed around my throat, dragging my closer, A startled grunt escaped me before I could stop it, but my body melted instantly, every nerve lighting up as if it had been waiting for that exact touch.