Chapter 6

I throw myself onto the bed, sinking into the mattress with a heavy exhale. The events of the run replay in my head, vivid and relentless. The visions, the sounds that stretched beyond what I should have been able to hear, and then… the spirit of Rowan’s wolf. It wasn’t an illusion, wasn’t a trick of light or a misfire of memory. It was real.

Yes, I’ve always been stronger than other wolves—heightened senses, faster reflexes. But not like this. Not seeing the dead. Maybe it’s because we were twins, maybe because our wolves always knew each other as halves of the same whole. Fenrir buried himself deep when Rowan died, nearly tearing my own spirit in two, but I know our wolves always shared a bond, even then. Still, “this”? This was beyond anything I could understand.

“This is insane,” I murmur, drumming my fingers on my thigh as I think through my problems. Three of them, and each feels impossible:

1. The vampires now work for Höherstehend, complicating my mission beyond reason.

2. These new senses and spirit visions—maybe side effects of shifting again after all these years.

3. And finally, the most inconvenient, impossible problem of all: I have a mate.

My mate is a problem I can’t solve easily. My plan had been simple—she would leave, disappear back to wherever she’d been. I’d counted on her attraction to Rowan fading, her bond weakening. But now she’s here, and she’s seen me. Every instinct tells me that bond will only grow stronger. It’s all gone sideways, out of control, and I feel like a wolf running blind. She has to leave, go back to her life, far away from mine. I can’t risk her getting hurt, and I can’t risk her getting close enough to figure out the truth.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, a pulse that jolts me back to the present. I pull it out, frowning at the unidentified number flashing across the screen. I tap the screen, activating the caller ID tool I had custom-built for security. The icon spins until the call ends, and then her name pops up on the screen:

Lynn.

A sharp intake of breath betrays me, my heart stumbling for one betraying beat. She’s calling. Of course, she’s calling. ‘Mate is thinking about you.’ Fenrir’s voice echoes in my head, smug and insistent.

The screen lights up again—she’s calling back. I steady my breath, fighting the strange flutter of anxiety twisting in my gut.

‘Just pick up the damn phone,’ Fenrir urges, practically pawing at me with excitement. Almost on instinct, I accept the call.

“Hey,” she chirps, her voice bright and unbothered.

“Lynette,” I say, her name leaving my lips like a foreign word. There’s an unfamiliar warmth in the way it sounds, and I feel a jolt of excitement—one I don’t want.

“Rowan, my man. Nice to see my hacking skills still work,” she teases, and I can practically hear her smirk.

“You hacked my system?” I ask, playing along, trying to sound amused.

“I tried, but your firewall’s tougher than it used to be. You’re terrible at that stuff, Rowan. What the hell? I had to call your stone-faced bodyguard to give me your number, or I would’ve ambushed him and, I don’t know, threatened to castrate him.”

Stone-faced? My mind scrambles, and I can’t help but ask, “Who?”

She laughs, the sound rich with amusement. “I think his name’s Brandon or something like that.”

‘Brandon?’ I search my memory, racking my brain. I can’t place the name, but Rowan would. “Hmm, so he caved and gave you my number?”

“Of course, he did! Don’t you remember what happened the last time he tried to cross me? He knows better than to mess with me.”

“Yeah… I remember,” I say, trying to sound amused, though I have no idea who she’s talking about. I’ll need to find out who this “Brandon” really is—someone else has access to my private number. “You know his name isn’t Brandon, right?”

She huffs playfully. “Of course, I do. What fun would it be if I called him by his real name? Anyway, I just called to say goodnight and remind you that you owe me. Pick a place for our reunion.” I still failed to figure out who Brandon is.

“Where do you want to go?” I ask, cursing myself for sounding eager.

“Surprise me,” she says, her laugh warm and teasing. “Surprise me, Rowan.” Her laughter lingers, a sound I want to hate but can’t seem to.

“I’ll figure something out. Goodnight, Lynette. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Don’t make me track you down, Rowan,” she warns, a playful note in her voice. “You wouldn’t like the consequences.”

“What are you up to tomorrow?” I ask, desperate to keep her talking, even as I know I shouldn’t. This isn’t me, but it feels like I’ve lost control.

“Oh, Zalie found out I’m back, so she’ll be all over me. She and her team will help me set up my new place and probably drag me shopping. Remember her girls?” She laughs, a sound that feels warm and familiar, though it shouldn’t.

“Her… girls?” My brain draws a blank, scrambling for any context.

“Her fellow group members,” she explains, exasperation in her voice. “I know you don’t remember them, but whatever. Then I have a meeting with Mr. Thomas about a new role, a photoshoot to celebrate my ‘comeback’ from illness, and then there’s Friday—ambassador contract and a live interview. Then we meet up. Madness, right?”

“Sounds like you’ll be swamped.” I chuckle, imagining her balancing it all with the same energy she has on this call.

“Welcome back to the circus,” she jokes. “But we’ll make time to catch up, won’t we?”

“Right,” I reply, heart pounding. “Guess I’ll call you tomorrow, then.”

“Goodnight, Bootylicious,” she says, the nickname rolling off her tongue with a teasing familiarity.

“Bootylicious?” I ask, chuckling despite myself.

“Yes, Bootylicious! Bye, Rowan.” She hangs up, her laughter echoing in my mind long after the call ends. I hate that I can still hear it, hate that it feels warm and pulls at something deep inside me. I want to push her away, reject her, ignore this bond I never asked for.

But I know, with a sinking certainty, that I’m already lost.