Chapter 8: Cormick's POV

Cormick's POV

I did not look at her during the test because I knew what would happen if I did.

I would have stood up and stopped the drums.

She held for five minutes with cymbals at her ear and sweat in her collar.

I sat in the heir's chair with my hands flat on my knees and did not move.

That night I stayed in my study with the lamp low and could not make my hands stop.

Three years ago I danced my first Rite as heir.

My partner was a second-year of real talent, chosen by the council for her steadiness.

She stood in front of me in the circle and I felt nothing.

No scent, no pull, no wolf answering the wolf.

I stepped through the figure alone, and when the moment came to bring the shift up together, mine rose alone and hers stayed down.

The crowd watched an Alpha's heir dance by himself.

The year after, I tried again, and the year after that.

Every dancer in the troupe was good, and every one of them smelled of nothing.

I thought something in me had broken.

Then, one morning weeks ago, I stood at the window of the dance hall, waiting for class to begin.

A thread of rain on cut grass came through the glass.

I turned my head and the door opened, and she was standing there with her bag on her shoulder and her chin up.

Keep reading free with an account. Start My Mate's Last Message Wasn't for Me from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.