Perhaps because I had an antsy mate being denied entry at the door every day by my partner. The same partner who keptsmiling tightly at me and then pretending like I couldn’t hear him asking to be let in.
It was cruel, but I was hiding behind her stubborn insistence that I have no visitors except the healers. It wasn’t a lie that I was unwell, but it was extraordinary cowardice.
But I didn’t know what to do, and my time to decide was running out. I was getting irritable, and while I would love to tell myself it was just because I hated being cooped up, the reality was it was more than that.
Brielle had sent me some links to information about going through your first heat, and it was enough to make me want to bury my head all the way in the sand. Back up a dump truck and just cover me all the way. That would be easier than the realization of what was coming.
And irritability? First symptom. I was also running a low-grade fever, which the women around me were too polite to comment on, even though it wasn’t from the lingering effects of the poison.
Today was the day. Not just because a heat was coming, but because I was sick to death of being pathetic.
I either had to reject the bond with Valens and get on the first bus back to the enclave, where I could ride out my impending heat alone in dignified misery, still devoted to my cause… or I ran the risk of running to my mate—a virtual stranger—in my time of need.
Somehow, while I’d never been through it before, I didn’t think I’d be capable of riding it out alone if I knew he was just on the other side of a door.
Fuck.
But I still didn’t know what to do. The heat was just more proof he was mine, that we were, in fact, fated. And while I wanted to stubbornly cling to my oath, my purpose… who was Ito deny the Goddess herself, when I saw how many times over this pack had been Goddess touched?
It felt like the worst kind of hubris to think I knew better than the Goddess who’d put all these events into motion.
But it was so, so terrifying. Because if I gave in, if I let go of my calling, I’d be driftless. I wasn’t even part of either of the packs here. I was technically still a member of my birth pack if I ever left the enclave, and no way in the nine hells was I going back. I didn’t even speak about it; over my dead body would I go back to live with them.
Galyna pushed her way through my bedroom door with her hip, carrying a tray with chicken soup and a steaming mug of coffee.
The tantalizing scent of freshly roasted beans and the rich cream she’d poured into the cup made my mouth water.
“I get coffee today?” I asked, temporarily distracted from my self-flagellation.
She leaned down and placed the tray over my lap before answering. “Olivia said some things are for the body and some are for the spirit. She might be too polite to say it to your face, but she’s pretty sure you don’t need to still be in this bed anymore. Luckily for you, I have no such qualms.”
I snorted, picking up the earthenware mug and taking a sip before making eye contact.
“This is perfect, thank you.”
She sank into the plush chair at my bedside, dropping her elbows to her knees and staring into my soul over her steepled fingers. “You’re welcome. You ready to talk, or do I have to keep playing nursemaid for another three days?”
I set the mug down on the tray, using any excuse to break eye contact, even as the lump in my throat made taking a second sip impossible.
“I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry for being a chickenshit, but Igenuinelydon’t know what to do.”
To my surprise, Galyna reached over and squeezed my hand. When I finally looked up again, there was compassion in her usually steely gaze.
“We’re friends, not just partners. You know that, right?”
The question surprised me, and I had no idea where she was going with it. “Of course…?”
“Which means that no matter what you choose, I’ll still be in your life. And I’m sorry, but it’s bullshit that you say you don’t know what to do. I’ve never known you to hesitate on any decision. You see what needs doing, and you act. Pure and simple.”
I swallowed hard, running my fingertips over the gracefully curved mug handle. Okay, it wasn’t that graceful. It looked homemade.
By a third grader.
“This is different,” I finally said, my voice shaking. “This one decision changes the rest of my life.”
“I don’t think it does, not if you believe in all this fate stuff, anyway.”
I snorted. “How so?”
