Chapter 4

I was so nervous the next morning that I couldn't eat. My mother tried to spoon some porridge into my mouth, but I turned my head away.

"You need to eat," she said.

"I'll eat later."

"You always say that."

I managed a small smile. "Mom. Please. Just help me get ready."

She sighed – that long, tired sigh that had become her signature over the past seven years – and went to get my things.

I asked her to wheel me to the old oak tree before the sun was even fully up. The morning air was cold and damp, and the grass was wet with dew. The old oak stood at the edge of the forest, its branches spreading wide like arms reaching for the sky.

This was the tree where Kane had first kissed me, when we were fifteen and too young to understand what mates really meant. This was the tree where Ilsa had told me to pretend to cheat, to break his heart so he could go north and become something great. This was the tree where I had waited for him a hundred times, a thousand times, over the years.

I waited.

The sun rose higher. The dew dried on the grass. Birds sang in the branches above me.

Kane didn't come.

Noon came. The sun was directly overhead now, and my mother was shifting from foot to foot, clearly impatient.

"He's not coming," she said.

"He said he would."

"People say a lot of things."

I tried to mind-link him. Nothing. Just silence. A void where his presence should have been.

Maybe he had blocked me again. Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe Vivra had said something to him – whispered poison in his ear while he held her in bed.

My mother told me to go home. I refused.

"This is costing you too much," she said. "You're going to collapse."

"Then let me collapse. At least I'll collapse here, under this tree, where I waited for him a hundred times before."

She didn't argue. She just sat down on the grass next to my wheelchair and held my hand.

Finally, in the early afternoon, a message came through the link. Two words.

On our way.

My mother saw the look on my face and knew. She stood up, brushed the grass off her dress, and put on her bravest smile. She loved me too much to say no.

When they pulled up, Vivra leaned out the passenger window with a lazy, satisfied smile. Her hair was messy, and she was wearing Kane's jacket over her shoulders.

"Sorry we're late, Selene," she said. "Kane didn't let me get much sleep last night."

She said it like it was a compliment. Like she was showing off a trophy.

I pressed my fingernails into my palms. The pain grounded me.

Kane got out of the car. He folded up my wheelchair and put it in the trunk without looking at me. Then he got behind the wheel, and my mother helped me into the back seat.

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror – just a flicker of his eyes – and said coldly to Vivra, "Why are you explaining anything to her?"

Vivra shrugged. "Just being friendly."

I looked down at my hands. They were shaking.

Kane drove fast. Too fast. The car bounced over every bump and pothole in the road, and my body was too weak to brace itself. I slid across the back seat with every turn, my bones jarring against the door, the window, the seat belt digging into my chest.

I remembered how he used to drive. Smooth. Gentle. He would reach over with his right hand and rest it on my knee, just to remind me he was there. He would slow down before every curve, accelerate slowly out of every stop. He knew I got carsick, and he never wanted me to feel uncomfortable.

Now he took a sharp turn at full speed, and my body slammed against the passenger side door. A small sound escaped my throat – a whimper, barely audible over the engine.

He heard it.

He laughed.

"Did you really think I'd go easy on you?" he said, his eyes still on the road. "Those days are over."

I wiped my eyes before he could see. "No," I said quietly. "You should drive for Vivra now. She's your mate."

He laughed again – a harsh, bitter sound – and pressed the gas pedal even harder. The car lurched forward. My head cracked against the back seat.

But I smiled anyway.

At least he still hated me. At least I still took up some space in his heart, even if that space was filled with anger and disgust.

That was enough. That had to be enough.