Page 9 of Sold Rejected Mate
But when I pull up in front of her, it’s not her.
This woman is different, from her green hair to the shape of her nose. Looking vaguely like Rie, but not quite the same.
It’s disappointing, but the tug still doesn’t leave me at the realization. Instead, I find myself taking off my glove, reaching out to her with my bare hand—despite the heat, flames, and embers swirling around us.
And when my hand touches her face, our skin burning hot, something impossible happens.
The flames stop roaring. They stop burning.
In fact, they seem to suck inward, popping my ears as they go out with a sweeping, solemn hush.
There’s a creaking sound, and with my free, shaking, gloved hand, I reach for my handset. “Is it coming down?”
“What thefuckis going on?” Xeran calls back, not answering my question through the headset. “Cambias, what are you doing? What happened to the fire?”
I stare in shock at the woman sitting in front of me, and when my senses come back to me and I’m able to look around, I realize there’s a scorch mark stretching out around her, a ring of black soot that stops suddenly, like it was only painted on.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, feeling numb as I speak into the communication device. “But you’re going to want to see this.”
Despite the fact that this room wasjustburning, nothing bears evidence of the blaze. The bed looks pristine—well, as good as it likely looked before the fire. Even though Ifeltthe carpet melting, it looks perfectly fine now. Untouched. And the curtains flutter, unharmed, in the wind from the open door, no longer in splinters.
I feel the current of magic. When I realize it’s coming from her, I yank my hand back just as Xeran comes through the door, Soren and Kalen right behind him.
The alpha supreme’s eyes find mine, then land on the woman in the chair, her head against her chest. Her hair should be singed, and she probably should have sustained some burns, but other than the fact that she’s passed out, she appears to be perfectly fine.
She’s sitting in the middle of a burning room, not a single scratch on her body.
“Fuckingmagic,” Xeran grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose, voicing out loud the thing that all of us are thinking butnone of us say. It’s the only thing that can explain this fire, the way it burned, how quickly it went out.
How quickly it went out whenI touched her face.
“Grab her,” Xeran says as other sirens start to ring through the dawn, and the rising sun begins to shine through the window and door, which still hangs open. “This was clearly hers. We need to bring her in. She could have killed everyone in this fucking motel.”
Without words, I reach forward, gathering her up in my arms, not allowing anyone else to touch her. I can’t explain why, but there’s a sense inside me that I need to protect her.
Maybe it’s the fact that I saved her. Or maybe it’s the way Xeran glances at her limp body in my arms like he needs to make an example of her.
All I know is that there’s no way I’m going to let him harm a hair on her head.
Chapter 5 - Valerie
Pain is the first thing that registers when I gain consciousness. It’s like a symphony, the agony starting at my throat and radiating out through my body, rippling and compounding when it reaches something else that hurts.
For the first time in my life, I start to beg the gods, plead with them to bring the sting of the magic back. Better that constant, itching, low-grade burn than this throbbing agony.
Swallowing feels like scraping raw tissue, my throat screaming in protest like I’ve had a meal of broken glass and acid. A putrid, metallic taste coats the inside of my mouth—smoke mixed with something medicinal. Likely, whatever herbs they’ve been giving me, trying to heal the damage.
Trying to heal the damage.
Without opening my eyes, I know where I am. Silverville Hospital, which has the capacity to treat both humans and shifters. Where they have the kind of strong, herbal medicines that shifter bodies respond to.
Unfortunately, they must have given me the wrong dose or something because everything hurts so much. Even my eyelids feel tight and wrong, like they’ve been stretched too thin. When I finally get them open, the fluorescent light spikes directly into my skull, and I quickly shut them, letting out a whimper.
The second thing I register is the sound of his voice through the wall, muffled enough that I can’t make out what he’s saying.
But I know it’s him. I would recognize him in any place, any life. I’ve spent more than ten years running from him, from the idea of him.
From what happened between us, and what happened right after it.
