“I had to lie to him. He won’t let this go,” I say. “I told him that we aren’t mates. That I don’t feel the same.”
“And he believed that?”
“I’m hoping he will eventually.”
“You and I both know that isn’t going to work. Sooner or later the truth will come out. It always does.”
“Then let it. Because it’s better for him to hate me. It’s better for everyone if we stay far away from each other. And as for Kylian—I don’t even know what to do about that bucket of shit.”
“Serena—”
“I’m so sorry for ruining the plan. You and Jace had the perfect opportunity to end this, and I choked. I felt the bond lock into place right as Jace was about to kill him, and ugh—this is so wrong. Kylian and mate do not belong in the same sentence. And Kai is going to hate me when he finds out, after everything Kylian put him through?—”
Zadyn’s hand shoots out to grip my face, smushing my cheeks together and shutting me up.
“Hey.” Those rich brown eyes sweep me into their depths, putting a pin in my mini meltdown. “None of this was in your control. And we could have never predicted that Kylian would be your mate too.”
“The signs were there,” I admit. “I just didn’t want to believe it. Could this situation get any worse?”
He offers me a soft smile, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You better knock on wood after the day we’ve had.”
I appreciate the levity he’s offering, but I can’t match it.
“I’m in over my head, Zadyn,” I whisper.
“Come here.” He tugs me toward the bed. I resist for a second, then plop down, throwing my head into his lap. He smooths back my hair as we share the silence.
“I don’t know where to go from here. All of this is so confusing. It’s like I want him dead but—” I trail off not knowing how to phrase it.
“But you want him too.”
I’m so sorry.
You’ve done nothing wrong. None of this is your fault.
I wish you’d stop saying that.
It’s the truth.
“How are you not mad at me?”
“You expected me to be mad at you for Kylian being one of your mates?”
“Jace was.”
“Because Jace is an asshole. And fuck him for not understanding. I swear, if he gives you any shit about it?—”
“So protective.” I smile at the fierceness in his voice.
“Of course I am, you’re mine,” he vows, playing with my hair. “Even if you’re theirs too.”
I frown at that thought.
How is this going to work?
It’s certainly complicated, but you’re not the first person this has happened to.
Well, if they’ve got a manual for this Ikea bullshit, it would be helpful right about now.
