Page 22 of Sold Rejected Mate
I’m thinking about Holden Sorel, how hard he came down on us after that fire. Phina’s gaze holds mine steady, like she’s a mother and I’m an insolent child. In some ways, maybe those are exactly the roles we hold right now.
“Xeran is actually working on easing the stigma,” Phina says. “It won’t happen overnight, and he has to be strategic about it, but we’re hoping to make this pack a welcoming place for everyone. Including those who can wield magic.”
“And including stray omegas?” The words snap out of me. Phina might be from the worst family in town, but she can shift, and that automatically makes her worth more than me. At least in the strict hierarchy that many shifters still adhere to.
“Of course,” she says, not taking the bait, not rising to the edge in my voice. “Every omega. And Val, if I’d known you were in Colorado, that you needed help—”
“What?” I ask, swallowing again and reveling in the painlessness of it. “I could have moved in withyou? I’m sure the people around here would love that, seeing us together again.”
“Xeran and I are really working on making it so thepeople around herehave a lot less power with their public shaming,” Phina says. “I went through a lot of that, sticking around.”
“And why did you?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Well, I was pregnant, for one. And even with how shitty my mom is, she was the only person I had. Then my grandmother died and left me her house.”
I feel my eyes widen. “Shedid?”
“Yeah,” Phina says, cracking a smile. “And the people there were already at maximum capacity for hating me and Nora. So you could have moved in.”
That hangs between us for a moment, something like the camaraderie of our old meetings returning to the space. What it used to feel like as a teenager, sitting across from her at the table. Telling jokes. Making plans for what we would do with our magic.
Regaining the feeling of friendship I’d lost when it became clear that I wouldn’t be shifting anytime soon. That I was astray.
“I owed your brother some money,” I admit, finding her eyes. “And I guess he decided he was going to figure out a way to make it back. I wasn’t trying to start a fire, it just…happened. I’d been suppressing the magic for so long—”
“How long?” Phina asks, her eyes searching.
“Since that day,” I admit.
The first time I tried to cast since that day in the forest was when I pulled my little Spiderman stunt, trying to get away from the Sorel brothers. Or maybe it was when I slammed that douchebag up against the wall. It’s hard to tell the difference between it leaking out of me and a purposeful, intentional pull.
“Maybe I used a bit here or there, but it all just came out,” I continue. “When your brother was…”
Phina sucks in air through her teeth, and I see something in her eyes that tells me maybe she understands the feeling. After all, she grew up with the fucker.
“Maybe that’s what happened to your scent,” she murmurs, almost more to herself than to me. “Maybe all that magic burning inside you, you just—scorched it away or something?”
“Maybe,” I agree, though up to this point, I wasn’t aware there was anything wrong with my scent.
A beat passes, and Phina’s face is clouded like she’s thinking it through. Then she clears her throat and speaks again.
“Xeran will understand,” Phina says, voice quiet. “But I’m still going to tell him who you are. And you’ll still have to explain everything.”
“His brothers were there, too.”
Phina nods. “Yeah, he’s going to want to know everything you know, anyway. They’re still running around, causing problems. With a little less organization since Declan died.”
I was still here when Declan took over, and that was my cue to get out. With how much things sucked for me underHolden—Xeran’s dad—they were only about to get worse with Xeran’s uncle taking the helm.
A beat passes, and she stands, flexing her hands. “Do you mind if I take a crack at this leg? I might not be able to fully heal it, but I think—”
“Yes,” I interject, sitting up a little, wincing at the line of pain that stretches from my ankle to my hip. “Please, I’ll try anything.”
Hovering her hands over my legs in exactly the same way I did when I tried casting on myself, she moves her palms up and down, starting at my knee, tracing a path to my ankle, and coming back again.
Each pass eases some of the pain. Sweat beads on her brow, and still she doesn’t stop until she gets to my hip and all the pain is gone.
“That’s fucking crazy,” I mutter when she sits back in the chair, taking a deep breath.
