Page 2 of Toxic Revenge: Part Two

What happened when it was your own brain working against you?

Violet couldn’t get rid of her demons—but she’d tried.Oh, she’d tried every possible way.

I closed my eyes and inhaled, picking up scents but letting them disappear from my perception as fast as they came. Thebreath held in my chest until I consciously released, banishing all the swirling emotions that didn’t belong in my head.

An image of Violet formed. A memory. It was the first time I’d skeptically tried this with her when she’d had one of her panic attacks.

2 years ago

Dull silver hair hid her eyes, but I knew they were wide. She’d shrunk back as far as she could go into the corner of the bedroom, her knees to her chest. My sister trembled with terror, and I stood helplessly across the room.

I couldn’t soothe her.

I wasuseless.

And this was my fucking fault.

Every time we thought she was getting better, she slid backward. There were days she resembled the bright teenager who’d shown up on our doorstep, claiming we were relatives. The fearless omega who hadn’t cared she was knocking on the door of a pack she’d never met.

Today was one of those days.

She’d even smiled at me, her chapped lips turning upward. The few bites she’d taken of the buttered toast had been promising, but then the neighbours had started mowing the lawn.

I’d lost her again, the bitter notes of fear overpowering her sweet scent of almond cookies. The whimper that tore from her chest sent a lancing pain through me. I’d frozen while she scrambled away, abandoning the only food she’d eaten in days.

“Vi,” I croaked, reaching a hand out to her. She flinched back even though I was across the room. “It’s a lawnmower. Nothing bad.”

Knowing the truth couldn’t smother her panic. She shook and panted, her body struggling to keep up with how she hyperventilated.

I wracked my brain for some way I could help her. The therapist had said she probably wasn’t comfortable with people towering over her. My hand grabbed the desk, and I lowered myself quickly to my knees without making much noise.

My sister had refused to see the therapist, but I’d gotten pamphlets. Countless pamphlets of strategies for handling fragile omegas. Dr. Jalisco had disapproved of Violet not coming in to be assessed, but she’d gone soft when she saw my desperation.

The pamphlets said breathing was important. God, it felt stupid. I couldn’t watch her like this, though. My vision was blurry from tears that fell without permission.

“Hey, breathe with me,” I said.

She didn’t react when I inhaled, held, or exhaled. But I did it again because it was all I could do. I closed my eyes and focused on my own breathing, wondering why it helped me when it was supposed to be helping her.

When I’d opened them again, she’d brushed her hair from her face and her lips parted to exhale on a rhythm that matched mine. I smiled faintly and kept breathing.

It wasn’t enough for Violet—I wasn’t enough—but it helped.

I helped.

Present

Conrad and Mercer’s emotions left the forefront of the bond, banished by the hint of calm I’d grappled for. I envisioned locking them away in a box, not allowing any part of them to be free. The feelings would come back, oozing through the seals, but it would take some time.

The visualization was another fragment of woo-woo bullshit that had turned out to be surprisingly helpful.

Dr. Jalisco always said it wasn’t magic, but science. She’d linked me to articles on the benefits of meditation and yoga and breathing exercises. I’d read them all.

“Is anyone following me?” I asked under my breath, reminding myself of what it was I needed to figure out.

Quickly. I needed to call Talia, but the nearest burner was at our safe house.

I inhaled, sorting through the scents that hit me for anything out of place. I backed up down the alley the way I’d come, repeating the process.