Chapter 7

I stared at my bedroom ceiling, my fingertips still tracing the phantom pressure on my neck. The house had gone quiet after I fled Luca's room, like the air itself was holding its breath. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe I was losing my mind.

At that moment, my phone buzzed with a text from Mom.

Dad and I wrapped up early. We'll be home tonight instead of tomorrow. Hope you kids didn't burn the house down!

Perfect. Just what I needed, our parents walking into whatever supernatural disaster was unfolding under our roof.

I launched myself off the bed and into action. There is blood in the entryway. That was priority one. I grabbed cleaning supplies from the hall closet and attacked the dark smears with bleach and paper towels.

"Motherfucking werewolf," I muttered, jamming a soaked towel into the bucket. "Couldn't keep his furry ass problems to himself."

I moved through the house like a crime scene cleaner, erasing evidence of whatever had happened earlier. The whole time, Luca's door remained shut there is no sound or even no movement. For all I knew, he could be fully transformed in there, gnawing on someone's femur.

A strange unease coiled in my chest as I glanced at his door for the hundredth time. Whatever. Not my problem. I dumped the bucket of pinkish water down the drain and rinsed it clean, my hands stinging from the bleach.

By the time I heard tires on the gravel driveway, my hands were red and raw from cleaning products, but the house was spotless. I'd almost convinced myself I wasn't worried. I was furious. There's a difference.

"Lily!" Mom swept in dropping bags in the entryway and examining the space. "Where's Luca?"

Of course. First words out of her mouth and it's about him.

"Upstairs," I said, accepting her stiff hug. "Sleeping, I think."

Dad lugged in their suitcases. "Everything okay while we were gone? House still standing? No parties, right?"

"All good," I lied, helping them unpack groceries they'd picked up on the way home.

"How's the application to Stanford coming along?" Mom asked without looking at me, arranging vegetables in the refrigerator. "Did you finish that essay?"

"I'm working on it." I tried to keep my voice neutral.

"Working on it?" She stopped, turning to face me with that familiar disappointment in her eyes. "Lily, we talked about this. Those essays need to be perfect if you want any chance at a top-tier school. You know the early decision deadline is approaching fast."

"I know, Mom."

"Luca's already submitted his applications," Dad noted, unpacking the third bag. "All eight of them. Full rides to four schools already on the table."

"Wow, that's amazing for Luca," I said, forcing the words through gritted teeth. Because saying anything else would trigger a twenty-minute lecture on why I couldn't be more like my "brother"—perfect Luca with his perfect grades and perfect extracurriculars and perfect everything—except for that minor issue of being a literal monster.

"You could have those opportunities too if you'd just apply yourself," Mom said, her voice taking on that familiar edge. "You've got potential, Lily. You just don't use it."

Not like Luca.

"Speaking of Luca," I said, desperate to change the subject, "shouldn't someone check on him? He hasn't eaten all day."

Mom waved dismissively. "That boy can sleep through anything. Remember when he slept through that earthquake last year? Besides, he probably studied himself into exhaustion again. Unlike some people in this house."

The jab wasn't even subtle anymore. I focused on unpacking the groceries, biting my tongue. Ten years of this, ten years of being measured against Luca Archer and coming up short. When he'd first moved in, I thought we'd form a team against my parents. Instead, he'd become their golden child while I remained the perpetual disappointment.

Dinner was quiet. at least on my end. Mom and Dad filled the silence with stories from their business trip, occasionally peppering me with questions about college applications and SAT prep. Their usual subtle pressure campaign.

"So," Mom said, spearing a cherry tomato, "does Luca have a girlfriend?"

I nearly choked on my water. "What?"

"Does Luca have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend? We don't judge."

"I—I don't think so?" I sputtered. "Why?"

Mom sighed dramatically. "Come on, you're the closest thing he has to a sibling. Boys his age, hormones are wild. If he doesn't have a girlfriend or boyfriend, he'll get all moody and repressed. That's how acne starts, you know."

As if Luca's theoretical acne would be a national tragedy.

"Mom. Can you not talk about his hormones at the dinner table?"

Dad snorted. "Well, if he doesn't come down in the next minute, he won't have any hormones left. Go get him."

I stood, trying to think of ways to fake a stomach ache. But then Luca strolled in, his hair was damp from a shower, face freshly shaved, wearing a simple black t-shirt that clung to shoulders that seemed impossibly broader than they'd been this morning.

How dare he look so normal when nothing was normal anymore?

"There he is!" Mom's face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. The smile she gave him was at least three times brighter than any she'd ever directed at me. "We were just talking about your love life."

"Were you?" Luca raised an eyebrow, gaze sliding to mine as he took his seat. "Fascinating topic."

"Lily says you don't have a girlfriend."

"Lily doesn't know everything about me." His voice dropped lower, the words carrying a double meaning that made heat creep up my neck.

"How are those scholarship applications coming along?" Dad asked him, passing the salad. "You know the Fulbright deadline is next month."

"All submitted," Luca replied smoothly, helping himself to steak. "I had Ms. Jenkins review my personal statement again. She thinks I have a strong chance."

"That's our boy!" Dad clapped him on the shoulder, beaming with pride I'd rarely seen directed my way. "Always ahead of the game."

"Maybe you could help Lily with her Stanford essay," Mom suggested. "She's still working on it."

I gripped my fork so hard my knuckles went white. "I don't need help."

"Of course you don't," Luca said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "But I'm happy to look it over if you want. We could make it a weekend project."

He smiled at me, that same perfect smile he always used around my parents, the smile that made them think he was just the most helpful, supportive brother a girl could ask for. The smile that made them wonder why I couldn't just get along with such a wonderful young man.

If only they knew what I'd seen today.

"I think I'll manage," I muttered.

"Have you applied for any scholarships yet, Lily?" Dad asked, his tone making it clear he already knew the answer.

"Not yet."

"You know, when Luca was a junior—"

"I know, Dad," I cut him off. "When Luca was a junior, he'd already lined up three scholarships and cured cancer in his spare time."

"Hey," Luca interjected smoothly. "She's doing her best. SAT scores came back great, right, Lily?"

My parents turned expectant gazes on me, and I realized what he was doing. Setting me up to admit my scores weren't as good as his. The bastard.

"They were fine," I said tightly.

"Better than fine," he continued, smiling that infuriating smile. "Only fifty points lower than mine, right? That's impressive."

Mom and Dad nodded, but I could see the calculation in their eyes. Fifty points lower. Not quite good enough. Never quite good enough.

I escaped into silence, pushing food around my plate. Luca ate like nothing was wrong, laughing at all the right moments in Dad's stories, asking Mom intelligent questions about her presentation, being the perfect son they'd always wanted.

When had he gotten so good at pretending? How long had he been hiding what he was?

And why couldn't I stop thinking about the way his teeth had felt against my skin?

****

Later that night, I lay curled on my bed, scrolling absently through messages from Naomi. She'd sent seventeen texts apologizing about Ethan, but I couldn't bring myself to respond. Everything that happened before today seemed distant, like it had happened to someone else.

My phone pinged with a new message.

From Luca.

I stared at the notification, heart suddenly racing. What could he possibly have to say after what happened? Sorry I almost ate you? Werewolves anonymous meets on Thursdays?

I tapped the screen.

And nearly dropped my phone.

"Oh my GOD!" I gasped, fumbling with the device like it had suddenly caught fire. "He sent me a NAKED picture?!"

I slammed the phone face-down on my comforter, heart hammering against my ribs. What kind of sick game was he playing?

After a moment of panic, I slowly turned the phone back over, peeking through splayed fingers at the screen.

I exhaled in relief, then immediately felt like an idiot for overreacting.

It was definitely Luca, definitely without a shirt, the photograph taken in what appeared to be the bathroom mirror. His body was half-turned, revealing defined muscles I'd never noticed before and—

I looked closer.

Long, angry scratches ran across his ribs and down his side, already half-healed but clearly recent. The skin around them was bruised, mottled purple and yellow, like someone had taken a baseball bat to him after all.

Beneath the photo was a single line of text:

This is what you were so worried about. Happy now?