Page 34 of Betrayed Alpha Mate

She turns and walks away, leaving me standing there long after she’s gone, the bond humming, aching, and alive beneath my skin.

And for the first time in years, I know one thing with absolute certainty. What I did to her back then wasn’t small, futile, like it was something that could easily be forgiven at the dawn of a second chance. I broke her, and I see it now behind her stubborn anger, a broken girl sobbing while the dragon of her resistance keeps her fiercely protected. If I don’t face it now, it’s going to destroy us both.

Chapter 10 - Emily

The cottage smells like dust, dried herbs, and old memories that never learned how to stay buried. Those memories come crawling back, under my skin, surfacing where I didn’t want them. Now, I’m forced to face them, even while I’m asleep.

The dreams last night were crazy, and I woke up with heavy eyelids parting, staring at the cracked wooden beam above my bed, my chest tight like I forgot how to breathe sometime during the night. The mattress is thin, familiar in all the wrong ways, and my body aches from curling in on itself like I was trying to disappear while I was asleep.

I can feel its indent from where I’ve hardly moved, frozen in an almost-fetal position as if I were longing for comfort. I don’t remember deciding to come here; I just remember leaving Sean’s house. I left as soon as I fled the crime scene of the pack den and went to his house, realizing that I couldn’t be there anymore. I left before anyone could knock on my door or look at me with those careful expressions; the ones that say they know without ever saying it out loud. Before they could treat me like something fragile. Or worse, something exposed.

I swallow hard and push myself upright, pressing my palm to the center of my chest as the familiar hum stirs beneath my skin.

There it is.

That low, constant vibration that never fully quiets anymore. Not pain. Not heat. Just awareness. Like something inside me is awake when I want it dormant.

The fated mate bond.

I take a deep breath, feeling moisture gathering in my eyes—unwelcome moisture—and I do my best to stifle the urge to cry. I wasted enough tears last night, way too many over the years, to let this bring me down now. But I can’t help but feel so powerless. I guess it was easier to believe that I was to blame for the bond when I thought the lunar binding spell worked. At least that way, there was a reason for feeling so connected to Sean.

Now, there’s no one to blame.

Except Sean, for existing at all.

I grit my teeth and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The floor is cold beneath my feet, grounding in theory, useless in practice. This place was supposed to help. That was the logic, anyway. Distance. Silence. Space to breathe without an audience.

Instead, it feels like I’ve stepped into a version of myself I don’t want to face.

My cottage hasn’t changed, and why should it? It’s only been a week since I left, but there’s a feeling of emptiness, as if the walls remember my departure and bear a grudge because I left. Same stone walls, same narrow windows, shelves I built myself, once upon a time, when the only magic I had was whatever I could administer with my hands in the physical sense, back when forces of magic didn’t control me.

But this is also where I lived after everything fell apart. After Sean left. After I let myself believe that what we had mattered.

I force myself into motion, going through the routine of a morning I didn’t plan for. Kettle on the stove. Mug pulled from the cupboard. I measure out some dried chamomile carefully, because control lives in small choices now. It feels monotonous and unusual somehow, while also pulling me back into the familiarity of somewhere safe, somewhere without Sean.

Sitting at the table by the window, I close my eyes, placing my palms flat against the wood, searching for a way to ground myself in the safety that I’d felt in my cottage once.

Breathe in for four counts.

Hold.

Breathe out for six.

I repeat the cycle again and again, hearing the voices of the witches inside my head, echoing with soft voices of reason, gentle nudging with advice. Magic responds to calm. To intention. To balance. That’s what I need to believe in.

Because if I don’t, then I’m giving in to the fact that my magic only responds to the fated mate bond, to Sean.

But nothing happens.

My jaw tightens, frustration curling sharp and hot in my stomach. I breathe deeper this time, forcing my thoughts to still. I imagine my magic pulling inward instead of reaching outward. Folding in on itself. Contained. Obedient.

Then suddenly, the hum beneath my skin sharpens instead, like it’s annoyed with me. My fingers twitch, gold light flickering beneath my skin, faint but unmistakable, before it abruptly dies out like it never existed.

“No…” I whimper defeatedly, but my magic doesn’t listen. It never does, unless he’s close, and I’ve put enough distance between us to ensure that my magic doesn’t work.

I open my eyes abruptly and push away from the table, my heart hammering in my chest. Pacing the small kitchen, rubbing my arms as I can physically shake the sensation loose. The bond pulses harder in the pit of my belly with every step, like it knows I’m fighting it.

That’s what terrifies me. Not the power, but the fact that my body responds whether I want it to or not. I can feel my magic stirring now without even trying, prompting me to look up and gaze out of the window, where I see Sean crossing the road from where he’s just left the library.