“How can you be sure I’m… her?”
Facing her, I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and rummaged through it until I found the picture I always kept in there. I passed it to her. It was a photo, the sight of which made Rowan choke on a sob.
It was her.
Younger, less scarred and bruised, but the girl in the photo was undeniablyher. She was sitting on a dock, her legs crossed, wearing a dark green bikini. Her long blonde waves were sectioned into two French braids, and she was grinning brightly at the person behind the camera. It was taken on one of the days we were all swimming. I couldn’t remember who took the photo, but I never went anywhere without it; it was a lifeline that gave me hope, as painful as that could be sometimes.
“I… I don’t know who this is, but it’s not me. At least, not who I am now,” Rowan whispered, losing the battle against her tears. “Grey…”
I gently tugged her into my arms, so damn glad when she let me. It had been so long, and the feeling of her against me stoked a flame I was sure had extinguished years ago. It felt right, Rowan back where she should be. And I would always be there for her if she’d let me. I’d never let anything happen to her again.
After a few moments, she pulled back. “It’s weird, seeing myself with unmarred skin,” she admitted, looking at the photo again. Unconsciously, her hand pressed against her stomach.
“What do you mean?” I cocked my head to the side, brushing my knuckles over the back of her hand. “I mean… well, Griff mentioned scars.”
Rowan sighed, looking at the sky for a moment before standing straighter, grasping the hem of her T-shirt in her fist and pulling it up, showing her entiremidsection and bra.
I ducked down, utterly thrown by the move. I struggled between looking away and the immediate desire to take her in, to finally see what I’d been dreaming about for years. But all thoughts ofreunitingwith her quickly fled my mind when my gaze landed on her stomach.
I stared in horror at her damaged skin. It started on her stomach, spreading up to just below her chest, where small flecks of scar tissue dotted the skin visible behind her sports bra.
There was no mistaking what those scars were.
Dragon fire.
Whoever had done that to her had intended to kill her. There was no doubt about that.
“How the fuck did you survive?” I asked in a strangled voice, reaching for the rough skin, as if I could wipe it away if only I wanted it badly enough.
She smiled softly. “Kiki. She never gave up on me, even when I gave up on myself.”
“I wish she were still alive so I could thank her.” The evidence of Rowan’s suffering was obvious. A growl rumbled low in my chest as I focused on the fact that someone had done this—had tried tokillher. “You don’t know who, do you?”
Rowan shook her head. “Total mystery.”
“I swear, Rowan,whenwe find out who hurt you, I’m going to tear the fucker limb from limb for so much as touchingyou.”
She stared up into my eyes, her lips parted as her brows remained lifted. Silence permeated the space around us, and I inched closer, unable to stop myself. I smoothed my fingers over the scar, and the way she let out a little gasp went straight to my head. Fuck, it had been so long. And she was right here. My mate was right here, in front of me, after I’d thought she was dead. Every part of me screamed to claim her, right here and now.
“Oh.”
We both reeled back as the voice burst through the quiet, and I turned to see a wide-eyed horde member on the path, a basket inher arms. She shook her head, holding up a hand as she walked backward. “I’m so sorry. I was?—”
But Rowan rushed past her back toward the house with her basket of herbs, the girl quickly turning and fleeing as well, and I was left standing there, alone in the garden.
Rowan
Ididn’t know what had come over me, but I’d been overwhelmed by the need to show Greylen my scars. He had to understand who I was, not the person Iusedto be. The girl in the picture he’d shown me was sweet, innocent, and pure. But the masses of unmarked skin had left a sour taste in my mouth. I’d experienced too much pain to ever be that carefree again.
The scarring was a part of me. I’d never struggled to accept it, because I’d never known life without it. It was a small silver lining to having no memory. But seeing that carefree girl sitting on a dock… stung. Anger settled in my stomach—a bitter resentment toward the girl I used to be. Sure, acceptance of my scars was one thing, but I still knew the pain associated with them, still understood howdifferentthey made me.
Fuck. I needed therapy.
Or a drink.
Maybe both.
These four Alphas seemed convinced I was their mate, but even if I had been, I was no longer the same. I was scarred, damaged. They needed to understand that.
