“Since?”
“Since the Rift. Since whatever the hell is happening in this town started escalating.” He runs a hand through his wet hair. “She’s not just some Omega I think is pretty, Griffin. She’s… special to me.”
My jaw tightens. I keep my eyes on the road.
“She’s the love of my life.”
The words come out before I can stop them. They’ve been sitting in my chest for years, heavy and unspoken, and now they’re just out there.
Damon looks at me. “What?”
“You heard me.” We take another turn, scanning the alleys, the side streets, the gaps between buildings where a scared cat might hide. “I was young and stupid. I thought if I left Willowbrook, I could outrun it. Turns out you can’t outrun something that lives in your chest.”
“How long?”
“Since we were teenagers. Since before she started working at the apothecary. Since before the mark on her neck.” I shake my head. “I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s not just that she’s beautiful. It’s that when I’m with her, the noise in my head stops. All of it. The firehouse, the calls, the shit I see every day. She makes it quiet.”
Damon is quiet for a long moment. Then: “The mark.”
“Yeah. The mark.”
“The one that says she’s bonded.”
“That’s the one.”
“Is sheyours?”
“I don’t know.” My hands grip the wheel harder. “It happened when we were younger. I thought I understood what it takes to be in a relationship, but things got complicated fast. When I left town, I had no idea how hard it was going to be for her. I just recently found out that this whole town thought she was bonded to me. It… it solidified things for me. She marked my soul. I marked her body.”
The wipers squeak against the glass. Damon exhales through his nose, and I can feel him weighing something in his mind.
“The Council guy,” he says carefully. “Silas. How do you think he fit into?—”
A pitiful sound cuts through the rain. It’s coming from somewhere to our left.
Damon slams on the brakes. “Did you hear that?”
I’m already reaching for the door handle. “Thistle.”
We both step out into the storm. The rain hits me like a wall, but underneath it, underneath the wind and the thunder, I hear it again.
A cat’s cry. Weak. Scared.
“There.” Damon points toward a gap between two buildings—a narrow alley choked with dumpsters and debris. A flash of lightning reveals a small shape huddled beneath an overturned crate, pressed against the brick wall.
I’m already moving. The alley is a foot deep in water, the current tugging at my boots. I wade through it, dropping to my knees in front of the crate. Two eyes gleam back at me, wide and terrified.
“Hey, buddy,” I murmur. “It’s okay. We’re here to take you home.”
I reach under the crate, and Thistle hisses, his small body pressing further into the corner, but he’s too weak to fight. Toocold. I can feel the shivers racking his tiny frame as I scoop him up and pull him against my chest.
Damon appears beside me, his ward shimmering faintly around us, pushing back the worst of the rain. “Is he okay?”
“He’s alive.” I tuck the cat inside my jacket, feeling his wet fur against my shirt. “We need to get him back to Caroline.”
The walk back to the cruiser feels longer than it should. By the time I slide into the driver’s seat, Thistle is trembling violently against my chest. I wrap him in the fleece blanket Caroline gave us. The cat burrows into it, his small face pressing into the fabric, and some of the tension leaves his body.
The sheriff pulls away from the curb.
