Her scent hasn’t faded, either. If anything, it feels stronger now, even though I’m moving away from her. Like it’s following me, penetrating deep into my chest. Each whiff of it makes a hunger surge inside me, and my wolf presses forward, eager, restless, lapping it up like he’s been starved for it.
My jaw tightens until it aches. I keep my breathing shallow and regulated, refusing to draw in a full breath. If I do, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.
“Looking forward to working with you,” someone says.
I shake another hand. My palm stings faintly where I clenched too hard earlier. “Likewise.”
I incline my head to the room at large, giving a wordless acknowledgment, and finally, there’s a clear path to the door. I take it.
I stride out of the conference room without looking back. My steps are fast but controlled, hands jammed deep into my pockets where my fingers dig into my palms hard enough to hurt.
I need distance between me and that room, between me and her, between me and that scent that, even now, feels like it’s trying to drag me back as I move away.
The elevator and hallways are a whirlwind of sharp lines and muted colors as I power through them, finally reaching the office Darius showed me only an hour ago.
I step inside and shut the door behind me—or more like fling it closed. The slam echoes sharply in the quiet room and rattles the framed Moonvale certificates on the wall, but I don’t care.
My hands grip the cool edges of the wooden desk for support, my knuckles turning a pale white hue. I lean forward, my head hanging low as I force myself to take deep breaths of the clear, non-vanilla scented air. Despite the distance, the damn scent lingers, as if my nostrils caught a whiff of it and want to keep it like a memory. I suck in more air, trying to drown out the scent. This method has worked for years to steady myself after wolfsbane exposure, but it’s apparently not as effective for this situation.
It’s likely because I haven’t felt this way in so long. Ten years. Ten long years during which the memories of her were the only things I held onto. In the beginning, I thought about her constantly. She was the little oasis of joy I kept in my mind while everything else around me caused nothing but anguish. It was a safe place, a little haven I had carved into my head that made everything else endurable.
But pain has a way of stripping everything from a person. Over time, I learned how to shove those thoughts aside, how to relegate them to the back of my mind and accept that she was gone. All those thoughts could do for me was slow me down and make me vulnerable. And vulnerability was a weakness I couldn’t afford to have. I buried every memory of her. I told myself the bond had weakened, that enough years had passed to dull even something as primal as fate.
I was wrong.
Because now, it’s all rushing back at once. This pull, this awareness, and this unbearable certainty of her existence are pressing in on me like they never left. Ten years of separation hasn’t dampened the fated mate bond one bit. It’s that damned force—the visceral, otherworldly draw toward a mate once fate decides to play matchmaker.
I would have thought it dead and gone by now. Surely, ten years of distance would be enough to kill even the strongest of bonds.
Evidently, that was a flawed estimation.
I feel my jaw aching from how hard I’m gritting my teeth. This is the last thing I need right now.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, snapping me out of my thoughts immediately. I stand up straight and pull it out.
It keeps buzzing in my hand. There’s no number on the display. No name. Just an incoming call from a blank contact. But I know exactly what this is. The pressing reminder that my life is no longer my own.
I swipe to answer and press the phone to my ear. “Yes?”
The voice on the other end flows through with the expected clinical edge. “Kain. Report. Are you in position?”
“Yes,” I reply. “I’m in.”
“Good. What’s the full status? Did you encounter any issues?”
I inhale deeply for a moment, hesitating as my mind churns over the question. “No.” The word is torn from me. “No problem at all.”
I can’t let them know about Anne. My life is already hanging in the balance; I cannot hand them another weakness of mine. Because that’s what she is: a weakness. My fated mate, the girl whose smiling face was the only thing that kept me going in the darkest of hours.
There’s a pause on the other end. It’s long enough that for a moment, I’m certain he could detect, from the few seconds it took me to answer, that I did in fact encounter an issue.
But finally, he replies. “Perfect. Proceed as planned. Gain their trust, secure the target, and don’t get any ideas. Remember what happens if you fail us.”
I grit my teeth. They never miss an opportunity to remind me that they have a leash around my neck. “Understood.”
The call ends.
I lower the phone and set it on the desk, but I don’t move away from it right away. I just stand there, staring down at the dark screen as if the voice might bleed back through if I wait long enough.
