Page 31 of Let It Snow (Eden’s Omegaverse #7)

If we truly are TMs, nothing in this world can keep us apart. The famous Pull would have to start soon. I had a bit of a taste of it, though it only had a sexual aspect to it—the strong attraction and constant arousal—yet without the painful part.

But now?

I’m not going to see Snow for at least a few days. My head needs to clear out. We’ll see if the painful part kicks in. And it’s inescapable. That’s how the start of creating the Bond should work: once it’s triggered and the Pull is on, it can’t stop until the Bond is completed.

If we are bound to each other by Fate, then our free will won’t matter. I could be fussy and angry and jealous, and still, it will win over me. The Pull will drag me back to Snow and push aside everything else, drawing us toward each other relentlessly.

The final test is coming.

I rise slowly, feeling like a massive weight is pressing down on my shoulders.

When I glance at Bay, he’s watching me with that same strange, cold detachment, as if I’m a shadow, not a person.

I turn away, moving toward the door.

"Good luck, Summer," Bay calls after me, his voice flat, like a memorized script. I know he doesn’t care. He’s sunk too deep into whatever consumes his life to care about anyone else, least of all, me.

I go back home and curl up in my nest, hoping for comfort, but none comes.

The confusion only thickens.

Misery.

The bitter sense of being unlucky. The feeling that nothing in my life ever works out the way I want. Why? Why can’t anything ever be simple, damn it?

Why can’t I just have the normal life I dream of?

◆◆◆

The next few days I spend almost entirely shut away in my room.

But if I expected the pain to increase slowly, like it does with The Pull, I’m in for an unpleasant surprise.

It hits me right away!

I lie curled on the bed while pain pulses mercilessly through my skull, like somebody pushed a spear in there, until I can barely handle it, tears streaming down my face, my breath shallow.

Finally, it’s too much, so I drag myself to the kitchen during hours when no one else is around.

Desperate, I start searching the cupboards for painkillers, even though I’ve always avoided any medication.

But this time it’s do-or-die.

The pain is so sharp I think I might faint.

I’m still rummaging when I sense someone behind me.

I know instantly who it is. It’s like a wind of blissful energy that makes me dizzy.

I spin around fast.

Snow.

But his face doesn’t look like the calm, steady expression I’m used to. This time, there’s a shadow of grief that clings to his whole aura, mirroring my own.

I just stare at him, and all I want is to run to him and merge myself with him and forget about the world, but… he doesn’t say a word.

I hope in vain he’ll make everything right again, repair it, save us, save me… But instead, his gaze drifts slowly to the open cupboard.

"Are you looking for painkillers?" he asks, his voice low and deep. Beautiful. Sexy. Why? How dare he be so effortlessly hot when I'm suffering?

My dick throbs.

My tears are threatening to show up.

What a mix.

Still, I nod.

That grief lingers in his features. Slowly, he slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out his harmonica.

He lifts it to his lips and starts to play a soft, soothing melody.

The moment it begins, I feel the pulsing ache in my head start to ease.

I close my eyes and let the music wash through me, seeping into every part of my body.

Oh my goodness, how blissful it feels…

We stand like that for a few minutes, facing each other, as he heals me with his music.

Eventually, the headache fades completely.

My head clears.

I open my eyes and meet his gaze.

I want to thank him, but the hurt and despair twist inside me and stop the words. I can’t forgive him for destroying our chance at something… perfect.

For fuck’s sake, couldn’t he have skipped that one last hookup?

And he, of all people?

He’s supposed to be a better seer than my own brother, Moon. Never once being wrong.

So what the hell was that about?

Was Theo that good of a fuck that he just could not deny him?

Drowning in bitterness and grief, I spin on my heel and run out of the kitchen back to my room.

I feel sick because I miss Snow like crazy, but I’m also too devastated: he had to know how much it would hurt me. And he did it anyway, bastard!

I was practically on my way to the Nolans’ house, and he still chose to ejaculate inside Theo, impregnating him. That thought only fuels my rage.

I know it’s irrational. I know it isn’t fair, since we weren’t together then.

But there are consequences to his choice.

The fury builds into a tidal wave as I tumble in bed, thrashing apart my nest.

On an impulse, I tear Snow’s hoodie from it and hurl it off the balcony, hating Snow, hating the false sense of safety he gave me.

Nothing is safe.

Nothing is moving toward normal.

◆◆◆

The next morning, I wake with an even sharper pain in my head, like someone’s driving ten screws into my skull. It’s so intense I can barely sit up.

A silent sob escapes my lungs.

Then, unexpectedly, I hear music.

Not from outside. The balcony door is shut. It’s coming from just beyond my door.

I listen.

The soft, silvery rhythm strokes across my aching skull like a hand smoothing it.

Where is he? I need to know.

I force myself up and stumble to the door.

When I open it, I see Snow sitting on the steps leading to my room, knees drawn up, playing quietly.

The sight hits me so hard I slam the door shut and lean back against it, my chest tight with emotions I would rather not feel.

I don’t want to see him, because I hate him. Damn Snow. And at the same time, I want to cry. Because I don’t hate him, unfortunately.

On top of that, I desire him.

The melody doesn’t stop. It seeps through the door like balm, softening the agony in my head.

The pounding eases.

I lie back down as the music gradually fades, and finally I hear the soft sound of footsteps retreating.

Why does he even care?

He should just get his ass over to Theo, focus on the pregnant omega and his kid, and leave me the hell alone. Why is he helping me? I don’t need his damn help or his pity.

Too late, too damn late, jerk.

But there’s one thing I have to settle, something I need to know. I log into an online pharmacy and order something that’s supposed to tell me exactly where I stand.

Once the order’s placed, I go back to bed, fully aware the headache will probably return.

And it does, the next morning.

And Snow’s help keeps coming over the next few days.

I wake up every day with a splitting headache, and Snow shows up patiently at the stairs outside my room, as if he knows the exact moment I’m suffering.

I never go out to him again. I don’t thank him, don’t even acknowledge him. The bastard doesn’t deserve it.

I also stop going down for meals.

For the first week, Jordan brings them up to me.

He doesn’t ask anything, nobody does. I guess everybody knows. Lake comes one day, but I bury myself in bed and don’t respond to his gentle questions.

One week goes by, and I just… exist, quietly missing those days from before.

Before Theo arrived.

Snow’s melody that returns every morning is the only sweet reminder of the innocence that was lost, and the one thing soothing me now, getting me through one more day.

Then, one day my package finally arrives.

Inside is a device that measures… veradiol levels.

I know that with True Mates, separation makes the stress hormone unique to them spike fast. Sensitive devices can detect the rise in just two hours of separation. Even the cheapest paper tests light up after one day apart, because the levels climb pretty high by then.

Of course, I order the best, most sensitive commercial device I can get my hands on. It has to be flawless, unquestionable.

I unpack it, prick my finger with the tiny lancet on the glucometer-like tool, and wait.

It beeps.

I lower my eyes to the screen.

What?

Wait…

Veradiol level: 0 ng/mL.

The fuck?!

The sight makes me sway. Darkness closes in at the edges of my vision.

What’s going on?

Not even 0.1 ng/mL.

Zero.

What about my horrible pain, the suffering, my head almost splitting in half?

I prick my finger again.

And again.

I pick another device from the same package, yes, I ordered a few models just to be sure.

I spend the next hour pricking myself like a madman, over and over again, checking on a few different devices.

Zero.

ZERO.

Z.e.r.o.

Me and Snow…

We’re not True Mates.

I collapse back on the bed and lose consciousness.

◆◆◆

I open my eyes and find Lake bending over me.

"Summer?"

I can tell right away he feels awkward being here, like he’s not sure if he should talk to me, ask what’s going on with a pile of torn-open packages in the center of the room.

His face is unsure, does he feel guilty?

Lake asks if he can sit. I nod, though my face makes it clear I’m not welcoming him close. He sits carefully and stays quiet for a long while.

Then, out of nowhere, he says,

"For the past year, Snow’s been telling me he’s been asking the universe to send him his perfect mate. He said he’d come in the fall."

No. Not that. I feel a wave of such bitterness rise that it spills out of me, tearing its way through my throat even though it hurts like hell.

"Snow isn’t my True Mate, Lake!"

Silence falls. He studies me, concern and almost fear in his eyes. His lips tremble.

"Are you sure? How do you know?"

I grab the device lying beside me. My fingers are bloody from pricking them over and over; I’ve been testing myself to the point where the skin’s raw.

Saying it out loud would rip me apart, more pain piled onto what I’m already going through. I can’t. So I grab my phone and type fast.

"We kissed, I bit his gland, and now it’s been over a week since we last touched. And nothing. I’m not dying. I miss him like crazy, but I’m alive! And the device confirmed it. Veradiol level: zero."

Lake stares at the screen, disbelief written all over his face.