I gritted my teeth against the intense sting. “It’s fine. I’ve had way worse.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Look, I know you don’t like needles, but ‘I survived getting glared at by a basilisk’ does not negate ‘I might need stitches because a raróg tried to filet my stupid arm.’”

  I shot her a look, and she countered with one almost as intense as that of the aforementioned basilisk.

  Pointing sharply at my arm, she said, “Let me see it.”

  There really wasn’t any point in arguing with her—as if that ever stopped me from trying—so I carefully loosened my grasp on the towel. She peeled it back, which had me hissing in pain, and she prodded at the wound with her gloved fingers. Apparently satisfied I wasn’t going to bleed out, she gave a curt nod and gestured for me to keep applying pressure.

  “Fine,” she said tersely. “You win this time.”

  “Oh yeah?” I pressed the towel against the gash again. “What do I win?”

  “Not having me lecture you the entire time I’m suturing your arm.”

  I shrugged. “You’re going to lecture me anyway.”

  “I will, but I won’t be jabbing a needle into your skin to emphasize my various points.”

  That made me shudder, which only made me realize how shaky I was from adrenaline and blood loss.

  She sobered and touched my shoulder. “Why don’t you go sit? I’ll bring you some water and we can wrap that up properly.”

  I nodded, and I retreated to my office across the hall. Sinking into my desk chair, I sighed, relieved to be off my shaky legs. This wasn’t that out of the ordinary. Getting clawed, bitten, stung, and burned came with the territory of treating exotics. Especially exotics people had no business owning. Everyone thought a raróg was so cute, and everyone who had one was so happy, but Jesus fuck, couldn’t people be content with a parakeet or something? They were about the same size, way lower maintenance, and—most importantly—less dangerous. Even at parakeet size, a critter that had aspects of both falcon and dragon could still fuck up someone’s world by biting, burning, or—as was the case of my patient Elzbieta—clawing the ever-loving hell out of flesh with her too-sharp talons.

  “I guess I should’ve taken her to the groomer to get her nails trimmed,” the owner had said as I’d wrapped the towel around my arm. Yes. Yes, that would’ve been advisable. In fact, maybe we needed to update the clinic’s policies.

  Eh. That could be dealt with later. My arm would heal. And at least I hadn’t been tangling with a basilisk this time. That had sucked.

  “Secure the hood over her eyes,” I’d said.

  “Make sure the hood won’t come loose,” I’d said.

  Spoiler—it came loose.

  The furious lizard had whipped its head, knocked off the hood, looked right at me, and…

  That was the last thing I remembered. Good thing our clinic made sure everyone was up to date on using the defibrillators and we’d had a low-level necromancer on staff who could get my heart started enough for the defib to do its thing. Otherwise, that would’ve been it for Dr. Segreto.

  Stuff like that really did put an injury like a raróg scratch into perspective. Yes, it was deep. Yes, it hurt like hell. And yes, it maybe kind of might’ve benefitted from being sutured. But I hadn’t dropped dead on the floor this time, so it was all good.

  As long as it stopped bleeding enough that I didn’t pass out or get blood all over the place, I probably wouldn’t even get too far behind on my appointments today. No, that was bound to happen when I saw my eleven o’clock, which was an incredibly foul-tempered hellhound named Muffin who was highly displeased about his cone of shame. That appointment was bound to be—

  My office door flew open, almost startling me out of my chair as Julie, the receptionist, came in, her eyes wide.

  “Dr. Segreto, there’s—” She gasped as her gaze darted to the bloody towel around my arm. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Looks worse than it is.” I smiled through the pain. “What’s up? You seem…” I inclined my head. I wouldn’t say she looked panicked, but something clearly had her off-balance. She wasn’t one to be rattled by emergencies, either, so to say I was alarmed would be an understatement.

  “It’s your ex.” She swept her tongue across her lips. “He’s here, and he’s asking to see you, and…” Her brow pinched. “Something’s wrong.”

  Horror shot through me and I jumped to my feet, but my adrenaline-soaked brain reined me back in. I wobbled a little as the blood loss caught up with me, and I grabbed the edge of the desk.

  Julie appeared beside me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m good. I’m good.” I sank back into the chair and willed the room to stop spinning. “And… my ex? Something’s wrong?” I peered up at her. “What do you mean? And are we talking about Owen?” I couldn’t imagine who else it would be—he was the only man in this city I’d ever dated.

  “Yeah, it’s Owen.” She glanced toward the open doorway and shook her head. “He just came in, looking like he’d just seen something terrifying, and he said he needed to see you.”

  I swallowed. “Tell… Tell him to come back to my office.”

  “Okay.” She gave my arm another uneasy look, then headed back toward the lobby.

  Owen? Here? And he wanted to see me? That didn’t make any sense at all. I couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of crisis would have him freaking out, never mind in any way that would make him want to be in the same room as me.

  Someone came into the office, and my heart skipped.

  It wasn’t Owen, though. It was Lia, her hands full of dressings and antiseptic ointment for my arm.

  She halted and eyed me. “What?” With a cautious grin, she added, “Did you hear the basilisk in the waiting room or something?”

  I groaned. “Oh, God. Not another one.” I didn’t have to treat them anymore, but it always made me nervous when they were in the building.

  “Dr. Knowles is handling him. Don’t worry about it.” She turned serious again. “But you look like someone just put one on your schedule.” She continued across my office. “What’s going on?”

  “Uh, well…”

  I didn’t have a chance to say anything further, because a second later, Owen swept into my office, eyes wide and face pale.

  Lia froze. So did I.

  He looked at her. Then at me. “I need to talk to you.”

  I gulped. “Uh.” I glanced down at my arm. “All right. I just, uh… We need to…”

  “Oh shit!” His eyes widened and he came closer, hands out as if he wanted to help steady me or even cradle my injured arm. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  The concern in his expression and his voice—not to mention him being this close to me all of a sudden—brought me up short. He actually sounded genuinely worried. The same way he always had when I picked up some kind of war wound at work.

  The same way he always had in the past. Because those days were far behind us now, and I wouldn’t have been surprised at all if he’d told me I deserved it and he hoped I’d been bitten by something hellaciously venomous.

  This? The way he was suddenly in his familiar mother hen mode? I didn’t know what to make of it.

  You don’t give a shit about me anymore. What the hell is happening?

  But I was worried about him, too, and I wanted to hear him out, so I just quietly said, “It’s fine. A raróg clawed my arm.” I exchanged glances with Lia. She was obviously uncomfortable in here, and she didn’t say a word as she started laying out everything to dress my wound. Hopefully this wouldn’t take long; she didn’t need to be caught in whatever crossfire was coming. I nodded to one of my guest chairs and told Owen, “Have a seat. We’ll just be a minute.”

  He sat down, and no one spoke as Lia got started. I swore a few times from the antiseptic—Christ, that shit burned—but mostly, I surreptitiously watched my ex.

  I had no idea how to feel about this. I was worried sick about him. I’d never seen him this freaked out before, and I had no idea what to make of it.

  It also hurt like hell to see him. Just thinking about him these days made me queasy with guilt, and the few times I’d stumbled over a photo of him or tortured myself by looking at one on purpose, I’d been a mess for hours after. I missed him. I hated myself for ruining what we had, and not a day went by that I didn’t wish I could go back and undo all that damage. Even if I couldn’t save our relationship, there was literally nothing I wouldn’t do if it meant I didn’t hurt him like I did a year ago.

  I wish I could tell you how sorry I am.

  I wish I could tell you how much I still love you.

  I wish there was even a single reality where I deserved a second chance with you.

  It was just as well the antiseptic was burning my arm. At least then no one in this room would question why my eyes were welling up. Under normal circumstances, Lia would probably rib me about it, but I was pretty sure she’d keep that to herself this time. From the way she avoided my eyes and worked fast, she was trying to finish up and get out of here as soon as possible. If I had to guess, she’d have preferred being in a room with an angry hellhound or a Gulon with a toothache over staying in here with the two of us. Couldn’t say I blamed her.

  Unsurprisingly, as soon as she’d finished taping the bandage, she booked it out of my office, closing the door behind her.

  And now…

  Now I was alone with Owen.

  Owen, who was ghostly pale, sweating bullets, and from the looks of it, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating. Not very successfully, either.

  I sat up, carefully cradling my bandaged arm. “Hey. Owen.”

  I fully expected a glare. A snarled comment. Something. Now that there was no one else around, he’d let the mask drop and remind me of my place in his world.

  But the response I got was worse than that. He met my gaze and stared at me, looking for all the world like he was about to break down, and not because I’d broken his heart.

  No, it was like he was scared out of his mind. Like he was lost.

  Fuck it. I got up slowly to make sure my legs stayed under me, came around the desk, and gestured for him to do the same.

  “Come here,” I whispered, and… oh God. He did. He wrapped his arms around me, holding on to me fiercely as he trembled and tried to catch his breath.

  “I’m losing my fucking mind,” he murmured unsteadily. “Something’s… I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m—”

  “Hey. Hey. Easy. Just breathe for a minute.” I stroked his back with my good hand, pretending this wasn’t killing me for multiple reasons. I’d been aching to hold him. I didn’t deserve to be holding him. And I was also worried, and scared, and confused, and…

  What the hell is happening?

  After a moment, Owen drew back a little, but he didn’t pull away completely. Looking in my eyes, he whispered, “Everything is… different. The condo. Everything on the way here.” He did pull away this time, and he started pacing my office, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s like someone came in and just… changed everything.”

  I leaned against my desk. “Changed everything? Like what?”

  “Like…” He rubbed the back of his neck. Then he faced me. “You were there last night. Living with me. Your stuff was all over the place, same as mine. And then this morning…” His eyes lost focus as he slowly shook his head. “It’s all gone. It’s like you never lived there, and…” He trailed off.

  My stomach twisted itself into knots. I had no idea what to say, especially because I knew exactly why all my things were gone.

  “That, um… That sounds seriously disorienting.” I absently played with the edge of the bandage. “You said I was there last night?”

  He turned terrified eyes on me. “Yes?”

  I swallowed. “What else do you remember? From yesterday?”

  “Um.” He wrung his hands as he kept pacing. “You came home from the conference. I picked you up at the airport, and—”

  “Wait, wait.” I tilted my head. “Which conference?”

  Owen halted and looked at me. “The one in Toronto.”

  I blinked. “Toronto?”

  Renewed fear filled his expression. “Yeah? I didn’t imagine that or something, did I?”

  My mouth went dry. No, he definitely hadn’t imagined it. But I sure as shit hadn’t come home from the Toronto conference last night.

  “Why?” Owen lost impossibly more color. “What am I missing? What’s going on?”

  I inhaled slowly, and though I was confused and maybe getting a little panicky myself, I kept my voice even just so I didn’t freak him out more. “You didn’t imagine it. I went to that conference, and you did pick me up at the airport.” I moistened my lips. “But that was a year ago.”

  His lips parted. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes,” I whispered. “In fact, it was exactly a year ago last night.”

  Owen’s eyes got wider, and he sank into the guest chair again as his face went slack.

  I didn’t even have to check a calendar to be sure of the date or the anniversary. I knew—felt it all the way to my bones—because today was exactly one year since I’d torpedoed my entire world. One year since the guilt had been too much, and I’d come clean, and I’d destroyed the man I loved.

  When he spoke again, his voice came out shrill. “Are you saying I’m missing a year of my life?” Eyes unfocused, he breathed, “How… How the fuck does something like that even happen?”

  Oh, there were ways. There was plenty of magic that could fuck with someone’s memory. I’d never heard of someone losing an entire year, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if it was possible.

  “I have no idea,” I said as gently and evenly as I could. “But it’s… yeah, it’s been a year.” The longest and most horrible year of my life, but I couldn’t bring myself to say that out loud.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Owen murmured. “I’m… God, what the hell do I do?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. I racked my brain to figure out what to even ask him. I couldn’t have him retrace his steps because he couldn’t remember them. Whatever had happened, there was just a blank space between the night I came home from Toronto and now.

  Abruptly, Owen lifted his head and met my gaze. “Did we…” The fear in his eyes intensified, and his voice came out shaky. “Did we break up?”

  My breath stuck in my throat. Christ. He really didn’t remember. In his mind, we were still everything I’d wrecked a year ago.

  Owen’s shoulders sagged. “We did, didn’t we?” He got up. “Shit. I’m sorry.” Starting for the door, he said, “I shouldn’t have come here, and—”

  “Owen.” I touched his arm. “Stay. I’ll—”

  “I’m sorry,” he rambled on. “I should’ve guessed we had, but I just saw that everything was different, and I freaked out, and—”

  “Hey. Hey.” I gave his arm a squeeze. “You don’t have to go. I’ll… I want to help you figure this out.”

  He searched my eyes, a hint of tears brimming his along with the fear and confusion, as if our breakup was one revelation too many. “What happened to us?”

  I froze. Did I tell him the truth? Because I didn’t want to lie to him and pretend we were friendly when he had every reason to hate me. At the same time, in Owen’s mind, we were exactly where we’d been the night after the conference. Which meant if I told him the truth, I was going to hurt him all over again. And this time, I’d be dropping that bomb while he was also dealing with his lost memory. He’d been in a good mood a year ago. Calm and chill, with no idea what was coming. One awful conversation later… Well. It hadn’t been pretty.

  So what would happen if I did that to him when he was already on the verge of collapsing? I couldn’t begin to imagine how terrified and confused he was. He’d come to me because he thought we were still together, and because he was trusting me to help him at his absolute worst and most vulnerable.

  I didn’t deserve his trust, but he didn’t deserve to find out that particular truth right now. Not like this.

  Finally, I just said, “We realized we weren’t right for each other. A few months ago.”

  Owen’s face fell. His shoulders drooped. Though he was a far cry from the devastated mess he’d been a year ago, he was obviously crushed.

  In that moment, I wondered if this was harder for him than the real thing had been. If it had been less painful to for him to call me every name in the book, throw me out, and hate my guts, because he’d wanted me gone. Good riddance to bad rubbish, even though he’d also been hurt and devastated. This time, as far as he knew, we’d been as good as we were before I’d gone to Toronto, and now it was inexplicably over. He’d lost the version of me he loved without knowing he had any reason to hate me.

  Goddammit.

  I couldn’t help myself—I pulled him into a hug, ignoring the way my arm hurt when I pressed it against his back. “I still care about you. This thing you’re dealing with—I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

  Owen exhaled, relaxing against me. “Thank you. Whatever happened to us, I have no idea how I’d deal with this without you.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and held him tighter as guilt burned even deeper and hotter than it had for the past year. I hoped that somehow, when all this was over, he’d forgive me for not telling him now.

  The only thing I knew for sure was that sooner or later, he was going to find out for the first time—again—that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.

  Even if he couldn’t remember, he was going to know I’d cheated on him.

  God, Owen. I am so sorry…

  Chapter 3

  Owen

  Alone in Matteo’s office, I did the same thing I’d done several times since this bizarre day had started—I closed my eyes and breathed.

  Matteo had understandably needed to step out and handle some patients, but he’d assured me he’d get out of here as soon as he could. That we’d figure this out one way or another. He just didn’t want to leave his patients high and dry, and I got that. It was something I’d always adored about him—how he prioritized animals and their safety and comfort.