“We were always meant for each other, Calla,” he said, and I shivered, feeling as if he’d read my mind. “Let me show you what it could be like.” His lips barely touched mine. I couldn’t resist any longer and let my fingers trace the contours of his chest. He growled softly, twisting his hands in my damp hair as he kissed me. My fingers slid down, skimming his abdomen, finding the edge of the towel wrapped around his hips. He kissed me harder, urging me on.

The bathroom door swung open and Connor swaggered in, shirtless and wearing pajama pants, with a towel slung over one shoulder. He stopped whistling when he caught sight of Ren’s bare back and me pressed up against the wall.

“Oh gods! My eyes!” Connor covered his face. “My innocence!”

“Shut up, Connor,” I said, both relieved and disappointed by the interruption. I squirmed out from under Ren, pretty much leapt across the open area to the dressing room door, and flung myself inside. Pulling on my clothes in a rush before fleeing from the bathroom, I was mortified. As I hurried down the hall, past more sleepy-eyed Searchers heading for a hot shower, I tried to tell myself I couldn’t still hear Connor laughing.

TEN

MY STOMACH WAS RUMBLING, but I was still on edge from my chance encounter with Ren in the baths. I couldn’t risk running into Shay when my feelings were so scattered . . . and when it was likely Ren’s scent was clinging to my skin.

Damn it, Calla. Why can’t you stay away from him? From either of them?

I’d learned how powerful desire was, and love even more so, but it still frustrated me that I could lose control when my blood ran hot.

Since I’d nixed the idea of joining the Haldis team for breakfast, I headed into the courtyard in search of fresh fruit. Considering how early it was, I was surprised to find Ansel picking oranges from a small grove.

“Morning.” He smiled at me.

“Any chance I could get one of those?” I said, pointing at his half-full basket.

“Sure.” He tossed me one.

“You’re up early.” I began to peel the orange.

His shoulders tensed. “Sleeping isn’t easy.”

I chewed on a segment of the fruit, enjoying the bright burst of citrus on my tongue. The orange was juicy, perfect.

Ansel stayed quiet, pulling oranges off the branches.

“You seem better,” I said slowly.

“Do I?”

I coughed, choking a little on the orange juice. Ansel’s voice had that tinny quality that had made my bones ache when we’d first learned how the Keepers had punished him.

“You’re not . . . feeling okay?” I asked.

He turned to face me. While his eyes weren’t hollow, the way they’d been in Denver, they were hopeless.

“I’ll never be okay, Calla,” he said, turning an orange in his hands. “Not really.”

“But . . .” I stared at him, wishing he wouldn’t say things like that. Wanting to believe this was some sort of self-pity . . . but I knew it wasn’t. “But Bryn.”

“I love Bryn,” he said. “And I can’t stand seeing her in pain.”

I watched his face. He looked older than the little brother I knew. Older and angrier.

“You’re pretending to be okay so you don’t hurt her.”

He nodded. “She seems to think she still loves me. I tried to break it off, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“Don’t you want to be with her?” I asked.

“I’ll always love her,” Ansel said. “But I’m not a good match for her. She deserves more.”

“How can you say that?” I wanted to scream at him but with a lot of effort forced an even tone. “You’re the same person.”

“I’m not.” Ansel squeezed the orange, his fingernails digging into its peel. “Believe me. I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” I said. “And Bryn loves you.”

“I’m not her equal, not anymore. You can’t have a match without a true partnership. You of all people should understand that.”

“Of course I do.” I frowned. “But you’re wrong about this. I already told you, Searchers and Guardians have been together in the past. They’ve had families.”

“I know.” Ansel’s smile was spiteful. “I’ve heard. From you. From Tess. Searchers and Guardians. Monroe and Corrine. Him and her, her and him.”

“So what’s the problem?” I’d crushed the rest of the orange segments in my fist. Juice leaked out between my knuckles. “It works. That was real love, real partnerships. People died for them.”

“It’s not the same,” he said, lowering his gaze.

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t born a Searcher. I don’t have their power.” He looked at me again, gray eyes furious like a storm. “All I am is less than what I was. And I can’t ever be more. Eventually Bryn will realize that. And she’ll leave. It will be for the best.”

“What if she doesn’t?” I stared at the pulped mess of orange lying in my palm and felt like I could be staring at Ansel’s ravaged heart. “What if she wants to be with you and have a family?”

“Where I’d play dad to a pack of wolf pups?”

“That’s how it works,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “Tess explained that whole essence-of-the-mother thing. But the biology or magic or whatever it is doesn’t matter. It’s not whether Bryn and I are able to be together or make a family. It’s about whether we should be.”

“Just give it time, Ansel.” I didn’t know what else to say. I hated the desperation in his voice, the finality.

“I promise I’ll never hurt Bryn,” he said. “I won’t tell her how I really feel. I’ll be with her when she needs me, and when she wants to, I’ll let her go.”

We stood there, staring at each other. There was nothing else to say.

Ansel smiled, all emptiness, handing me another orange. “You still need to eat your breakfast. You murdered the first orange.”

“Thanks.” I managed to push the word past the thickness of my throat.

“There you are!” Bryn’s voice turned me around. She was skipping up the path, beaming. “Sorry—I took an extra-long shower. All-natural heaven! The Searchers really should find a way to market that stuff. I’m going to talk to Tess about it. Smell my skin—I’m roses and thyme!”