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He scrambled from the bed, slamming himself against the bedroom wall. Chest heaving. Eyes ablaze. A hand splayed in my direction. “Don’t touch me.” His nostrils flared. A muscle ground in his jaw.

Then I saw that the scars didn’t just cover his back. His front was littered with them as well.

How had I not noticed this in the bath?

What I previously thought to be lines of music were scars woven into his chest, transformed into art. Into music. Unbelievable.

“Who did this to you?” I kept my voice low, controlled. Something inside me snapped, hearing the words leave my lips. A protective tremor rolled through me, causing my earth magic to stir. A feeling I had not felt before. Not like this. I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t control it. It shuddered my bones as if speaking to me, something ancient I couldn’t translate. Like it needed me to know something.

But what was it?

It was clear he felt it, too. My magic rousing.

“Stop.” His hand flew in front of him, his eyes slamming shut as if he couldn’t stand being in the same room as me for another second. He strode over to his chest of drawers, ripping one open.

My heart sank, following his movements.

Shit.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen,” I said, unsure how to proceed. Something about the situation had caused my magic to want to protect him, and knowing he had felt it caused a flare of unease to build in my stomach. “Talk to me. Please,” I pleaded. If I was to help at all, I needed to know what was going on here. It would also answer the burning question in my mind: why he ran so suddenly.

He didn’t look at me, only continued to pull on a long-sleeved top and a pair of jeans, followed by a hoodie.

Finally turning to me, the agony etched on his face spoke more than he could. “I can’t. I’m not…” His hand flew into his hair in haste, bunching up tufts of dark strands as he did so. “I can’t do this.” Then he stormed out the door.

Quick on his heels, I followed him. “Reid!” I flew down the stairs after him as he descended them in record time.

When he hit the landing, he stopped, but only to pull on his boots. He fired me a glance. “Don’t follow me.”

Was he insane? Where did he think he was going at this hour?

“Reid, it’s late. You don’t have to leave.” My voice cracked. He had to know we would all support him in whatever had happened in his past.

He reached for the doorknob, and it creaked as it opened, pulling a breath of bone-chilling air into the room. “Please.” The plea in his tone told me not to push him.

I let out a sigh. “At least tell me where you’re going,” I said quietly, trying to keep my emotions in check. Because I couldn’t face knowing he was headed out in the cold alone in this state.

He turned to look at me over his shoulder. Hesitation stalled his movements momentarily, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t.

Then he closed the door behind him.

I stood staring at it like it held all the answers. The bloodied handprint on the door was a ghostly reminder of the night’s events. I wished I could erase the night and start over.

Spinning on my heel, I headed for the laundry, filling a bucket full of suds and returned to the door. Scrubbing at it, I erased the evidence as if it could erase the night. I didn’t stop until the entire house held no evidence of his injuries.

Trudging back up the stairs, I grabbed my bag from where it still lay dumped in the hallway outside the bathroom. Taking it with me to my bedroom, I dug out my phone, noting a new message from Colt. Reid had turned up at his place. I replied, letting him know of my suspicion of his possible concussion.

Relief left me in a long breath, knowing he was at least in safe hands for the night.

When I finally slept, I dreamed of scars disguised as sheet music carved into my skin.

Reid

I hated she’d seen them. My scars, strapped to my chest so tightly I’d let no one see them besides Wesley. He’d asked no questions when I instructed him to cover them in ink. Because I’d needed the evidence gone, buried so deep no one would unearth it. Pain disguised as art. It was the only way for what happened to me to never be repeated. Because blood that healed, my blood, was hunted like a drug. Making me the bullseye, and everyone around me the potential to be collateral damage. Now I had no tonic, the risk to others had increased tenfold.

Ty’s man cave felt like coming home, even when pitch black plastered all four walls, making it feel less like a home and more like a dungeon. I guess that was the whole idea… an escape from everyone’s responsibilities. A place where we could just chill within the confines of the space and pretend the outside world didn’t exist.

I needed that more than I wanted to admit.