Valor fumbled with the door handle. He stumbled out, nearly tripping over his own feet. Tesse sighed, rounding the car to grab his arm. He was heavy, a dead weight of muscle and bone leaning entirely against her.
"I got it, I got it," he protested weakly, but his legs were rubber.
"Just walk," Tesse commanded, dragging him toward the front door.
They navigated the foyer, the stairs, the endless hallway. Tesse was sweating by the time they reached his door. She pushed it open, revealing his room—a chaotic mirror of her own pristine sanctuary. Clothes were piled on the chair; books were scattered on the floor. It smelled of him—cedar, rain, and now, the sharp tang of tequila.
"Okay," Tesse said, hauling him toward the bed. "You're home. Go to sleep."
She tried to dump him onto the mattress, to let gravity do the rest.
But Valor didn't let go.
As he fell back onto the bed, his hand shot out, grabbing Tesse's forearm. The momentum jerked her forward. She lost her balance, stumbling, her knees hitting the edge of the mattress.
She landed on top of him.
The air left her lungs in a startled *whoosh*.
For a heartbeat, there was only confusion. Tangled limbs, the softness of the duvet, the hardness of his chest.
Tesse scrambled to push herself up. "Let go, Valor!"
"No," he groaned. His eyes were open now, dark and dilated, fixed on her face. "Don't go. Don't leave me again."
He wrapped his other arm around her waist, locking her in place. It wasn't a violent grip; it was a desperate one, the clinginess of a drowning man finding a piece of driftwood.
"Valor, you are drunk," Tesse said, panic rising in her chest. She pushed against his shoulders, but he was strong, surprisingly strong even in his stupor. "This is inappropriate. Let me go."
"Why?" he whispered. He lifted a hand, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. His touch was scorching hot against her cool skin. "Nobody is here. Just us. It's always just us."
"We are step-siblings," Tesse said, the words trembling. "Think about what you're doing."
"I don't care about titles," Valor murmured. He shifted beneath her, his hips bucking slightly, instinctively. The friction sent a shockwave through Tesse's body that she hadn't prepared for. It was a visceral, chemical reaction—a betrayal of her own biology.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. She looked down at him. His face was flushed, his lips parted. He looked beautiful and broken.
"Tesse," he breathed. "I love you. I never stopped."
He pulled her down.
Tesse's resistance faltered. Just for a second.
It was the alcohol fumes, the adrenaline, the exhaustion of a year spent building walls. It was the ghost of the girl who had loved him, rising up to claim what she had always wanted.
His hand slid down her back, pressing her closer. His breath, hot and heavy, ghosted over her lips. He wasn't seeing his stepsister. He was seeing the girl in the hallway with the books. He was seeing the girl in the rain.
"Valor," she whispered, her voice breaking.
He took that as permission.
He surged up, capturing her lips in a kiss that was messy, desperate, and devastating. It tasted of salt and tequila. It wasn't gentle. It was a collision of grief and desire.
Tesse froze. Her brain screamed *stop*, but her body went rigid, paralyzed by the sheer overwhelming reality of it. He was kissing her. Valor was kissing her.
His hand moved, sliding from her waist to her hip, his fingers digging into the silk of her dress. He groaned into her mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated need. He shifted again, trying to roll her over, trying to deepen the contact, trying to bury himself in the only comfort he understood.
The movement snapped the trance.
The shifting of the mattress, the heat of his skin, the reality of where they were—in his father's house, down the hall from her mother's room—crashed into Tesse like a bucket of ice water.
*This is wrong.*
It wasn't just wrong; it was destructive. It was the final nail in the coffin of their normalcy. If this happened, there was no going back. There was no college, no future, no family dinners. There was only ruin.
Tesse gasped, tearing her mouth away from his.
"No!"
She slammed her hands against his chest. It wasn't a gentle push. It was a shove fueled by terror and revulsion—not at him, but at herself, at the situation, at the precipice they were dangling over.
"Get off me!"
She shoved him hard.
Valor, unbalanced and intoxicated, wasn't prepared for the force. He flew back. His grip on her dress slipped.
He tumbled off the side of the high mattress.
There was a sickening thud as his head struck the corner of the heavy oak nightstand before he hit the floor.
"Valor!"
The room went instantly silent.
Tesse scrambled off the bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as if to scrub the kiss away.
She ran to the side of the bed.
Valor was lying on the rug. He wasn't moving.
"Valor?"
Panic, cold and sharp, replaced the heat in her veins. She dropped to her knees beside him.
"Valor, get up. Stop playing."
He didn't answer. His eyes were closed. His face was slack.