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Sascha goes mute, horror curling inside his chest, great black coils of it that wrap around his heart and squeeze. Is this worse than the threat of war between the Madisons and whatever shit ass line Atwood came from? Definitely, because now it’sAveryunder the microscope. Sascha might never have felt this much raw terror—this deep, suffocating dread—not his entire life.

“What do you think you’re fuckin’ doing, Sascha?”

“It’s none of your business,” Sascha replies, lips numb. It’s useless, though. Of course it’s his pack’s business. His cousins have always made his private life their fucking business, whether due to misplaced ‘big brother’ worship or just because they’re annoying little shits.

Garrett snorts. “Tell that to your dad.”

“No.” The horrified whisper sticks on its way up, blocking his airway despite being such a small sound. Tears prick the back of his eyes, which drags him down even further, compounded by the surprise on Garrett’s face. Sascha isn’t the crying sort.

“What the fuck?” Garrett says in his own horrified whisper before turning to the door and banging on it. “Uncle Samuel! He’s awake.”

Sascha presses the balls of his hands against his eyes, breaths speeding up even as he begs the hysteria to go away. He needs a clear head to negotiate this.

Avery. Is Avery okay? Did Celeste’s pack?—

“Did they kill him?” Sascha demands the moment his father storms into the room.

Samuel’s expression hardens. “That’s your first question, Alexander?”

“Yeah,” Sascha responds, barely able to swallow past the lump in his throat. “It is. Did they kill him?”

Celeste elbows her way inside, and Sascha scowls. There is literally no one he’d rather see less right now. “He got away,” she says curtly, which does take some of the edge off, though it awakens another form of doubt. Celeste’s wolfpack are expert hunters, and he doesn’t believe Avery simplygetting awayis the full truth.

Still, a soft sigh of relief eases some of the pressure in his chest.

“Alexander. Explain yourself.”

“What do you want me to explain?”

It’s alarming to see the rage that crosses Sascha’s father’s face. Samuel is normally so composed, but right now, he looks more wild than Celeste, who’s watching Sascha with an oddly cool satisfaction. “You fraternizing with thatcreature.”

“Avery’s a person,” Sascha corrects, voice robotic. Like he’s been saying the words to himself every day, every hour, since the minute they exchanged their first DMs on PROWLR. They’ve been waiting for the chance to come out, but as they do, they’re duller than they should be.

“A werecreature,” Samuel says, inflexible. “That thing could have killed you.”

More forcefully, Sascha repeats, “Avery is aperson. Not a thing.”

“He’s a parasite, is what he is,” Liam snaps, but Samuel holds a hand up to halt him.

Celeste takes advantage of the pause to interject. “My enforcers have it on good authority that Sascha has been interacting with the werecreature for weeks. When he disappeared from Dennings farm at the same time Sascha did, I feared the worst.” There’s not even a shadow of concern in Celeste’s tone.

“You should have told me sooner.” Samuel’s voice is gruff, but he doesn’t push when Celeste fails to respond. “Alexander, I’m… Horrified doesn’t describe it. I’m disappointed. I’mangry. What possessed you to do this?”

All words abandon Sascha’s tongue, leaving it dry and heavy in his mouth. He swallows thickly, trying to summon enough spit to formulate a response. “I liked him,” is the only thing he comes up with.I love him, he doesn’t add.

“That shouldn’t have— You never should have spoken to him in the first place.”

“Why not?”

Samuel growls, his control visibly slipping. “Don’t play dumb with me, Alexander. You weren’t brought up to be obtuse. Werecreatures have caused irreparable damage to the shifter way of life. They’re dangerous, unstable monsters, and they treat our legacy—the centuries spent establishing harmony with humans—like it’s worth nothing.”

“And why the fuckwouldn’tthey treat our legacy like it’s worth nothing when you treat them likethey’reworth nothing?”

“I’m not arguing history with you.”

“Good, because I don’t fucking want to. Avery’s just a person who I met, and he’s—” Wonderful. Adorable. Sensitive and sexy and sweet. “—he’s a good person. He’s not anything you’ve said werecreatures are.”

The werevirus had allegedly existed for a long time before it exploded across the globe, but Sascha was born after that explosion. Prejudice against this new breed of magic-infected humans had already solidified before Sascha even entered the world. Perpetually sheltered, he spent all his life being told he could tell a werecreature from a proper human because they smelled bitter.