Damian's POV
Not mine.
The words landed like ice water poured straight down my spine — dousing the wildfire that had barely had three seconds to catch.
My wolf retreated. The low, resonant hum that had vibrated through my sternum — that sound I'd never heard before tonight — cut off mid-note. Replaced by a silence so sudden and so complete it felt like a door slamming shut before I'd even glimpsed what was behind it.
I can't smell her.
My wolf again. No hesitation this time. Just a clinical certainty that bordered on cruel.
No lavender. No petrichor. No fated-mate marker of any kind. She smells like laundry detergent and drugstore hand cream. That's it.
She's not ours.
Lavender and petrichor.
The scents of my two ex-girlfriends.
The fact that my wolf chose this moment to resurrec
