Is that what’s happening now?
I try not to let myself hope, even as I close my eyes and focus all my thoughts on Sin. I picture myself in his room, wrapped in his arms. Then, I shove every ounce of love I have for him into that image, clinging to a desperate hope that he’ll feel me.
I have no idea if I’m doing this right. Maybe my mind is just playing tricks on me, and I’m hallucinating.
I’m definitely overdue for a mental break.
But just as I’m about to give up on this whole crackpot theory, the mate bond thrums a little stronger, bringing more feelings of warmth and longing. They’re met with my relief and joy.
I’m not alone. Even if Sin and I aren’t together in person, we can still feel each other.
His emotions continue to flow through the bond, and I let myself pretend, just for a moment, that he’s here with me. Sinking into the blankets, my muscles finally relax until a horrifying thought has me jolting upright.
What if Sin can feel my emotions, even when I’m not focused on sending them? Earlier today, Sin attacked the wards, right when I thought Leon was going to assault me. Then, he warned that he’d know if Leon laid a hand on me.
My stomach twists. It’s bad enough that Sin is worrying about me. But the idea that he can feel my pain and fear is gut-wrenching.
The guilt burrows deeper by the second. People around me get hurt.
Firefighters pulling Jackson’s body from the water.
Kenzie lying in a pool of her own blood.
They’re dead because of me.
I can’t let that happen to Sin. What if he feels my panic and then storms inside the Council’s wards? The possibility makes me shudder.
I need to turn it off. I have no idea if that’s even possible, but I need to try.
Comfort and warmth are still flowing through the bond, but rather than letting myself bask in how good itfeels, I go back to picturing Sin holding me in his room. This is still happening in my head. That means I must have some level of control.
Taking a breath to steel myself, I reluctantly step away from him. With that, I imagine dark, black out curtains hanging along each wall in his room. Slowly, I walk over to them and pull them closed. With each covered wall, I picture whatever tether is connecting our emotions growing weaker.
The comforting warmth from the bond grows dimmer.
It’s working.
Finally, I reach the last wall, ignoring the slight feelings of panic and distress being sent down the bond.
I send out a final burst of love as I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
Then, with shaking hands, I pull the last curtain closed.
I shut him out.
Chapter 8
Vivian’s Point of View
Rule eight:When in doubt, talk about poop.
You know how some people are hyper-motivated as they get closer to a deadline?
I am not one of those people. I am the antithesis of those people. I hear the word deadline, and I get such a rush of anxiety that I can’t focus on anything else until the task is finished. And while it was a phenomenal strategy for college, it isn’t translating particularly well to my current predicament.
Thirteen days. I have thirteen days to solve my growing list of mostly apocalyptic problems.
No pressure.
