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“We never should have let those girls anywhere near him,” Logan growled.

“We thought keeping them occupied with us would keep them away from him,” Keir said. “We underestimated how far they’d go.”

“They’ll pay for that,” Logan promised darkly.

“Yes, they will,” Keir agreed, his usually playful demeanor replaced by cold determination. “But right now, we need to make sure Finn recovers. And then we need a new approach. Giving him space clearly isn’t working.”

Logan nodded grimly. “No more distance. He’s suffering, and it’s our fault.”

“We’ll fix it,” Keir said with quiet confidence. “Starting now.”

As they descended the stairs, Logan cast one last look back toward Finn’s room. The bond between them had flared to life when Finn was in danger, stronger than ever before. It was time they stopped fighting it—for all their sakes.

Chapter 13

I’d barely finished struggling into my oversized sleep shirt—a faded Seattle Art Institute relic that had seen better days—when my bedroom door opened without so much as a courtesy knock. Because privacy was clearly a foreign concept in this house.

Cade stood in the doorway, his massive frame practically filling it, expression set in that unreadable alpha mask that made me want to throw things at him. Preferably heavy, pointy things.

“I’m fine,” I said preemptively, pulling the shirt down over my still-damp fox tail. The damn thing refused to disappear, a furry reminder of my humiliation at the lake. “You can go back to whatever important alpha business you were doing. Crisis averted.”

“You’re not staying up here alone,” Cade replied, his tone making it clear this wasn’t up for debate.

I raised an eyebrow. “Watch me.”

“Either you come downstairs where we can all keep an eye on you, or I’m staying in here with you. All day. All night.”

The thought of being confined in my bedroom with Cade—with his overwhelming presence and that scent that made myfox want to roll around like an idiot—was enough to make me reconsider my options.

“Fine,” I muttered, grabbing my phone from the nightstand. “But I’m not doing the invalid-on-the-couch routine. I nearly drowned; I didn’t contract the plague.”

“Nearly drowned because someone pushed you,” Cade corrected, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made the hair on my arms stand up.

I brushed past him, ignoring the electricity that sparked where our shoulders touched. “Semantics.”

Cade herded me downstairs—there really was no other word for it—his hand hovering at the small of my back without actually touching me. The gesture was so typically Cade: controlling without contact, guiding without asking.

The living room had been transformed into what I could only describe as a blanket fortress for adults. The massive sectional was piled with every soft thing in the house, and someone had lit a fire despite it being approximately a thousand degrees outside.

“I’m not an infant,” I protested as Cade guided me toward the center of the nest. “And it’s summer.”

“You were shivering,” he replied simply.

I wanted to argue, but the truth was Ihadbeen cold since the lake—a bone-deep chill that hadn’t quite dissipated even after the hot bath. Instead of admitting this, I settled into the blankets with as much dignity as one can muster while sporting damp fox ears and a tail.

“Happy now?” I asked, arranging myself cross-legged among the pillows.

“Getting there,” Cade replied with unexpected honesty, those blue eyes assessing me in a way that made me want to hide and preen simultaneously.

I busied myself with my phone, pretending to be absorbed in something fascinating while Cade disappeared into the kitchen.The moment he was gone, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Being around any of the brothers was difficult since the Augury, but Cade was the worst—all controlled intensity and watchful silence.

Mochi appeared as if summoned, leaping onto the couch and immediately curling into my lap like a living heating pad. Pixel materialized next, claiming the back of the sectional with her usual feline superiority, her one eye regarding me with what felt like judgment.

“Don’t start,” I told her. “It’s not my fault I grew a tail.”

Pixel blinked slowly, unimpressed.

I’d barely settled into browsing art school websites—my silent rebellion against the supernatural chaos of my life—when Logan appeared with a mug, the contents steaming.