My skin felt tight from anger and humiliation as I rubbed lotion mechanically along my arms after showering.
I should have known the portal call wouldn’t be anything good.
My mother never contacted me simply to check in.
Not really.
Everything with Evelyn Cordoza carried purpose.
Evaluation.
Judgment.
Expectation.
“You are not trying hard enough.”
I could still hear the disappointment in her voice.
The contempt.
And gods—the part about him, about Gunner McFadden, made me want to scream.
She’d actually entertained the idea—the completely repulsive idea—that I needed her to find me a mate!
She actually offered me up like some spare bargaining piece because she thought no one else wanted me.
“Who else will take a powerless Witch who looks like you as a mate, Amrin?”
My chest tightened painfully all over again.
Because even now, even after Sten and the impossible tenderness of last night, some ugly, broken part of me still half believed her.
Shit.
Because even though I tried to run from it, the truth was inevitable.
Mothers shaped daughters long before Monsters ever touched them.
And my mother had spent years teaching me I was difficult to love.
Too emotional.
Too uncertain.
Too much.
Not enough.
I was the Cordoza embarrassment.
Tears burned behind my eyes as I loosened the sash of my robe.
No.
Absolutely not.
I refused to cry over Evelyn Cordoza tonight.
