The story goes live two days before New Year’s Eve, and as soon as it does, Cassian’s phone blows up with notifications, but the only one that matters is the call he receives from my father.
He shows me the number on the screen, and I nod. “It’s him.”
To my surprise, Cassian answers it.
My father unleashes a barrage of fury and vitriol, and when he’s finished, I expect Cassian to argue, to fight.
Instead, he says, “Mr. Rose, I have no intention of speaking to you without my lawyers present, and I encourage the same of you. Please have your legal counsel get in touch with mine. Let me provide you with their details…”
Cassian won’t win in a fight against my father, not one on one, at least. The war we wage against my father must be one of deals, dollars and public opinion. I didn’t expect my father to call Cassian to offer us well wishes; I knew he’d be furious, and he is. I only hope his fury will be tempered by his desire to save face in the press.
Cassian is certain this is going to work, but my father has gone to unthinkable lengths to protect his interests before. I should know. He stole away my magic and my memories, all because I knew something I shouldn’t, all because he saw me as a threat. If my father sees no way forward but for Rad to mate me, he can still make that happen. The Soldiers have burned mating bites off with the Ever Ember hex before, but that’s brutal and messy. Unrefined.
The quickest way to sever a mating bite is the death of one of the bonded, and if my father still has a use for me, if he can still squeeze money out of mating me, it won’t be me he kills.
I try to convince myself that my father couldn’t kill in cold blood, that the dozens of omega test subjects that died at Rose Pharmaceuticals are just numbers to him, a means to his devious ends. Worthless, disposable omegas. But to murder another alpha, and one from such a prominent family, I tell myself that my father would never.
I don’t believe it.
I can’t lose Cassian. I can’t lose my mate.
Fear spirals through me, so sharp it makes me sick, and I’m just about to claim a headache so I can flee up to the solitude of my nest to hide away when Cassian’s phone chimes with a text.
He’s gotten hundreds of texts today, but this is the first to make him smile. Relief floods through our bond, and I’m left wondering who texted him. I know my father wouldn’t have capitulated so easily, so why is my mate so comforted by what he just read?
My eyesight goes fuzzy, and pain lances through my head. The precognition comes quickly, but it’s vague, just a quick flurry of images and the chime of the mansion’s doorbell. The vision is gone just as quickly as it came and I’m left wondering what I missed, what was so important that my affinity had to show me that moment and why, why in the name of the saints, do I smell crisp winter winds and pine?
Cassian draws me to my feet and touches his forehead to mine, then steals a sweet kiss. “I think I know how to cheer you up.”
The doorbell chimes, the light notes echoing through the mansion.
“Go answer it, Junes.”
Me? Why would I answer the door to a house that isn’t my own?
But Cassian is smiling, and his smile lightens the dark shadows in my soul, so I pad downstairs and open the door.
Sharp, sweet, invigorating pine envelops me, and then I’m in Marcus’ arms, my face pressed against the wool scarf I knit him for Yule last year.
Home. The scent of Marcus is home to me, in a way no other scent is.
Every broken piece of me mends in his embrace. I don’t think about how my love for him is doomed to end in tears. I don’t think about how he’s immune to my scent, how he’ll never feel drawn to me the way I feel drawn to him.
None of it matters.
In this instant, in Marcus’ arms, nothing matters. Not my furious father. Not Rad’s inevitable retaliation.
He holds me until I let go, standing in the doorway, the cold New Brunswick wind whipping around us. Finally, the chill drives us inside, and Marcus grabs his duffel and follows me in.
“I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again,” I say. My voice quavers with emotion, with joy, withrelief.
“I didn’t think youwantedto see me again. I texted you, but?—”
“My sister destroyed my phone. I had to get a new number. I would have texted you, but I didn’t think you wanted to seeme.”
“Oh, sweet-tart, no. Never think that.”
My heartsoars.
