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Metal collides and pieces shatter in my brain. But the memories that surge to the surface aren’t the ones buried so deep they warp who and what I am.
They’re memories of the Lilah who ran until her feet bled.
The Lilah who ran to my office in a T-shirt, ready to defend Orion.
The Lilah who looked at me, needed me, and made me remember the first time she walked in on what she wasn’t supposed to see.
Then, the buried memories boil, and I remember why I hate omegas.
Why I had to hate Lilah.
Because the person I hate most?
Me.
The worst alpha.
The one who can never live up to my father’s expectations.
The weakest link in the pack.
That’s all fine. That’s all true.
Where I really fucked up was believing Lilah changed.
That the sweet, special girl who drew me in like starlight grew up to be an evil omega bitch.
That she was just like the others.
That my Lilac, the one pure relic of my childhood, was dead, gone, disappeared, and that Lilah Darling was an entirely different creature.
They’re not different.
Lilah was always my Lilac.
Pure and perfect and good.
But I didn’t split them into two people for no reason.
The reason is the memory that comes with a stabbing, ice-pick pain that sends me sloshing bourbon over shaking fingers.
It’s too deep.
Too toxic.
But I need to know.
Need to know why I am this way, why I hurt her, and whether I deserve death by injection or something much, much more painful.
I grit my teeth.
There’s a room that smells like paint.
Thick perfume.
Hands on my skin.
And then Lilah—
