Chapter 3

I was downstairs by nine a.m.

Briony wrapped a scarf around my neck and pressed a hot coffee into my hand.

"He said ten," she frowned. "You don't have to be so early."

"I don't want to be late."

Ten o'clock. No one came.

Ten-thirty. The street was empty.

Eleven. The coffee was ice-cold.

My call went straight to voicemail. I didn’t try again. I just waited.

I knew he was doing it on purpose.

It sent me back seven years, to when I was the one who was always late.

He’d be waiting downstairs, standing tall and steady.

And I would take my sweet time.

When I finally ran down, he’d put on a fake scowl.

But all it took was a little tug on his sleeve, a quick kiss on his chin while I was on my tiptoes, and it would all melt away.

Then he’d pull me into a tight hug and let out this sigh... helpless and fond all at once.

Now, it was my turn to wait.

This was his payback.

So I waited. It was time to pay back what I owed him.

Briony leaned out the window, her voice tight with anger.

"Come back up, Ayla. He's not coming."

"I'll wait a little longer."

"You've been standing out there for three hours!"

I looked down at my hands. My fingertips were turning blue from the cold, and they trembled slightly.

My wolf was so weak I couldn't even regulate my own body temperature anymore.

Noon. The sun climbed to its peak, hung there for a moment, then began its slow, mocking descent.

Briony came down again, her eyes red.

"Please, come back and rest," she begged, her voice trembling as she took my freezing hand. "Your body can't take this."

"I can't go back."

"Why not?"

Because if I go back inside and lie down, I thought, I might not have the strength to ever get up again.

This morning, I'd seen my own eyes in the mirror.

The wolf eyes that once glowed silver in the moonlight were now a dull, lifeless gray.

My wolf was fading. Fast.

Every time I fell asleep could be the last.

"I'm fine," I said, giving Briony a weak smile. "He'll come."

At 2:47 p.m., a black Maybach finally slid to the curb.

The door swung open and Roric unfolded himself from the car. His eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

He wore a dark gray cashmere coat, looking infuriatingly relaxed, like a king who had just rolled out of bed.

Briony rushed forward, blocking his path to me.

"Almost five hours," she said, her voice shaking. "You left her waiting out here for almost five hours."

Roric took off his sunglasses and gave her a casual glance.

"Something came up."

"You—"

"Briony," I said, grabbing her arm. "It's okay."

"How is it okay? Look at you, your lips are blue!"

"It's really okay," I said, patting her hand gently.

Briony looked at me, her lips trembling, but she said nothing more.

She just shot Roric a look of pure hatred before turning and heading back upstairs.

The back door of the car opened, and Cressida leaned out.

"Sorry we're late," she chirped, waving me over. "Get in."

Her neck and collarbone were a canvas of dark bruises. Love bites. She wore them like a string of pearls.

"We had a bit of a late night," she said, tracing the darkest mark on her neck, her tone a mix of a pout and a boast. "Roric has so much stamina. He was just exhausted this morning."

She looked at me, a malicious glint in her eyes.

"That's why we're so late. You don't mind, do you?"

For a second, something inside my chest cracked.

I fought back the sting in my nose and forced a smile.

"I don't mind."

I ducked into the back seat and buckled up.

The car started moving.

The city blurred past the window. I stared out at the shifting lights, trying to think of nothing.

But a wave of nausea was building in my stomach.

It started as a faint discomfort, like car sickness.

Then it grew into cramping waves of sickness, rising from my stomach to my throat.

I clenched my jaw, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.

With my wolf so weak, my sense of smell was almost gone.

Scents that a normal wolf could detect from hundreds of feet away, I could barely register up close.

That's why I hadn't noticed the scent filling the car.

Not until the nausea became unbearable.

"Stop the car," I choked out, covering my mouth. "I'm going to be sick."

Cressida turned around from the front seat, blinking. Then she picked up a small, elegant diffuser from the center console.

"You're not allergic to this scent, are you?"

I saw what she was holding.

A Silvermoon Herb diffuser.

It was an herbal product used to stimulate a wolf's spirit. To a healthy wolf, it was just a pleasant aroma.

But for a wolf with spirit decay, it triggered a violent rejection.

He remembered.

Seven years ago, I told him once that this scent made me sick.

He remembered. All this time. And he was using it to hurt me.

My blood ran cold.

Roric didn't look at me, but his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

Without a word, he reached over and shut it off.

I saw Cressida flinch in the front seat.

"It's Cressida's favorite scent," he said, his voice flat. "She shouldn't have to give it up for someone who doesn't matter."

His eyes found mine in the rearview mirror, sharp as a blade.

"What's the big deal? It's just a smell. It's not going to kill you."

Cressida giggled again from the front seat.

The car started moving again.

I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes.

The nausea slowly faded, but the pain in my chest came in waves, one after another.

Right.

I'm not your priority anymore.

It's okay.

I won't have to endure this much longer.