Chapter 111

It had started to drizzle, that kind of cold, misty rain that seeped into your bones before you even noticed you were wet. It was just as well. It was what I deserved at this point and a perfect reflection of my mood.

I pulled my hood tighter around my face and hunched my shoulders as I walked past shuttered storefronts, ignoring the ache in my feet and the twist in my stomach that said you haven’t eaten today. Not properly. The half a protein bar I’d found in my coat pocket this morning didn’t count.

I didn’t know where I was going, not really. In life, at least. But physically?

I knew exactly where I was going. It was the same place I've been going for the past couple of weeks.

The little bakery on the corner of Juniper and Fifth.

Her bakery.

Maya’s bakery. Well, at least the little bakery she worked at.

She was still saving up enough money to open a bakery of her own.

My boots squelched on the cracked sidewalk as I crossed to the alley beside it, heart thudding like I was breaking the damn law just being near her again. I tucked into the shadows and stared through the rain-speckled window.

She was behind the counter, her hands working deftly as she boxed pastries for a customer. Her hair was pinned up, tendrils curling around her face from the humidity, and she was smiling.

Smiling.

It hurt to know that she would probably never smile at me like that again. And I had no one to blame but myself. I'd probably never be her first taste tester again, either. Or the one she called when she couldn't sleep.

But she was safe. She was okay. She was smiling.

Without me.

I pressed my hand to the cold brick wall beside me, grounding myself. She didn’t know I was here. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe it was too late.

And maybe I’d never stop wondering what would’ve happened if I’d walked away from Brightclaw sooner. If I’d chosen her the moment I felt something instead of letting myself get dragged deeper into Vivian’s twisted games. I winced.

Be honest. At least with yourself, Tyler.

It wasn't just Vivian's games, it was my own ambition too. My father's expectations. The life I'd lived up until meeting Maya.

I remembered how it all had just seemed so unimportant. And yet more important than anything. My position with Brightclaw was supposed to be a path to the future. And I'd gotten greedy. And complacent. My hopelessness up until meeting Maya had blinded me. Seeing her now, I could see clearly how it had really been. I'd been ready to throw it all away before I met her.

My place. My family. My life.

After meeting her, hanging on had become the most important thing I could ever do with my life. My father told me once that having a fated mate wasn't anything of importance. Whether I met them or not, it didn't matter if they couldn't be of use to me.

I realize more and more. That he was wrong because there was nothing about having Maya in my life that wasn't of use to me. Her strength and grace had broken through the darkness of Vivian's compulsions and my own doubts. Everything that happened after that was my own fault.

Well, most of it.

I still wasn't exactly sure how to go about charging my father with theft after all these years, but I'm sure I'd figure it out eventually. For now, I was just broke and free.

The rain came harder.

I was about to turn away when I heard the sound of a door creaking open, then a sharp bark of suspicion.

“Hey! You!”

I turned, just in time to be smacked across the shoulder with a goddamn broom.

“Old man, what the hell—”

“You casing the place?” the shopkeeper shouted, whacking me again. “Think I don’t know what a thief looks like?”

“I’m not—stop hitting me, I swear to the goddess—”

“You're skulking around in the rain, staring through a window. What would you think?”

I wasn't even looking through his window. Though I guess I couldn't be upset that my neighbor was looking out for the place.

“I—ow, goddamn it—I wasn’t stealing anything!”

“Then what were you doing?!” he demanded, finally stopping.

I held up my hands. “Nothing. I was just… looking.”

His face twisted in suspicion. Then something shifted. His eyes narrowed, scanning my face, and then widened.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “I know you.”

I blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“You’re that Brightclaw gamma. The one who answered the call down here a few months back. The mugging in the alley behind La Espera.”

I remembered the call. The smell of blood. The echo of Maya’s voice calling for help.

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “That was me.”

“You were the one who got the guy before the cops even showed.”

I shrugged. “Was doing my job.”

The old man gave a low whistle. “Damn shame what they’re saying about you now.”

My gut tightened.

“Come on,” he said. “Get in here before you catch pneumonia. You look like a drowned mutt.”

“I’m fine—”

“Get in here.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, just turned and walked back into his shop, leaving the door open. Warm light spilled out, smelling of metal polish and cedar and old things.

I hesitated, soaked to the skin and bone-tired, pride warring with exhaustion. But then a gust of wind blasted through the alley, and I cursed, stepping into the warmth of the jewelry store.

It was cluttered and charming, like a dragon’s den. Wooden display cases lined the walls, filled with rings, watches, and bracelets. Some real, some plated, all shining under amber light.

The old man disappeared into a back room and returned with a towel, a cup of something steaming, and a folded bundle of worn clothes.

“My boy moved out last year,” he said. “Left behind most of his closet. You look about the same size. There’s a cot in the back if you need to dry off.”

“I’m not a charity case,” I said hoarsely.

“No,” he said. “You’re someone having a bad week. Bad month, maybe. And you’ve got that look in your eye, the kind people have when they’re not sure if anything's worth trying for anymore.”

I stared at the cup for a moment before taking it. Coffee. Bitter and hot.

“You got a job?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Don't suppose anyone is interested in hiring you with how things are… Well,” he said. “I could use someone who doesn’t mind polishing chains and keeping the back room organized. Nothing fancy. Just work.”

I didn’t trust it.

I didn’t want to trust it.

But something in his face told me that he meant it. That not everyone in this godess-forsaken city wanted to spit on me.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Take your time.”

I turned to look back out the front window.

And that’s when I saw her.

Maya.

She had changed out of her apron and coat, hair now damp and curled slightly at the edges. She was walking quickly, arms wrapped around herself as the rain came down harder.

She didn’t have an umbrella.

Instinct drove me. I didn’t even think.

I bolted from the door, ignoring the old man’s shout, feet hitting the pavement hard as I jogged out into the storm.

She was halfway down the block by the time I caught sight of her again, and someone was pulling up in a dark sedan.

A man stepped out. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair cropped short. He was wearing a nice suit, too. He held the door open for her, and she slipped in with a grateful smile.

Then he touched her back.

Not threatening. Just casual.

Familiar.

My body locked.

The rain was nothing compared to the fire that erupted behind my ribcage.

Who the hell was that?

My hands curled into fists as the car pulled away and disappeared around the corner.

I stood there in the middle of the street, seething, soaked to the bone, and unable to move.

She was seeing someone else. Already?

Of course she was.

She had every right to.

I’d done this to us. Lied to her. Put her in danger. Chose my ambition over her for months. Now, I was the one standing in the rain like some forgotten memory.

The rage boiled up. Not at her. Never at her.

At myself. At everything I’d thrown away.

The offer the old man made suddenly felt heavier. I still didn't want to take it, but it would keep me close. It would keep my mind off that bleakness that had once nearly destroyed me. I press my hand to my chest, close my eyes, reaching for the bond that had to be there still. If it wasn't there, I didn't know what I would do. But it was there, soft. Weak, but there. Hurting drumming with her pain and mind in the distance.

There was hope still.