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Waiting for the moment she realizes who I am.

But then… a small, insistent voice appears. It pushes and shoves, slithering into my consciousness, repeating a single phrase until I’m forced to acknowledge the words.

This is wrong. Something is wrong. This is wrong. Something is wrong.

In response, my side of our Bond turns frantic. It snaps out, pulling and yanking, sensing Idril’s presence and vibrating with anticipation. But she’s still too far away. She hasn’t scented me, and even if she had—she needs to be closer.

The Bond strains further. Reaching… stretching…

“Come here, Idril.”

Daxen’s Command is harsh, snapping me out of the moment and sending rage boiling to the surface so fast my hands start to shake.

Who the fuck does he think he is? What makes him think he’s some kind of authority over her? Over anyone?

My mouth opens, ready to snap back at him, but before I can… Idril moves, obeying his order.

Her shoulders curl in even further as she wraps her arms around her middle protectively. Each step she takes physically hurts to watch. Her movements are jerky. Uncertain.

If I could scent her right now, her Omega perfume would be fucking charred with terror.

What the fuck is going on here?

I feel like I’m floating outside my body, suspended in time as my Omega shuffles right past me, stepping to the side when she gets too close, like she’s avoiding a piece of furniture.

And I know… with sickening clarity… that that’s all I am to her right now. Furniture. Another obstacle in the room. Something bigger than her she needs to be careful not to run into.

Because she has no idea what’s happening. Refuses to look up from the floor to find out. So wracked with anxiety that she hasn’t even realized there are two strangers in the room.

This is an Omega who can fucking feel the tension in the room and is doing everything in her power to stay out of it.

I can almost feel her slipping through my fingers as she passes. Less than a foot away. So close I can almost feel the heat of her. Can count each strand of hair on her head. Can hear her heart—racing faster than mine—a dove, trapped in a cage and fighting to break free.

She slams to a stop.

I stop breathing right as her breathing accelerates, turning into short, frantic gasps. Her shaking hands fly to her chest as she struggles to breathe. Then her head lifts, and like some part of her knows exactly where I am, her eyes snap to mine.

My world ends.

I take a deep breath, and for the first time in eighty years, my lungs fully inflate with air.

I fall.

Willingly. Gladly. Irrevocably.

I fall and fall, drowning in eyes the color of sun on sapphires. She blinks, her long lashes casting shadows along high cheekbones. Full pink lips, with a cupid's bow I want to trace with my tongue, part in surprise.

But almost immediately, her expression changes, morphing into confusion, then fear.

Then terror.

What? What’s happening?

She’s looking at me like I’m a monster. Like I’m dangerous. Something twists painfully inside my chest, and every second that passes as my Fated Mate shakes in fear mere feet away from me, the dream I had of how perfect this moment would be dies a little more.

Maybe that’s why I start to notice things I hadn’t before. Little details I somehow missed when I first saw her… atrocities hidden behind an illusion that’s shattering with every tremor of fear that runs through her limbs.

Her cheeks are high, but too sharp. Her pink lips are dry. Chapped. Her skin is pale, dull, and lifeless. Her shirt hangs from one shoulder, exposing a too-prominent collarbone. Dark circles under her eyes speak of endless nights of little to no sleep.