KEIRA
Six blocks.
That's how far I ran before my legs gave out, six blocks of dodging pedestrians and ignoring crosswalk signals and not looking back, not once, because if I looked back I might see him following and if I saw him following I might stop and if I stopped the bond would win.
I found myself in an alley that smelled like garbage and rain, my back pressed against grimy brick, my lungs burning with each ragged breath I dragged into them.
Two bonds burned in my chest. Twined together like ribbons of fire wrapped around my heart, each one pulsing with its own distinct rhythm. They weren't painful exactly, or rather, they were painful in a way that also felt like relief, like finally scratching an itch I hadn't known existed until something sharp enough came along to reach it.
Two, my omega crooned, stretching inside my consciousness like a cat claiming the best sunbeam in the house.Two alphas. Two bonds. Look at us, Keira. Look how pretty we're becoming.
I pressed my hand against my mouth to keep from screaming.
This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real. I had spent seven years building walls, constructing defenses, turning myself into a fortress that nothing and no one could penetrate. I had taken my suppressants religiously, avoided eye contact with alphas on the street, kept my head down and my scent blocked and my omega locked away in a cage of medication and willpower.
In less than twenty-four hours, two bonds had broken through like my walls were made of paper.
Because they were, my omega whispered, and there was something almost gentle in her voice. Almost pitying.You built your fortress out of fear, and fear was never going to be strong enough to keep them out. Nothing is strong enough to keep out fate.
"Fate is a lie," I said out loud, my voice bouncing off the alley walls and coming back to me thin and reedy and unconvincing. "Fate is just a word people use when they want to stop fighting."
Your mother fought. Look where it got her.
The words landed like a blow to the chest, stealing what little breath I'd managed to recover. My mother. My beautiful, broken mother, who had fought fate so hard she'd torn herself apart, who had ripped her own soul to shreds rather than submit to a bond she didn't choose.
She had been so strong. So determined. So utterly convinced that she could escape the trap the universe had set for her.
She had died anyway.
Slowly. Painfully. Fading year by year until there was nothing left but a shell that looked like her and a scar where her mark used to be and eyes that stared at something very far away.
I pushed off the wall, ignoring the way my legs wobbled beneath me, and started walking. I couldn't stay in this alleyforever. Couldn't hide in shadows and garbage and pretend the world wasn't still turning beyond these grimy brick walls. I had to go home. Had to figure out what the hell I was going to do next.
Had to look at my mark and confirm what I already knew in my bones.
The walk back to my apartment took longer than it should have. I kept stopping, at crosswalks, at corners, at random points along the sidewalk where the crowd thinned enough for me to catch my breath. My body felt wrong, heavy and light at the same time, like gravity had shifted and I hadn't yet figured out how to compensate. The bonds pulsed with every heartbeat, reaching for alphas I was walking away from, and my omega whimpered softly in the back of my mind each time I put another block between us and them.
Why do we keep running?she asked, and she sounded so confused, so hurt.Why won't you let them catch us?
I didn't have an answer. Or rather, I had too many answers, and none of them would make sense to the part of me that only understood want and need and the biological imperative to be claimed.
My apartment building appeared ahead. I climbed the stairs on autopilot, unlocked my door with hands that had finally stopped shaking, and stepped inside the sanctuary I'd built for myself over the years.
The familiar scents wrapped around me — coffee and paper and the faint mustiness of old books, underlaid with something that was simply mine after years of living in this space. I'd always found comfort in these smells, in the evidence of a life I'd constructed entirely on my own terms.
Now they felt thin. Incomplete. Like a meal that filled the stomach but left you hungry for something you couldn't name.
That's because we're not complete, my omega observed quietly.We never have been. We've just been too numb to notice.
I ignored her and walked to the bathroom. The fluorescent light was harsh and unforgiving when I flicked it on, turning everything clinical and cold. I gripped the edges of the sink, my knuckles going white against the porcelain, and forced myself to look at my reflection.
I looked like hell.
My grey eyes were too bright, almost feverish, the silver tones more pronounced than I'd ever seen them. Dark circles bruised the hollows beneath, purple-black shadows that spoke of sleepless nights and bone-deep exhaustion. My skin was pale, not the healthy fairness I'd inherited from my mother, but a sickly pallor that made the flush across my cheekbones stand out like warning flags. My dark hair was tangled and wild, the teal streaks dull and faded, and there was a smear of grime on my cheek from pressing against that alley wall.
It wasn't my face that made my breath catch.
It was the mark.
