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And I remember how Damian would be late more and more often. I’d be expecting him at a certain time, and I would text him, and he’d always have a good excuse. He had responsibilities. His job, the fact he was going to be the cyning, his aunt and uncle, all of that.

But he must have been seeing her then, too.

There’s Jace as proof, after all.

During this time, my dad brought the shaman in at least five or six times, and he always told me some version of the same thing.

Bond sickness was not meant to last this long. It was meant to be a concentrated burst, a reaction to the rupture of the loss of my scent match. If I stopped seeing Damian, it would go on for another week or so, and then it would end.

Prolonging it like this was not good for me.

I said, “We’re going to make this work, though. We’re going to do it just like we planned.”

The shaman’s voice would be very, very soft. He would be so sympathetic as he said it. “That’s a fantasy, Leona. That’s impossible. He’s bonded to another omega.”

“But he doesn’t want to be,” I said.

“He bit her. She is his. The only way that bond can be broken is death. You have to let him go.”

I couldn’t even conceive of that. “I can’t let him go.”

But I had to admit that, even while we avowed to each other that everything would go as we had planned, when I sat out in the spring sun, wrapped in blankets, too nauseous to eat, craving his body for just a bit of relief, when I looked to the future, it was still blank. I didn’t see anything at all.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

NOW, VINCENT WAS gesturing with his sandwich, growing more animated. “He broke you, he sucked you dry, Leo. Do you remember that time I came to pick you up because he was late? You were sitting out on a bench in front of the school, and I remember pulling up and looking at you. Your clothes were hanging off of you, and there were circles under your eyes, and you were just gaunt.”

I squirmed, because I’d just been thinking about this.

He was the one who’d brought it up.

Vincent’s nostrils flared. “He took you for granted. He would have used you up. You couldn’t quit him, even though you were wasting away.”

I couldn’t meet Vincent’s gaze. It was true. I was pathetic, and I stayed pathetic for a long time. It took me a long time to find my anger for Damian, and even now, when I felt it, when I knew that I should be angry with him, it was hard to do it. It was very hard to hate him.

“Why?” said Vincent.

I lifted my gaze to his. “You know why.”

“I really don’t,” said Vincent. “Don’t tell me it’s the scent match, because after the bond sickness finally passed, you two were no longer connected, right?”

“Well, she’s dead now,” I said. “So, we’re connected now.”

“Right,” he said, and he stuffed too much of the sandwich in his mouth and chewed. He still looked angry.

He ate wordlessly, stuffing his mouth, chewing furiously, and I ripped off bites of my bagel and surveyed them before putting them down on my plate.

When Vincent’s sandwich was finished, he said, “What happened with other men? Why didn’t it work?”

“Just didn’t,” I said quietly.

“Were any of them wolves?” said Vincent. “Because sometimes, wolf-human relationships, you know…”

“Why are you single?” I said to him. “Because of Opal?”

He looked into my eyes for a long, long time. “No.”

“Well, I think you’re not being honest about how you felt about her,” I said. “You don’t have this decade-long affair—”