Not The First

The hallway felt too quiet after everything, my own breath loud in my ears. That awful sound from Ethan's room still crawling under my skin. I didn't want to leave. Every part of me wanted to shove past what Tally said but her furious look had already told me exactly what would happen if I tried to ignore her.

‎I walked hesitantly away from the door, my mind still tangled around the sound of Ethan falling apart. Part of me was filled with pity while the other part was curious. The elevator carried me back up in silence and I stepped out into the wide hall above, following the sound of voices and low music until I found them in what looked like a sitting room.

‎Andy looked up first, a card fanned out in one hand.

‎"There she is," he said, like he'd been waiting for me. "I hope Tally isn't giving you a hard time?"

‎I didn't answer that. I wasn't sure of what to say.

‎Matthias didn't even look up from his cards, just smirked at the table like he already knew something I didn't.

‎"You should not worry about Tally. She's not that bad."

‎"Well..." I folded my arms. "I doubt that."

‎"Sit," Andy said, kicking a cushion out with his foot, making a space beside him like it was the easiest thing in the world. "We're playing. You're in?"

‎I sat gently, still half listening for something, anything, from the floor below.

‎"Come on," Matthias said, finally glancing up, the same too interested look from earlier flickering in his eyes.

‎"So," I said, finally picking up some of the cards. "Does this happen a lot? Him... whatever that was?"

‎The table went quiet.

‎Andy's eyes flicked towards Matthias, like a reflex he couldn't stop.

‎Matthias's face changed. The smile was gone, replaced with something heavier. His jaw tightened and his eyes darkened than they'd been a second ago. He looked like someone remembering something he wished he could forget.

‎"Matthias?" I pressed, when no one answered.

‎Matthias dropped the cards in his hand, standing up to his feet, his mood already broken.

‎He sighed heavily, avoiding my gaze. "I'd tell you the truth."

‎"Matthias—" Andy tried to stop him.

‎"Ethan is dangerous. So you better leave while you can."

‎He walked out before I could respond. No smirk, no last glance over his shoulder, nothing like the Matthias from an hour ago.

‎I turned to Andy, who seemed to be the lost of words.

‎"What did he mean by that?"

‎Andy adjusted himself, ready to pour out something heavy.

‎"You're not the first slave he bought."

‎I didn't say anything.

‎Just sat there, allowing the words settle somewhere in my chest, uninvited. My face must have given something away, because Andy's expression softened like he regretted saying it the second it left his mouth.

‎*Not the first.*

‎So what happened to the others?

‎I kept my expression still, already doubting my thoughts about Ethan been different from his deadly father, Darius.

‎The silence had stayed too long and my curiosity won't let me rest. 

‎"So what ha—"

‎"They all died." Andy cut me short.

‎I gasped, the sound slipping out before I could stop, my whole body going still.

‎"What—" I muttered.

‎"Whenever the poison flares up, he becomes—" Andy stopped, like the word itself was something he didn't want to let out. His eyes dropped to the table.

‎"Brutal," he said at last. Quiet and final.

‎The word sat heavy in the air between us.

‎Brutal.

‎I thought of the way his hand had lingered on my seatbelt, careful and slow. The way he'd laughed at my stupid joke about doorvators, the sound surprised out of him like it wasn't something he let out often. The way he'd looked at that crooked, hand-painted constellation like it embarrassed him to be caught caring about anything at all.

‎And now I was supposed to believe that same person had killed people. People like me.

‎Something in my chest cracked, quiet and unwelcome. I hated how much it hurt. I hated that I'd let myself believe, even for an hour, that this house might actually be different.

‎Tally stumbled into the room before I could untangle any of it.

‎Blood soaked through the long sleeve of her arm, dark and wet, dripping steadily onto the floor. Her face had gone pale, drawn, the kind of pale that came from losing too much too fast. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

‎Andy didn't even flinch.

‎That was what broke something loose in me, not the blood, not Tally swaying where she stood, but the fact that Andy just watched her like this was routine. Like he'd seen this exact scene enough times that his body had stopped reacting to it.

‎I stood up so fast the chair nearly tipped behind me.

‎"Selene—" Andy started, but I was already moving, already past him, already at the elevator with my hand slamming against the button before he could finish whatever warning he was about to give me.

‎I didn't care anymore what Matthias had said. I didn't care what Ethan had done or what he might do. Something in me needed to see him, needed to know for myself, and no warning from anyone in this house was going to stop me.

‎The elevator felt too slow.

‎When it finally opened, I ran.

‎The door to his room stood half open, and the first thing I saw was the blood that smeared across the floor, dark against the wood, too much of it. Ethan was on the ground, curled in on himself, claws dug into his own forearms like he was trying to hold his body together with his hands. Groaning. Tearing at himself in a way that made my stomach turn.

‎Whatever Matthias had told me, whatever Andy hadn't been able to say, none of it mattered the second I saw him like this.

‎I dropped to my knees beside him.

‎"Ethan." My hands hovered over him, unsure where it was safe to touch, unsure if he'd even know I was there. "Ethan, look at me."

‎He didn't. His whole body was shaking, claws digging deeper, blood welling up dark under his fingertips.

‎I didn't think. I just moved.

‎I pulled him toward me, guiding his head into my lap, my hands finding his wrists and gently, carefully, easing his claws away from his own skin. He fought me for a second, his instinct, maybe, or pain too big to reason with. But I held on, whispering the only thing I had.

‎"It's alright. It's alright, I'm here."

‎I rubbed slow circles against his chest, feeling his heart slamming underneath my palm, too fast, too hard. I didn't think about what Andy had said. I didn't think about the people he might have hurt, the ones who hadn't survived whatever this was. In that moment there was only him, shaking apart in my arms, and some old, foolish part of me that wanted to hold every piece of him together anyway.

‎"You're okay," I whispered, over and over, my fingers moving through his hair now, gentle, steady. "I'm not going anywhere. Just breathe."

‎Slowly, so slowly I almost didn't believe it. His shaking eased. His claws retracted, skin knitting back over what had been torn open. His breathing evened out beneath my hand. And when he finally lifted his head to look at me, his eyes had gone back to gold. Warm. Human, almost, in the way that mattered.

‎For one second, neither of us moved.

‎Then he pulled away from me so fast I nearly fell forward into the space he'd left.

‎He was on his feet before I could react, putting distance between us, his face twisted with something I couldn't name, anger, maybe, or fear, or both tangled together.

‎"What are you doing here?" His voice came out rough, sharp. "Do you understand what could have happened? I could have hurt you. I could have *killed* you, Selene."

‎"I know," I said quietly.

‎"You don't—"

‎"I know," I said again, steadier this time. "I know about the poison. I know what it does to you."

‎That stopped him cold.

‎"Matthias told you."

‎I nodded.

‎His jaw worked, something bitter crossing his face. "Then he told you everything. That I'm the reason his lover girl is dead. That when it triggers, I don't get to choose who I hurt."

‎He said it flat, cold, like reciting a fact he'd made peace with a long time ago even though nothing about his face looked at peace with it at all.

‎"It's not too late for you to leave," he added, quieter now, and somehow that was worse than the shouting.

‎He turned and walked out before I could answer, already saying something about his father's arrival, already pulling the mask back over his face like it had never slipped in the first place.

‎I followed him anyway.

‎We didn't head back toward the sitting room. He led me down another corridor entirely, and it was somewhere in that walk — watching his shoulders square, his steps go steady and sure, every trace of what I'd just witnessed vanishing like it had never happened, that a thought started forming in the back of my mind.

‎Why would Tally stay in a house like this, knowing exactly what he was?

‎Why would Matthias who had lost someone he loved to Ethan's own hands — still choose to remain under his roof, still play cards in his sitting room, still warn me and still *stay*?

‎Maybe they weren't just afraid of him.

‎Maybe it was something else. Maybe—

‎I didn't get to finish the thought. We'd reached a wide dining hall, long table set with more wine than food, and there, at the head of it, sat Darius.

‎I felt the bond before I understood it, some quiet, unshakable thread running through this house, through all of them, tying itself around Ethan no matter what he did or what it cost him. Watching him walk toward his father now, spine straight, chin lifted, not a hint of the boy who'd been bleeding on his floor twenty minutes ago. I felt something twist in my chest.

‎How many times had he done this? Fallen apart in private and stitched himself back together just in time to face this man?

‎We sat. I kept my eyes anywhere but on Darius.

‎"Enjoying your stay, Selene?" he asked, swirling the wine in his glass, that same mocking warmth in his voice I remembered from twelve years of hearing it.

‎I forced a smile and nodded, saying nothing.

‎Then Ethan's hand closed around my arm, pulling it firmly against his lap, and a sharp, startling warmth shot through me at the contact.

‎"She's mine now," he said, voice even, confident, daring his father to argue. "You came for the code, right?"

‎Darius took a slow sip of his wine. "I did."

‎Ethan's gaze slid toward the row of armed men standing at the edges of the hall, and he scoffed. "You didn't need to bring an army."

‎"This isn't an army." Darius smiled, leaning slightly toward him. "Just twenty men. If I brought an army, Ethan, it would be thousands."

‎They looked at each other, and for one unsettling second, they both smiled the same smile, father and son, like something shared and ugly and old.

‎Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded letter, sliding it across the table.

‎"Everything you need is in there," he said. "I'd appreciate it if you left now."

‎Darius took the letter, tucked it into his coat without opening it, and rose from his seat unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

‎"I'm coming back," he said, pausing at the edge of the table. "Not alone this time. With an army. To claim back my slave."

‎His eyes flicked to me, slow and deliberate, before he turned and walked out leaving the words hanging over the table like something poisonous all their own.