Rowan healed. Aiden returned to his usual routine. Don was left without a partner. The quietude of the penthouse with Don only affected Rowan for the first month. Ultimately, he got used to it. He felt . . . better. More able to tread the complex without fear of a bristle or poisonous spike.

Sometimes there was a phantom sting in his side that made him flinch. It happened when he was practicing with Aiden, or sparring with other Loose Strings. Don had been hesitant to let him spar more openly after the incident with Durant, but Rowan proved able to hold his own in spite of the Moderator’s concerns.

Soon he would be eligible to choose a partner.

“Pick someone you feel safe with. Assume this will be a life commitment, and there will be no going back.”

“Choose someone you can argue with. Always agreeing isn’t an option, and it’s better to have a devil’s advocate to prepare you for opposition.”

“Find someone you’re okay sharing a quiet space with. Silence is hard to come by, and conversations end eventually.”

“Make sure it’s someone you agree with. Learning that they have views you can’t support will make later discussions difficult.”

The pressure to choose a partner was weighing heavily on him. ‘Choose’ was a word he heard day in and day out nowadays. He was prepared to negotiate. He was prepared to enter dangerous situations. He’d passed all those tests and exams with flying colors. His first time in a simulated event was nerve wracking, his heart pounding and his hairs standing on end, but he made it. Somehow, he had made it. His initial anxiety had kept him from the highest score, but he had still scored in the top five. He could settle for that.

But he couldn’t settle for just any partner.

“You will share abilities with them.”

“You will have no secrets from them.”

“You will learn to live with their habits.”

“You will hate them before you love them.”

It was easy for Rowan to love someone. He learned that the hard way with Aiden. There were few nights where his dreams weren’t laced with memories of his attack. Durant infiltrated even the dreams where Rowan’s parents died. He heard their screams and felt the sting and bite all over again, but it always ended with black wings surrounding him.

His heart always skipped a beat when he caught sight of black feathers now.

He managed to keep himself together enough. No one caught on to his quiet thoughts of Aiden’s wings, or of how often he thought of and recalled Aiden’s arms around him. If there was anyone he dreamt of anything resembling a partnership with . . . .

He had to keep himself from thinking these things. Aiden was already partnered. If Rowan were inhuman, or Aiden were inhuman, he could propose they partner. Two humans partnering? That was something else entirely. Even if he were inhuman, Aiden would balk at the prospect of partnering with a skinwalker.

Yes . . . Tea knew who Aiden primarily negotiated with.

Yes . . . he knew what would theoretically happen if he turned out to be a skinwalker.

The odds were not in Rowan’s favor. He wound up more and more confused, and more and more certain he and Don were to find insubstantial partners during the year. Don visibly cooled the second anyone asked if he had chosen a partner yet as well. Over their quiet meals together, where Don and Tea sat closer than before (much to Tea’s surprise, he no longer shirked from Don’s nearness), they agreed not to speak of potential partners. They instead spoke of practical things.

“You are more prepared to enter peaceful negotiations. You’ll be paired with others sufficient in fighting when you go out into the field.”

“In case something goes wrong?”

Don nodded as he ate. “You’ll see some rough situations no doubt. Don’t forget how to talk your way out though.”

Don spoke like Rowan might be lost to him if he left the sanctuary of the Red Cord, his home for the last five years. Don watched Rowan like he was already gone. It was . . . it was as disturbing as the image of Don entering his room while he was recovering to hold him.

He refused to lose him.

Don refused to lose him.

It should be a comfort, shouldn’t it? That Don cared so much? And yet somehow it felt less like care and more like being hunted. In a way, Don had always come off as a predator no matter how calm and respectful he was. No matter how supportive and complimentary. There was always an underlying meaning to every word, but Rowan could never interpret the meanings.

So he assumed they weren’t really there.

He was just imagining the bad. Maybe he was just imagining Aiden’s potential reactions too. Maybe he was imagining things going poorly because he didn’t know any better. Things had gone poorly for him in the most pivotal moments of his life though, why would that trend change now? Things were different now, weren’t they? Among the people who advocated for inhuman and human equality, things were different now right?

Right?

He sat alone in his room. He had turned fifteen recently. His jaw had started to ache, but the private doctor Don introduced him to was more puzzled over the fact that Rowan seemed to be developing physically in spite of not having a menstrual cycle. He had asked a series of questions meant to judge the level of stress Rowan was experiencing, as it was possible menstruation could be offset by physical and mental health. He lay awake at night, cupping his hurting jaw and curling up on the mattress as he considered the questions he had been asked. Perhaps the pressure on him was great enough it was stunting his growth.

By three in the morning that night though . . . he learned his growth was not stunted.

Rowan awoke with his jaw splitting, his fingertips aching with a ferocity he didn’t know possible. He had had them ache before when he managed to chew all the skin around his fingernails a bit too much. This felt much more nail based. More painful. Pair those feelings with a twisting pain in his lower abdomen and he thought for a second that he was actually going to turn out to be human. Just plain human with a menstrual cycle and everything. The relief . . . the confusion . . . .

It all fled his system when he stumbled to the bathroom and saw his eyes reflecting in the mirror before turning the light on at all.

It didn’t occur to him how easy it was for him to find his way in the dark until he saw his reflection. It didn’t occur to him that the fact he could actually see in the dark was strange. He thought he had just grown so familiar with his home with Don he could navigate, but he could actually see.

And now he could see why.

Rowan drew nearer the mirror. He stared at his reflection. He stared at his eyes, reflecting back at him like a cat’s in the night time. Like an animal . . . an animal in the dark. He reached up to brush the bags under his reflecting eyes and his jaw dropped at the pointed tips of his claws now scraping the surface of his skin. His mouth widened more and . . . his nails weren’t the only things that had sharpened.

Eyes.

Nails.

Teeth.

Reflecting . . . talons . . . fangs.

He knew what he was the moment his whimper turned into a canine whine.

And in the doorway behind him, he saw Don standing. “It’s alright, son.”

Rowan hadn’t felt such a level of fear since the night his mother died. Even as Don approached slowly, palms outstretched and open to receive him, he trembled and heard her screams. She screamed . . . monster.

Who was the monster?

Before Don was partway to him, Rowan spun around and planted his back against the wall, sliding down and letting his own wolf-like cry echo through the bathroom as he cowered against the side of the tub. He stared up at Don with pleading eyes, his whole body shaking as he recalled vividly his mother’s screams. Her final screams. “Please,” he begged between whimpers, Don paused with his palms still outstretched. “Please, don’t kill me.”

It was as he watched Don’s eyes and heard his voice he heard the change. He couldn’t put his finger on the change. It was so notable, so . . . Rowan didn’t know. He just knew Don looked . . . intense. He watched him with such intensity, he managed to kneel with intensity, how was that even possible? Don was . . . he was . . . .

He slid closer and placed a palm on Rowan’s knee. Rowan couldn’t help but jump at the quickness, the warmth of the palm. No, not warmth. Heat. The twisting in Rowan’s lower belly grew worse the moment Don answered him. “My boy, why would I kill you?” Rowan closed his eyes against the other’s touch, still shaking, still scared. He flinched as palms moved to cup his face and he braced. There was a moment where he thought this was the perfect position to execute a move Aiden had taught him but . . . he couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. He was paralyzed and Don was leaning over him now, leaning closer, pulling him closer.

There were lips on Rowan’s brow . . . .

Something wet fell against his cheek and he thought for a moment he had started to cry. But the wetness didn’t originate from his own eyes. “H-huh?”

Don’s hands were shaking now as he pressed his cheek to Rowan’s forehead. “Those are her eyes,” were the only words that Don shared with him. And in one split second Rowan knew what had changed in his eyes and voice.

It was never Rowan Don Idlewood had lost.

Rowan did want to cry then. It always sat ill with him that people stared at him but didn’t see him. They always saw her. Leah Creek was the one they had wanted, the one they always saw. And now he was more her than ever in Don’s eyes and that . . . that sent the hot tears dripping down his cheeks.

Perhaps he should share in Don’s grief. In a way, he did. But he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to remind him that he wasn’t Leah. As Don drew him into his arms, wrapping his arms around Rowan’s chest and holding him there, he wanted to say it. He couldn’t say it. All he could say was . . ., “Imissher.”

“We all do, Rowan.” Oh God, that made him cry worse. He said his name and Rowan’s stomach plummeted. Through the pain of his fangs and talons he started sobbing. He allowed himself to collapse in Don’s hold.

And in the same breath it took for Don to slide a hand up Rowan’s shirt, Rowan knew he’d fallen for a trap.

“Don-n?” he asked, his voice higher than it had ever been as the fear from before returned fully.

“I promised myself I would protect you, my boy.” His fingers came to rest just above his diaphragm, between the breasts he so carefully hid during the day. “This is the only way I know how.” And in that moment, the panic took root. In that moment, Don began his recitation. “With these strings I have stolen, I seek to take control my own fate.” Rowan went silent. “I will walk unbound by the wills of those who came before me, and I have chosen to walk with you.” It was the same hand that bore the Scorch Marks. “I will shelter, feed, and care for you, and ask that you do the same for me.” The hand that had scorched his mother would now scorch him. “Together we shall weave the threads of our lives.” Rowan choked as he opened his eyes and there they were. “Many knots,” the Fate Strings wrapped around his chest in a disproportionate harness, “one string.” They glowed through his shirt. “Never breaking,” and then they burned, “ever binding.” He withheld his pained outcry. “This shall be the mark of our bond.”

In the end, it hadn’t been his choice at all who was to be his partner.

As he unleashed the howl he had been holding in, he couldn’t help but feel as though this was the first of many choices he would not get a say in.