Page 39 of It’s You

Phillip struggled out of his leather jacket, throwing it on the floor, and fell back onto her sofa.

Darcy picked up the jacket, hung it on a hook beside the door, and asked him a question.

He nodded, and she walked back into the kitchen, took another cup out of her cupboard, and found a new tea bag.

She poured some hot water into Phillip’s tea and walked back toward the sofa, handing it to him.

He glanced at it, then gestured to the coffee table, where Darcy placed it in front of him.

As soon as the cup hit the table, Phillip’s arm reached out and snaked around Darcy’s waist, pulling her down onto his lap. She shook her head, chuckling as he buried his face in her hair, presumably kissing her neck, although it was hard for Jack to see.

Jack could feel his claws dropping, bit by bit, and he was powerless to stop them.

The sight of this bastard pawing his Darcy was almost more than he could bear to watch, so he was relieved when she pulled away from Phillip.

Still sitting on his lap, she leaned back, picking up the tea and offering it to him with a gentle smile.

Phillip looked at the proffered cup, then smacked it out of Darcy’s hand, sending its contents flying across an end table and pieces of the shattered cup as far as the kitchen.

Darcy leaned back in frightened surprise, her eyes furrowing in understanding as Phillip took hold of her flimsy bathrobe, ripped it open, and pushed his face into her breasts.

Jack leaped up and tested the window with the palms of his hands to see if it would open, but realized it was locked shut.

He could hear Darcy’s voice through the window, higher pitched as she pushed at Phillip’s head, trying to get off his lap.

Jack started to panic. He felt his eyes burning and the prickly hairs pushing through his skin. A full shift had started, and Jack was paralyzed for the few seconds until it was finished.

Phillip’s arms were like an iron band around Darcy, even though she struggled and fought to get away from him.

Faster, faster, faster, Jack stared at the moon, pleading.

Darcy finally wrenched one arm free and reached back to smack Phillip’s face, but Phillip caught her arm and pushed her backward, hard.

Darcy fell over the coffee table and landed on her back, her head cracking the floor loudly.

With Darcy unconscious at his feet, Phillip staggered up, pushing her head lightly with his foot.

In the absence of a response, he shrugged, then moved his hands to his pants, unbuttoning the top button and unzipping his fly.

He reached down and pulled down her silky boxers until they lay tangled around her knees.

He licked his lips, smiling, then stood back up to pull down his pants.

Jack flexed his enormous muscles, his long, twelve-inch claws protracted to the hilt, and he howled at the moon, fully shifted.

He put his back to the window, then with one big push, he hurtled his body through it, shattering the glass of the large pane and rolling unharmed onto Darcy’s kitchen floor.

Lithe like a wolf with burning eyes and snarling fangs, he jumped to his feet only to see the terror in Phillip’s eyes as Philly was neatly castrated by the Roux-ga-roux’s claw.

So distracted by his memories of Boston, Jack found himself walking up the sidewalk that led to Darcy’s house, which wasn’t at all surprising.

From the moment he tied his sneakers, his heart had been pulling him here.

After years of finding her surreptitiously, Darcy acted like a homing device for his heart.

Even being in the vicinity of wherever she lived proved soothing to Jack more times than he could count.

He detoured off the sidewalk and slipped into the woods adjacent to her lot, walking stealthily through the thicket until he had a good view of the window seat in the picture window.

Somehow, he knew she’d be there, curled up with a cup of tea, knees pulled up to her chest, staring at the darkness out the window.

He blinked to be sure his eyes didn’t glow, then stepped out of the dark woods and walked closer to the window.

She couldn’t see him through the glare of soft light on the glass.

Her face had a faraway expression, but her eyes were heavy and sad as she traced the rim of the teacup.

He checked the driveway for Willow’s car, but it wasn’t there.

She was all alone, with too much heaviness on her mind.

His longing to knock on her door and try to talk with her was overwhelming.

Just seeing her sent ripples of pleasure through his body, even as it made his heart ache to see her so sad.

He took his phone out of his pocket, careful not to flash the screen toward the window as he checked the time. 1:31 a.m. Aw, Darcy. You should be sleeping, baby.

He looked down at the phone again and then back up at the face of the woman he loved. He couldn’t stop himself. He dialed her number.

Thank God her roommate was a doctor, which meant that early morning callers weren’t cause for panic or alarm. She got up to grab the phone, then returned to the window seat and pressed talk.

“Hello?” Her voice was raspy and tired. She’d been crying. A lot.

“Darcy,” he started, watching her. Her shoulders drooped, and she covered her eyes with one hand, but she didn’t hang up. “It’s me.”

She stood still with one trembling hand over her face. He wished he could see her expression. After a moment, she moved her hand and took the phone away from her ear. She crossed her arms over her chest and sat down on the window seat with her back to him.

But she didn’t hang up. Finally, she put the phone back up to her ear.

“Darce?” he whispered.

“What?” Her voice was thready and thin, laced with tears, and she shifted back into her favorite position so he could see her in profile. He watched her swipe the back of her hand slowly over one eye.

“I know it’s a lot to process, baby,” he murmured.

She nodded.

“If I could come over, we could?—”

“No!” Her back straightened, and she was shaking her head no, even though they were on the phone. “No, Jack. Don’t come over. I can’t.”

“I won’t. It’s okay.”

“I mean…p-part of me wants…” She started crying softly.

“Please don’t cry, baby. Please don’t.” It was killing him to watch her, unable to offer her comfort. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“It was too good to be true,” she whispered.

He swallowed. “I love you. That’s true. Nothing feels as good as being with you. That’s true too.”

“But you’re?—”

“Yep. That’s true too. I’m not exactly who you thought I was.”

“It’s like a lie, only worse.”

“You’d never have seen me if I told you. We never would have had last weekend. And last weekend was…”

He watched as she put the phone down, wiping tears away with both hands. Thoughts of last weekend were affecting her as much as they were him. Her shoulders rose as she took a deep breath, then picked up the phone again.

“You have to leave, Jack. You have to leave Carlisle.”

“I am.”

Her mouth dropped open, and her brows furrowed. He watched as her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and then she pressed them together.

“When?”

“Tomorrow. I’m going north.”

She nodded, and he could hear the tears start again. Her shoulders trembled, and she put the phone down again to wipe her eyes with the corner of her bathrobe.

“Oh,” she finally murmured when she was able to speak.

“Darcy.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Do you want me to come back?”

She looked out the window, and his breathing caught as he saw her swollen, tear-stained face. “I…I…I don’t…”

“Wait,” he said, cutting her off and swallowing the lump in his throat. “Don’t answer that.”

She sobbed, taking a deep, shaky breath and nodding. He watched her, trying to think of what to say, how to convince her that the man speaking to her now was the same man with whom she spent last weekend. He swallowed, then began softly, gently, beseeching her to love him again.

“Listen to me. I love you. With everything I am. With everything I’ll ever be.”

“Jack.” She sobbed.

“That’s all I wanted to say. That’s all I wanted you to know. No matter what happens between us, Darcy Turner, I love you forever.”

“I can’t do this. Goodbye, Jack.” He watched as she lowered the phone from her ear and touched the end button, then hung her head and wept.

He let out the breath he was holding, clenching his jaw with the force and fury of his longing, his frustration.

To have come this close to having her, only to lose her.

It was mind-boggling in the worst kind of way.

He turned back toward the woods, then took one last look at her window.

She had her cheek cupped in one hand. The other still held the phone.

He could see a necklace, a shiny infinity sign, catch whatever dim light was shining in from her kitchen.

His fingers twitched from the memory of its shape and texture. For so many years, it had been his.

The blood from Phillip’s injury made Jack consider feeding, but the sight of Darcy’s unconscious, exposed, injured body on the floor overwhelmed almost any other instinct.

Almost. For a moment, he stared at the soft, pinkish triangle of curly hair between her thighs, smelling that intimate part of her, his own body hardening in response.

His breathing changed from the fury of anger to pure, unadulterated lust. His nostrils flared as her scent washed over him again and again, and he closed his eyes, feeling his Roug part assert itself.

She’s yours. Take her. She belongs to you.

He opened his eyes slowly, and the first thing he saw was the gash on her face breaking through the thick haze of his desire. He growled in frustration and forced himself to shift back to human form to survey the scene.

What a fucking mess.

Next to Darcy, Phillip lay crumpled and unconscious on the floor, his pants covered in blood and his severed penis beside him.

I’ll deal with you in a minute, motherfucker.

He gently pulled up Darcy’s shorts, grazing the skin of her thighs with the backs of his fingers, and shivering from the slight contact with her body.

Then he picked her up off the floor, cradling her limp, warm body in his arms, and carried her to her bed.

He closed his eyes, memorizing the weight of her, her scent, and softness, before regretfully lowering her to her bed.

Pressing his ear against her heart, he was relieved to find a strong, steady heartbeat.

He inspected her head. There was a golf-ball-sized bump and a small, nasty gash, but he was pretty sure she’d be all right.

When he left with the scumbag, he’d call an ambulance and leave her apartment door unlocked for the paramedics.

He sat down on the bed next to her for a moment, surprised that her safety overwhelmed his lust for her body or Phillip’s blood. He stroked the light orange hair off her forehead, feeling his heart expand with love for her. The binding had held for eight long years.

For what is bound cannot be broken.

It didn’t matter that she was a full-blooded human, and he was a full-blooded Roug. It didn’t matter how long he stayed away. His love for her was as constant as ever. Forever. For life.

He picked up her hand and pressed his lips to her palm, inhaling deeply with closed eyes, then placed her hand gently on her chest. Something shiny caught his attention.

A silver necklace, an infinity sign on a silver chain, sitting on her bedside table that he’d seen her wear several times while he was in Boston.

He touched it gingerly, then shoved it in his pocket, turning away from her.

He had to go. Although he didn’t care if Phillip lived or died, he wasn’t going to murder him in Darcy’s apartment and connect her with that sort of sordid investigation.

No. Unfortunately, Phillip needed to stay alive, which meant they needed to have a word before Jack returned home.

Jack took some dental floss out of Darcy’s bathroom and tied a tourniquet over Phillip’s stump, then pulled the rug out from under the coffee table and wrapped up Phillip, which took care of the blood in Darcy’s apartment and made him easier to carry.

Jack called 911 to request an ambulance for Darcy, threw Phillip over his shoulder, and then made his way down the stairs.

He placed Phillip’s body in the bed of his truck and started the engine, idling on Darcy’s street until the ambulance arrived.

Satisfied that she would be cared for, Jack headed north again.

He reached the Lakes District in New Hampshire ninety minutes later.

Stopping at the town park in Wolfeboro, across from a building with a large red cross reading “Lakes Region Medical Center,” he pulled a ski mask out of his glove compartment and walked around to the back of the truck where Phillip Proctor lay moaning in pain.

Jack jumped into the truck bed and nudged Phillip’s face with his foot, just as Phillip had done to Darcy.

“Hey, fuckhead. Can you hear me?”

Jack leaned down and unrolled the rest of the carpet that held Phillip, then picked him up by the lapels of his shirt and dragged him to the edge of the truck bed.

He opened the gate and dragged Phillip out of the truck, settling him in a half-conscious state on a nearby park bench.

Then he squatted in front of him, pinching his arm.

Phillip’s eyes opened in pain and widened when he looked back at Jack’s covered face.

“It-it-it was a…a m-monster .”

“Listen to me, shithead. If you ever—and I mean ever—go near Darcy Turner again, you better want to die slowly and painfully. You hear me, Phillip? Because the monster will be watching. And he’ll come back and finish the fucking job he started tonight.

” Phillip swallowed, nodding painfully, in a daze.

“Let me make myself clear. The only reason you are alive is because she doesn’t deserve to be mixed up in the bullshit of your murder.

Anyway, you can never hurt another girl like that again.

I made damn certain of that, you fucking eunuch. ”

Jack got back in his truck and drove away. Somewhere in northern New Hampshire, Philly and the area rug found a new home together in a never-heard-from-again dumpster.

When Jack got to Quebec, he scrawled a postcard to Darcy.

It read:

You are a beautiful, amazing woman, and you deserve far better than me. I’m sorry for everything. Good luck, Darcy Turner.

–Phillip