Page 19

The moment the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I didn’t mean to say them, didn’t mean to let them out. All this time, I thought Emin knew what I was saying.

It’s hard for me to think right now. Usually, I know exactly what to do, what to say. But this is scrambling the past for me, changing what I always thought of to be the undeniable fact.

Without meaning to, I’m remembering that day, the moment coming right back to me, as clear as if it had happened only minutes ago.

From the look on Emin’s face, he must be remembering that moment, too.

Is he lying to me? Pretending like he had no idea that I was pregnant to save face now? My intuition tells me that’s not true—that the surprise and confusion on his face is genuine. I can practically hear Beth in my ear, telling me that as a clairsentient, my intuition is probably right.

When he finally opens his mouth, the only thing Emin gets out is a breathy, broken, “ What ?”

I swallow, try to take another step back, but I’m already up against the wall. Emin isn’t crowding me, but he’s close enough that I can smell him. His scent wafts around me, thick and full, distracting.

“I…I thought you knew,” I say, everything about my memory of that moment shifting. Somehow, now, looking backward, Emin looks more scared than vindictive. He looks more like a kid, startled by his father. Afraid of the implications.

Only thinking about what might happen if I say we’re mates, and he has to reject me outright. It’s so clear to me that I feel silly for misremembering it all this time—Emin didn’t understand what I was trying to tell him.

Maybe he’d glanced down at my stomach, but not with understanding, just following the movement of my arm.

“Veva,” he chokes, his hands rising to his hair.

He takes fistfuls of it, copper strands sticking out at odd angles as he stares at me, his face pained.

Anguished. “You have to believe me—I had no idea that’s what you were trying to tell me.

I never would have—” he puts his fist to his mouth, glancing away from me, looking for a moment like he might be sick. “Oh, fuck .”

The silence stretches between us, my heart thrashing around in my chest, desperate to get out.

Over the years, I’d thought about this moment. A confrontation with Emin, a chance to finally call him a coward and make him feel terrible for everything he’s done. But this isn’t going anything like what I thought.

He didn’t know. The shame and grief suddenly, and without warning, shift over to me, cloaking my body.

“Emin—” I start, not sure where the sentence is going. What will I say? Admit that I acted rashly for running away? Explain the misunderstanding?

But he cuts me off, stepping forward and grabbing my biceps, looking down at me with eyes so genuine and open it makes a sob rise in my throat.

“Veva,” he says, “I’m so sorry.”

Of everything I thought he might say, an apology wasn’t what I expected. I linger in it, caught like a bug in a web, paralyzed and trying to figure out what to do. Emin Argent. Apologizing. To me.

“You…you are?”

“Yes,” he breathes, shaking his head, looking to the side. “I’ve been trying to apologize to you this entire time, but— fuck , Veva. If I had known—”

Then, he freezes, something else occurring to him. He glances up at the ceiling, his eyes going wide.

“Does that mean…Sarina…?”

The hope is plain on his face, evident there in his expression. He wants it to be true.

My mind feels like a wind tunnel, filled with ideas and thoughts moving far too fast for me to reach out and touch, let alone examine. Emin didn’t realize what I was trying to tell him that night—this entire time, we’ve been on completely different pages.

That means he’s not who I thought he was. I thought he was the kind of man who could turn away a pregnant woman. According to him, based on this conversation, that’s not who he is.

I should tell him the truth—that I lied about Sarina’s age. That biologically, she belongs to him. That she was already taking root in my stomach the night he pushed me through that window.

But I can’t.

All this time, I’ve always considered Sarina when making decisions. I’ve sacrificed everything to give her a better life. For the past ten years, my true north has been her. When it comes to making a choice, I choose the option that’s best for my daughter.

Now, I default to that.

I can’t think, don’t have time to work through it with Emin standing here, asking me the question point-blank.

So I lie.

“No. She’s not.”

He lets out a sharp breath, his shoulders rounding. Then he nods, raising his eyes to mine. “Okay.”

His voice is choked, and I can see what he’s thinking. Maybe I was wrong about being pregnant back then. Or maybe, knowing I’d have no support, I made the only decision I could.

I can see that he wants to know, but desperately doesn’t want to ask.

The rising tide of emotions inside me finally crests at the thought of losing Sarina back then, and I feel something I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

A sudden, intense infusion of heat, and a thick wetness between my legs.

“Oh no,” I mutter, gasping and sliding back from him, the sudden onslaught of the condition foreign and intimate at the same time.

“What?” Emin asks, raising his hands up like he’s afraid he might have hurt me. “What’s—”

But he doesn’t finish the question. Instead, his eyes go wide, and I catch him swaying forward slightly, breathing in deeply, clearly getting the scent of what’s happening in my body.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I anchor my hands in my stomach, cast at the organs inside. Skimming my hands over my arms and legs, I try to cool the blood, gather up the hormones, stop it from happening.

It’s been years since I’ve gone into heat. Usually, between the herbal supplements from Willow and my own consistent casting, I’m able to keep it at bay. Track it, manage it, keep it bottled up.

“It’s okay, Veva—”

“Sarina has never been around me in heat,” I say, eyes snapping up to Emin. “I don’t want her to see me like this, I can’t—”

A wave of lust so powerful it nearly knocks me off my feet rolls through me, and Emin steps forward like he might catch me. I put my hand out, knowing what’s going to happen if he touches me.

“Please,” I gasp. “If you want to help me, call Kira. Ask her to…ask her to take Sarina.”

I can’t believe I’m saying it, even as the words come out of my lips. For ten years, I’ve never been apart from Sarina for more than an hour at a time. Now, here I am, asking her to go to a near stranger.

But I can’t let her see me like this.

From the time Sarina was born, I worked hard to keep my heat at bay. And I’d planned to teach her how to do that for herself, too.

“Okay,” Emin says, nodding and backing up, his hands still held up in front of him like he’s being apprehended by the police. “Okay, Veva, don’t worry—I’ll help you through this. It’s okay.”

When he goes up the stairs, I slide to the floor, hands shaking as I run them through my hair. Still, I’m casting, trying to slow this, to stop it.

But it’s too late.

I’m about to have my heat here in Emin Argent’s house, with the knowledge that he’s not nearly as bad as I thought.

Groaning under my breath, I let my head fall into my hands.

“ Fuck .”