Damien.
My almost-mate. The father of my children. The boy who had tormented me throughout childhood while hiding his own birthmark—afraid of the stigma, trying to process his forbidden attraction to a marked omega by pushing me away at every turn.
He looked terrible. Blood matted his golden hair, his face was bruised and swollen, and he moved with the stiff gait of someone nursing broken ribs. But his blue eyes burned with defiance as the guards shoved him into the cell directly across from mine.
Our gazes locked through the glass barriers separating us. A traitorous flutter passed through my chest—some remnant of our broken mate bond that refused to fully die. I hated it. Hated that despite everything, despite Kieran and the life we were building, some part of me still responded to Da
