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My brows furrow as something occurs to me. “How many more days do we have until the full moon, Or?”
Normally, I have a countdown on my phone reminding me of it, but with everything going on, I haven’t even bothered to check the damn thing.
Orion shrugs a single shoulder, his gaze slightly distant. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine if you're already beginning to scratch your damn skin off,” Brooks snaps, though concern intermingles with the anger in his voice.
One of the first symptoms of Orion’s transition is itchy skin—like it’s too tight on his body. He’s never been able to describe this particular sensation with words, which is strange because Orion is the most eloquent man I know, constantly spouting poetics and shit.
He once said it’s like there’s something inside of him trying to break free, clawing at his skin, threatening to tear out of his chest…
I grab my phone out of my back pocket and am immediately bombarded by a notification.
TWO DAYS UNTIL FULL MOON
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us it was getting so close?” Brooks barks.
“Because I’m fine,” Orion insists, straightening slightly.
Both Brooks and I drop our gazes to his red wrist.
Step one—itchy skin.
Step two—volatile temper and constant irritation.
Step three—fits of violence.
Step four—wolf. Or werewolf, to be specific.
Fuck.
20
TWENTY: LILY
Idream of dead things—of corpses and wilted flowers and brown grass and a sky that seems more red than blue, painted with fire.
When I wake up, my heart hammering and my palms slick with sweat, there’s a silent scream on my lips, one I refuse to release.
Fragments of my dream barrage me, but as I orient myself with my new reality, they slip away, leaving me confused and slightly dazed.
Moonlight trickles through the window, illuminating the dark suite. It also highlights the three men surrounding me.
Jackson is sitting in the armchair, though it has been dragged to my bedside. His neck is twisted at an odd angle as soft snores leave his parted lips.
Orion is on the floor, having stolen a spare blanket and pillow from the closet. His long lashes flutter against his cheeks as he twists uncomfortably, obviously plagued by a bad dream.
And then there’s Brooks.
Fucking Brooks.
He’s sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, as if he meant to keep an eye on everything while his brothers slept. But sleep has claimed him as well. His head lolls against his chest, his blond hair—slightly longer than usual—falling forward to obscure his eyes from view, and his steady breathing echoes through the still air.
I sit up quietly—making sure not to disturb the three Sleeping Beauties—and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I’m still wearing the skintight red dress from before, so I make a beeline towards my suitcase first and foremost and grab out a pair of sweats and a comfy sweatshirt.
Satisfied that the three assholes are still asleep, I move towards the bathroom and quietly shut the door. Only when the lock clicks into place—and there’s not a risk of Brooks, Orion, or Jackson seeing me—do I allow tremors to rock my body as the full truth of what I learned washes over me.
