Still a bit chilled, but no longer freezing, I emerge from the shower, dress myself in Julian's slightly-too-large clothes, and rejoin the others in the living area. As I do, a host of smells wash over me that tell me two things: first, I've been spared my toaster-waffle fate; second, Freya is here.

She stands at the stove, apron-clad and spatula in hand, and when she spots me she drops her utensil and crosses the room in a few quick steps, catching me in another of her signature death-hugs.

I return it as best I can, and wait for her to let me breathe.

"Oh, Nono," she says, using the childhood nickname she used to call me. "What in hell happened? You were so happy the other night—both of you. I might not have found it for myself yet, but I damn-well know love when I see it, and that man is in love with you. So what fool thing has he gone an' done?"

She releases me, pushing me away to arm's length to study my face.

"I'm not sure," I admit, blinking against the sting in my eyes.

The night before last, Ambrose had been so intense and passionate, and then so caring and sweet. All of that had changed after I found him with Brutus, though, and I didn't know why. Then he'd grown distant and detached, withdrawing into himself and leaving me—literally—out in the dark.

"Well, let's get some food in you and then you tell us everything, got it?"

I nod, although honestly there isn't much to tell.

Freya steers me to the dining area, where Dane and Julian already wait (Julian having been banished from the kitchen), while Dougal sleeps in a contented sprawl at their feet, belly full at last.

A number of dishes are already on the table, and as I lift the cover of one to peer inside, Freya explains that Grace made most of it.

"Damn, but that girl can cook," she exclaims, returning to the stove and whipping scrambled eggs before pouring them into a hot pan. "I don't know how she's stays so damn skinny eating like this, though. I think I gained five pounds just from looking at it."

Under the various lids I discover a smoked trout hash with russet potatoes, biscuits and gravy, and pecan sticky buns. A moment later, Freya brings over a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs made with sour cream and dill and a steaming pot of fresh coffee.

"Well, help yourself," she commands, pushing the plates towards me. "Good thing I took Gracie up on her offer to share all this. Toaster waffles," she scoffs.

"I like toaster-waffles," Julian mutters, and Dane, who's been absently rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, gives him a gentle squeeze but wisely keeps his mouth shut.

Obediently, I serve myself a plate and the others follow suit, and for a while we just sit and eat. I know the food is delicious, but my appetite is strangely muted, and I barely taste any of it, earning looks of disapproval and concern from Freya when I don't finish what's on my plate and refuse her offer of a second helping.

"Alright, so spill it," she says, leaning back with her arms crossed when I finally push my plate away, having taken only a few bites of each dish. "What happened?"

I tell her, leaving nothing out, but it doesn't take long.

I got home, found my stuff on the lawn, got thrown out by my Mate, and spent a night being pathetic in the rain.

Freya frowns when I finish and eyes me thoughtfully. "So, he figured something out," she says. "After you found him with the body he got some idea—what was it he said? That he was gonna 'check on something,' right?'

"Something he had to 'look into,'" I confirm, "yeah."

"So, whatever that was, it scared him into thinking he had to push you away for your own good. That's the only thing that makes sense, right? I mean...right?"

She looks between Dane, Julian, and me, waiting for us to confirm her hypothesis.

It's what I want to believe, and it's the only explanation I can live with. I just don't quite have the faith to say so right now.

"For his sake, I hope so," Dane says. "It's clear that he and Noah are Mates—one glance was enough to see that—but maybe that doesn't mean as much to a dragon as it does to a Wolf."

He casts an apologetic look my way.

"I don't get it," Freya says. "What could be so bad that he'd push you away now, Nono? From what I've heard, a lot of messed-up shit has already gone down, and none of that flipped his switch from hot to cold. He was practically undressing you with his eyes at dinner the other night. Nearly put me off my salad, matter of fact." She pulls an exaggerated face and takes a gulp of coffee. "So what gives?"

"I don't know," I admit, chewing my lip. "Sometimes I feel like I've known Ambrose my whole life; other times I feel like he's a mystery I'll never solve. Sometimes he's so gentle and loving, and other times..." I hesitate, not wanting to admit it—even to myself—but it needs to be said if we're going to figure this out. "Other times he almost scares me."

Haltingly, I explain about the few times Ambrose has almost gone too far, or been a little too intense or too demanding, and about the weirdly possessive stuff he'd said the other night in the car.

"It's almost like... almost like..."

"Almost like he's two different people?" Freya suggests. "You think this 'Ainach' dude—dragon—whatever—has been possessing him all along?"

I shake my head. "No. It's more like, as he puts it, he has two natures—human and dragon, and sometimes the dragon gets the upper hand. So far he's always been able to rein it in, but..."

Dane takes a deep breath, and I can sense him making an effort to keep his alpha protectiveness in check, while Julian eyes me with a look of pity and understanding that hurts.

"Noah... you know that kinda sounds like a lot of red flags, right?" Freya asks gently, leaning across the table to place her hand over mine. "I mean...maybe it's for the—"

"No!" I interrupt with a vehemence that surprises everyone—myself included. After a moment of shocked silence, I continue in my usual, softer tone, withdrawing my hand from Freya's grasp and keeping my eyes fixed on the table in front of me. "No. I admit that Ambrose has...alarmed me a few times, and I know how it sounds. I know that I've just come from a bad thing with Thom, and what kind of pattern that might look like. But this is different."

Another round of concerned looks stokes my annoyance into anger and defensiveness, and I finally lift my eyes to meet those of my family. 

"I can't explain it," I tell them. "I just know that Ambrose—whatever he is—is my heart's Mate. If he rejects me, I can't help that, but it doesn't change the fact that I... that I love him, and I can't let him go so easily.

I finish in a whisper and  keep my expression as blank as I can.

No one says anything for a moment, and then Julian sighs and sits up a little straighter in his chair.

"Alright. Give me another half-hour, and I'll be ready to read that ring."

~ ☾ ~

Dane and I clean up the breakfast mess in silence. I can tell he's got stuff he wants to say, but he keeps quiet, probably insecure in his ability to find the right words. I wait, knowing he'll work up to it eventually, and finally, as I'm drying the last plate he's handed me, he speaks.

"Noah..." He stops and sighs, setting his hand on my arm. "Listen...I won't tell you what to do. Your heart's your own. Just remember that Julian and Freya and I—Mom and Dad, our brothers and sisters, too—we all love you. Don't forget that, okay?"

I nod, unable to speak, and he pats my arm before leaving me alone.

I know what he means, and what he's afraid of.

If a Wolf loses a Mate—whether to death, rejection, or some other force—and if that Wolf won't let that Mate go, then eventually that Wolf will fall prey to the 'Devouring.'

A loss of appetite and an unshakable chill are the first signs, followed by deep fatigue and a sapped will. The Wolf will take Wolf-form to dull the pain, but it doesn't ease the rest of it. The only cures are to 'let go' of the lost Mate—something not every Wolf can do—or the Mate's return. Eventually, most Wolves afflicted in this way simply curl up, go to sleep, and never rise again.

That won't happen to me though. The only reason I'm cold is that I spent the night outside in the rain, and the only reason I'm not hungry is that I'm upset. It can't be the Devouring so soon—because that would mean that Ambrose has truly rejected me, and I can't believe that.

Not yet.

~ ☾ ~

"Okay," Julian sighs, "you guys know the drill. Try not to touch me or interfere, but if it gets really bad, just get the ring away from me. Breaking contact breaks the trance. Got it?"

"Yup," Dane nods.

He's also got a fuzzy blanket, a bottle of water, a bucket, and a couple of painkillers at the ready. Julian's reactions to reading objects is usually mild, but Dane has witnessed the worst case scenario before, and he isn't taking any chances with the furniture—especially not after a breakfast of smoked trout hash.

"Okay, here goes," Julian says, staring down at the ring where it rests on the coffee table in front of him, the dull metal coated with a kind of waxy sheen that I imagine is, unfortunately, more Brutus residue. Taking a deep breath, he reaches out, hesitates with his fingers a few centimetres above the ring, then shuts his eyes and picks it up.

For a moment he gives no outward sign, but gradually the rhythm and sound of his breath begin to change, becoming louder and deep, the way Brutus had breathed through his impressively hairy nose. His eyes move behind his closed lids, as if he's dreaming, and his lips move, though I can't hear what he says.

His sudden loud laugh startles us all—a sort of triumphant cackle that I can imagine Brutus might have made when he knew he had a business rival by the throat, or had discovered a juicy bit of scandal he could use to his advantage. A moment later, though, it becomes a sound of fear.

Julian's breath catches and quickens, and he presses himself back into the couch cushions as though trying to retreat.

"You... No.... Not you..." he rasps. "Please... I won't... I won't tell... I—"

He starts to shake and gasp, then seizes—head thrown back and the veins in his neck standing out blue against his pale skin. As he begins to hyperventilate and then suddenly stops breathing, Dane swears.

He stands, grasps Julian's wrist and forces his hand open with an effort. Taking the ring, he hands it off to Freya and then sits beside Julian and pulls him into his arms even as he continues to shake and convulse, but thankfully begins to breathe once more.

Freya and I look on with wide eyes until at last he calms, his gasps becoming shallow hiccoughs, and finally subsiding altogether as he stills. Dane continues to hold him for a while, rocking slightly and whispering near his ear, until Julian takes a deep slow breath and opens his eyes.

"Hey, beautiful," Dane says softly, running a finger over his flushed lips. "Why you always gotta scare me like that? You okay?"

Julian nods, but makes no other move, shutting his eyes again and resting his head against Dane's chest.

Dane looks up at Freya and me with a slight frown. "Maybe, uh...give us a few minutes, would you?"

Freya nods readily but doesn't move, continuing to watch Julian as if he's a fascinating new animal at the zoo.

I touch her arm. "I think he means 'alone,' Frey," I suggest.

"What? Oh! Of course." Freya rises, and I follow her outside.

To be honest, I'm all too willing to retreat. My brother's love for his mate is on full display, and it's making my chest hurt.

It's stopped raining, and we sit on the porch step while Dougal runs through the tall grass, getting soaked again and probably picking up every tick within half a kilometer.

Just when the cold is starting to get to me again, Dane calls us back inside. There's no sign of Julian.

"He's resting," Dane explains unhappily. "He says Brutus wasn't caught by surprise, and that he was terrified. He knew he was going to die, and he knew who killed him. Apparently, he was trying to run away, but he could barely move. Julian thinks he might have been poisoned."

"Who... Who was it?" I ask reluctantly.

Dane shrugs and frowns. "Julian says he didn't see. It seems like Brutus was up and about that night, having a drink, and he interrupted something. He thought he'd cornered the thief, but it was dark. Then the person spoke, and Brutus recognized the voice. Julian said all he got after that was sheer terror—Brutus trying to run and knowing he was doomed, the sharp pain of the blow, and then... Well, I guess he didn't die instantly, after all."

He pauses and scrubs the back of his hand over his brow. "Unfortunately, all he can say for sure is that Brutus was terrified of whoever killed him, and that there was only one word in Brutus' mind fit to describe whoever it was."

"Which is?" Freya asks when Dane pauses again.

He hesitates, and then looks at me.

"Monster."