The following morning, Samara discovered she now had three strands of white hair.
She stared at her reflection in the dim bathroom light, her fingers tracing the pale streaks that stood out against the black. Three. Yesterday there had been two. The magic was failing faster than she had thought.
How long am I going to keep wearing this thing on my head?
She sighed as she continued washing her hair, working the soap through the tangled strands. The cloth would hide the white for now. But soon, there would be too many to cover. Soon, everyone would see.
She felt tired.
Tired of hiding. Tired of lying. Tired of the constant weight of secrets pressing down on her chest.
And worse than the exhaustion was her growing attachment to Caelion. Every time she saw him, her heart raced. Every time he spoke, her stomach flipped. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his green eyes looking at her, heard his low voice saying "You are my fated. My mate."
She did not want to want him.
