Chapter 3

I didn't sleep in our bed that night. I told Jaxon I had a headache and took the guest room at the end of the hall.

The full moon hung right outside the window. I sat on the little couch and looked at my finger. The hole was already gone.

In my last life, my healer blood was the worst thing about me. It made me the perfect meal.

This time, it was going to be the bait.

Around midnight, I smelled him.

Cedar and smoke, thick and hot, creeping in under the door. Jaxon was out in the hallway. I could hear him pacing, his breathing fast and rough.

He was in rut.

I almost laughed. Since the day we got engaged, Jaxon had barely kissed me. He always said the same sweet thing. We should wait for the mating ceremony. You deserve to have it done right.

I used to think that was romantic.

Now I knew he'd been saving himself for a flower.

So why was he outside my door at midnight, burning up?

I crept over and pressed my ear to the wood.

"Scarlett," he whispered. "God, Scarlett. Soon. So soon."

He wanted her. He'd always wanted her.

The bud had tasted my blood today. That put Scarlett one step closer to blooming, and whatever tied the two of them together, he could feel it. He couldn't touch her yet. So he came to the next best thing. Her stand-in. Her food.

My stomach turned.

I turned the lock as quietly as I could. Then I crossed the room and opened the window wide. Cold air rushed in and blew his smell away.

I closed my eyes and followed the thin new line that root had left inside me.

She was there at the other end. And she was hungry.

One drop hadn't fed her. It had only woken her up. She wanted more. A lot more.

Good.

I pulled my work bag out from under the bed. I worked at the pack clinic, so I always kept a few supplies at home. In a padded case at the very bottom sat a syringe of liquid silver.

At the clinic, we used a few drops to clean out rogue bites. A full syringe could stop a grown wolf's heart. For a flower trying to grow a wolf soul, it would be pure poison.

I tucked it in my pocket and climbed out the window.

The ivy on the back wall was old and thick. I'd climbed it a hundred times as a teenager, sneaking home after curfew. It took me less than a minute to reach the balcony of the master bedroom.

The glass door was open a crack. Out in the hall, Jaxon was still pacing outside the guest room.

I slipped inside.

The glass box sat on the nightstand, glowing a faint, sick red in the dark.

The bud knew I was there right away. It started pulsing hard and fast. It thought its dinner had shown up on its own.

I lifted the lid.

Three roots shot out at my throat.

I held still and caught all three in my fist.

They went into my palm like hot needles. I bit my lip and held on while the bud drank, greedy and fast, shivering all over.

Then I pushed the needle into the soil, right where the roots met the bud, and pressed the plunger all the way down.

The scream came from inside my own skull this time. It went on and on.

The roots went limp in my hand and shrank back into the soil, drying up as they went. The pink drained out of the bud. In a few seconds it was the dull purple of an old bruise.

I closed the lid. "Dinner's served, Scarlett," I whispered. "Don't worry. I'll bring seconds."

Then the doorknob turned.

I had about two seconds. I made it behind the long balcony curtain just as the bedroom door swung open.

Jaxon came in barefoot, his shirt half unbuttoned. He went straight to the nightstand and knelt in front of the glass like he was in church.

"Hey, beautiful," he said softly. "A couple more weeks. Just hang on. Then it's you and me, the way it was supposed to be."

I didn't breathe.

He reached out to touch the glass. Then he stopped.

"Why are you drooping?"

He leaned closer and frowned. Then he lifted his head and sniffed the air, slow and careful. Once. Twice.

My blood was all over those roots. It was still dripping off my fingers onto the floor behind the curtain.

Jaxon stood up and turned toward the balcony.

"Hazel?"