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Pepper's hand lifts, palm out. “Slow.”

I force my body to obey. One breath. Another. I crouch instead of lunging, keeping my hands where Ezra can see them.

"I'm here," I say.

Ezra's mouth twists. "Now."

The word sinks in deep, drawing blood.

Pepper closes her eyes for half a second, then opens them. "He said dry ground. Behind the shed or higher."

"The old burial records cabinet," I say. "And the charity plots."

Her gaze sharpens. Even wet, shaken, and kneeling by the tub, Pepper Vines looks like the person who will pull the night apart thread by thread.

"Then after he's steady," she says, "we look there."

Ezra's hand flickers under the water.

Pepper turns back to him at once. "Stay with my voice."

"I'm trying."

"I know you are." Her purr starts again, lower than before, rough from fear but steady enough to wrap the room.

Ezra's outline firms by a breath.

I stay where she told me to stay and feel the cost of every step I took away from this house while Pepper holds my mate together with wet hands and a shaking mouth. I thought I was protecting my pack. I left the heart of it on the bathroom floor.

Chapter 25

Pepper Vines

Theo stops himself in the bathroom doorway with mud on his boots and terror locked through his shoulders. His alpha fills the room, thick with leather, bourbon, and the sharp burn of fear. I see what it costs him. Every instinct in him is screaming to get his hands on Ezra, but he waits. I’m hurt that he left even if I understand why he did. Right now, my feelings have to wait because Ezra needs us.

“Look at me,” I tell Ezra.

His lashes flutter. Water runs over his shoulder, soaking his shirt until the white fabric clings to his chest. The tub is half-full around his knees. His skin looks pale beneath the bathroom light, smooth at the edges, like a photograph rubbed thin with a wet thumb.

My purr stumbles before I steady it. I press my palm against his cheek and turn his face toward mine. Rosemary lifts from my skin, green and stubborn. Vanilla warms beneath it. My omega reaches for him with scent before my fear can make me clumsy, pushing calm into the humid room until the mirror clouds and Theo’s breathing changes behind me.

“Ezra Heron,” I say, “you still owe me one gallery show and at least three coffee dates.”

His mouth twitches. “I’ll take a rain check.”

A rough sound comes from Theo.

“See?” I keep my focus on Ezra. “Even Theo objects to the phrasing.”

Ezra exhales. His outline firms by a breath.

“Theo, can you get me the dark blue towel?”

He moves at once, pulling soft cotton from the shelf. He crouches carefully beside us, holding the towel out as his hand trembles.

I catch his fingers along with the cotton. “Stay close.”

His eyes lift to mine. “I need both of you.”