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I blink, trying to refocus my attention on the Alphas—my Mates—but the pain is debilitating. All-consuming. It thrums under my skin and lights up all my nerve endings, and for a moment, I’m half sure I’m about to have a heart attack.

Another whine falls past my lips, but I’m in too much shock to cry out otherwise. I can barely focus on anything but the pain. I want to speak, but nothing outside of the small whimpers of an injured, dying animal escapes my lips.

How has this happened?

Why? What is it that makes me so unlovable? What is it about me that causes every person in this world to reject me other than my mother and Caelan?

Am I so broken? So worthless that not even my Fated Mates can feel the Bond between us?

Because in just the last few minutes, I’ve finally discovered why I’ve been so drawn to them despite how they treat me. It’s an echo of the Bond, pulling us together. Making me want them.

And it’s also the reason their words and actions hurt so badly.

If I can’t even stand to see them hurt—why don’t they feel the same?

Vae clears his throat. “That’s uhm—That’s kind of the look she had on her face right before the ceiling exploded, so maybe we try not pissing off the magical being who has powers we don’t understand.”

His words are a hiss of warning, not directed toward me. I hear what he’s saying, but I don’t understand the words. They’re a jumble in my mind, arranging and rearranging themselves until they finally start to make sense.

The ceiling. Of course.

Vae must have told Daxen about how I somehow blew apart the beams in the ceiling, and that’s why they’re here. Not because they wanted to see me. Not because they wanted to talk.

No, they’re here to interrogate me some more.

Well, the joke’s on them. I don’t know what I am, and I don’t know what I’m capable of. I suppose that, in a way, Vae is right. If I tell them they’re my Mates and they reject me outright, I honestly have no idea how I’ll react.

I don’t know what might happen at all.

I sag, feeling like a marionette whose strings have been cut. It’s too much for one day. For one lifetime. The pain, the dream, the realization that the two males who hate me more than anyone else in the world are mine.

The males who are meant to love me. The males my mother promised would save me someday. Who would take me away from my Father’s cruelty and give me a life of safety and love and belonging.

I suppose the first part came true, in a way. They took me away, but they didn’t save me.

They just moved me from one hell and dumped me into another.

“Let’s go. Downstairs.” Dax steps to the side and motions for me to walk ahead of him.

I feel disconnected from reality again, like nothing’s real. The pain has become secondary—hidden beneath layers and layers of cotton wool until I can finally function without wanting to throw up. I take one step, then another, and before I know it, I’m reaching for the handrail on the stairs with trembling fingers.

A few more steps, and I’m at the landing. A few more and I’m in the hall, staring blankly at the sconces flickering on the wall.

The flame is low, but steady. I tilt my head to the side, mesmerized by the sight. It’s small. Just a flicker, really. Not enough to be a threat, but enough to light the hall.

Enough to burn.

So small. So contained. It flickers and burns and refuses to go out.

I want to be that flame.

I want to exist only to burn.

The stairwell door closes, and I scent Vae behind me. Leather and clove, and gods… I want to bury my face in his neck. I want it so badly it’s a physical ache. I want it so badly I can’t choke back the tears that start slipping silently down my face.

There are no stories about what it’s like to find your Scent Matched Mates and realize they hate you. No tales about girls who lose everything before they’ve even had a chance to grasp it in their palms. No happily ever after that teaches you how to navigate the feeling of wading through a dream you can’t wake up from.

No. Not a dream. A nightmare.