He cursed as my face told him everything I was thinking. Either that, or he felt it down our fucking bond. “Don’t look at me like that. I was planning to tell you.”

“Let me go.”

“You will allow me to explain.”

“I don’t want to hear your explanations. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

The hand holding my wrist stroked the gold mark that represented our bond, silently reminding me that I’d be seeing him until he decided otherwise. Fury burned like a fireball inside my chest and I yanked my hand. He let it go.

Trust was like a rope. Every betrayal frayed that rope until it was frail, barely holding together. But there were some betrayals that were so shocking, so all-encompassing, that they were a sharp blade, slashing through the rope and instantly severing it forever.

I’d considered letting Samael feed from me. I’d imagined a world in which I could convince him to free me from the bond, and we could date.

I let out a bitter laugh. His face tightened, and something that looked a lot like panic shifted through his eyes.

“Danica–”

“Stop.”

If this was the last time I ever saw him, he’d do what he had promised.

“Show me my mom.”

He jolted in surprise. Then his expression hardened. “Why would you want this while you are already upset?”

“There’s no good time to see my mother’s body, Samael.” And I had no intention of spending any time around him ever again. “You said you would show me. So do it.”

He stared at me for a long moment. I narrowed my eyes, waiting. That muscle twitched in his jaw, the one that let me know every time I was driving him insane. “Close your eyes.”

I did.

And then I was inhabiting Samael’s memory. Once again, I was inside his body, as he stood on the sidewalk in South Durham.

My mom had been so young. I’d forgotten that somehow. I’d been born when she was just nineteen, and as I stared down at her, lying alone and cold, I let my gaze drift over her face. There were no wrinkles by her eyes, no laugh lines around her mouth. She was frozen, ageless.

The pictures had shown me her body. But they hadn’t shown me the chill in the air. They couldn’t communicate how quiet it was, on that street where she had died, alone and in pain. Her nails were ragged and caught, and a sharp fury stabbed through my chest. The investigators could’ve searched for DNA. Even if the murderer had been a paranormal, it would’ve told them what kind of creature had killed her.