Page 48 of It’s You

In Roug form, with over twice the muscle mass he owned in human form, his father’s unconscious, wasted body barely made an impression on him as he ran swiftly through the woods.

He couldn’t help thinking about his parents’ failed binding.

Tombeur’s too. Maybe he’d been foolish all these years to believe that his would be different.

That he could somehow make a human understand who he was and still want him.

His feet pounded against the rocks, twigs and uneven paths of the forest floor, but he didn’t feel a thing.

He wished his heart had been as well-protected.

He was still reeling from the ugliness of tonight’s Dansmatête .

He could still feel the sharp, pricking pain of the freezing water, like a million needles under his fur, numbing his skin.

His chest remembered the terrifying pressure as it ran out of air, the unavoidable pull of the dark, swirling water, tugging him down into the watery depths.

He wasn’t cold, but he shivered. She had left him there.

She had rowed away with all her might, leaving him to die.

He caught sight of the moon up ahead over Tombeur’s shoulder, and he howled with the pain of her rejection, her words on Thursday morning, and her actions tonight as she abandoned him to a freezing, dark, watery death.

She didn’t love him. She’d never said it, no matter how much he hoped he’d seen love in her eyes. He howled again in pain and anguish.

Bindings are broken.

She doesn’t want you.

Let her go.

He increased his speed, bypassing Tombeur even with the weight of his father, relishing the wind in his fur as he raced through the forest, knocking away branches, ripping boughs from tree trunks, howling at the moon with the force of his sadness, his fury, his despair.

By the time they reached Jack’s car, his anger had given his sadness a good, hearty kick in the ass.

She doesn’t want you? She wants you to die?

Fine. Don’t go back. You don’t need her.

They shifted back into human form and settled Dubois in the back seat, and Jack turned the car around, southwest toward his mother’s cabin.

Jack was filthy and naked, and when he looked at his arm, he saw that Tombeur had been right.

Where the bullet had torn through his arm was now a ragged, angry mess of pinkish scar tissue about the size of a silver dollar.

He glanced in the back seat at his father, who seemed to be sleeping, but it was hard to tell. His eyes were finally closed.

“You okay?” Tombeur sighed beside Jack, his beard caked with mud. He’d heard the pain in Jack’s howls. “How’s your arm?”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

“Sure is ugly.”

Jack glanced over at his friend. “Thanks.”

“You want to talk about it, then? What’s got you emo-shifting and howling like a banshee?”

“Not really.”

Tombeur ignored him. “You saw her? Darcy Turner?”

Jack nodded.

“How’d it go?”

“Not good,” answered Jack, clenching his jaw.

“You always knew it’d be a tough haul, Jacques.” Tombeur rubbed his chin. “I have to ask. Is she a danger to us?”

Jack deeply resented the protective surge he felt in response to Tombeur’s question. He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think so. She’s angry. Confused.”

“Keep on top of it, Jacques. Our agreement stands. If she’s a threat to us, we have to?—”

“I understand,” Jack interrupted in a tight voice. “She’s not.”

Tombeur was quiet for a while, probably deciding whether or not to take Jack’s word. Jack sat rigidly, waiting to hear what Tombeur would say next. He finally relaxed when Tombeur asked, “What’re you going to do?”

Jack’s first instinct was to insist, I’ll go back and work on it. I’ll make her want me. I’ll make her love me again . Then he saw her face in the boat, the timbre of her voice, so cold, so hard. His lip twitched with betrayal and anger.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “She doesn’t want me.”

He couldn’t force her to love him. They’d be bound forever, but they could live separate lives.

He couldn’t be re-bound, but he could find a veuve , a widow who needed protection and care.

He’d never love her, but he could care for her, and maybe they could even have children one day, full-bloods like him.

He never had to return to the Southern Bloodlands.

He never had to return to Darcy Turner. He could stay away, as she had demanded. Spend my life among the other monsters.

Even as his thoughts drifted in this direction, somewhere inside he knew it was impossible. His heart. His eternally hopeful heart loved her. Loved her most of any other being living on the face of the earth.

Jack took a deep breath, hating his heart, hating his binding, hating Darcy Turner most of all.

Tombeur’s question lingered. What’re you going to do?

“Go back to her,” Jack heard himself murmur. “Someday.”

“Never saw a binding as strong as yours.” Tombeur nodded beside him. “And with a human, no less.”

“What about yours ?” Jack asked sourly, wishing to hell the human, who was supposed to love him, hadn’t left him to drown.

“Mine was…” Tombeur’s voice trailed off.

“Was what?”

“Complicated,” said Tombeur, turning his neck to glance at Dubois again.

“By what ?” asked Jack, hearing the challenge in his tone, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it from his friend’s lips.

“She was sickly. She couldn’t be a true mate. Made me long for things outside of the binding.”

“I don’t. I don’t long for anything but Darcy, and she can’t hunt at all.”

“Like I said, strongest binding I ever seen.” Tombeur took a deep breath and sighed. “You think we should call Tallis? Warn her he’s coming home?”

“Don’t need to.” Jack shook his head. “She’ll feel it.”

They rode in silence for some time until Tombeur glanced around at Dubois’s limp body lying on the back seat. “He’s in real bad shape, Jacques.”

“Yeah.” Jack nodded, clenching his jaw against the sudden wave of sadness he felt. For his father’s wasted life. His mother’s betrayal. Darcy’s rejection. The list was getting longer and longer.

“Almost at your mama’s now, Jacques. You focus on your folks now.”

Jack pulled into the parking area adjacent to the cabin, noting the dim light of the living room still on. His mother opened the door, her face awash with tears.

Jack pushed open his door in time to hear his mother’s faint, grief-stricken voice.

“ Il est trop tard ,” she said, opening the back door of the car to look at the body of her dead husband, before falling on her knees in the mud beside him. She bent her head forward until it rested on Dubois’s thin, gray mop of hair, then wailed, “ Il est déjà parti .”

It’s too late. He’s already gone.

Jack stared up at the ceiling, lying in his childhood bed. Julien had helped him bring in their father’s body and lay it gently on the kitchen table. Tallis would spend the night with him, preparing him for burial in the morning, and Tombeur insisted on staying with her.

Julien lay in the other twin bed next to Jack.

“She knew,” he said. “About half an hour ago, she started clutching at her heart and crying. She knew he was gone.”

Jack breathed through his nose, blinking back weak, useless tears. His father had likely died as he and Tombeur sat in the front seat discussing complicated bindings. How incredibly pathetic.

“I remember from when Natalia…” Jack heard his brother sniff lightly.

“Ah, it was painful. The unbinding. But then suddenly? It’s just…

gone. After feeling the connection so sharply, so strongly, so absolutely, it’s just gone.

Not like it was never there, because you know it was, but like a very old, sweet memory from a long, long time ago. ”

Jack clenched his jaw together until it hurt.

“I’m just trying to say that Maman won’t be in pain by tomorrow. She won’t be in agony anymore.”

“You think it’s agony to love someone?”

“To be bound to someone who you’re losing? Who you’ve lost? Who you want, even though you can’t have them? Yeah.” His brother breathed into the darkness of their childhood room. “I think it’s agony . ”

Jack knew that Julien was speaking of Natalia. Or of their parents. But Jack could only think of Darcy. He saw her eyes, bright and green. Her hair, so shiny and silky in his hands. The single whispered word. Stay .

Agony. Jack knew a little bit about agony too. He turned away from his brother, squeezing his eyes shut as his feelings assaulted him from every angle.

His father was dead, his mother was unbound, and he felt lost.

He knew it was too soon and weak as hell, but he couldn’t help himself.

He pulled her inside.

It wasn’t raining anymore.

It was dark, though. It was night, and Jack knew there was a good chance that she was asleep. He hoped so. He counted on it.

He padded softly, orienting himself. Sniffing the air lightly, he caught her scent, but he didn’t race to her.

He walked stealthily over pine needles, cushiony and flat like a mattress or blanket, gingerly making his way closer to her. Her scent was stronger and stronger as he crossed a meadow into a pine haven, tall trees creaking softly like a lullaby.

She lay on her side, curled up on a pillow of bright green moss, her body covered in a simple white sheath, her feet bare.

Moonlight shone down on her hair, making it glow like a halo around her head, and her light skin seemed even whiter in contrast to the darkness that surrounded her.

Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths, and her mouth was lightly open in sleep.

Jack swallowed. He had never seen anything or anyone so beautiful in his entire life.

He watched her shiver lightly in her sleep, and his breath caught.

You’re cold.

She took a deep breath through her nose, and though her eyes remained closed, he was surprised to hear her voice, sleep-muffled and slight, as if escaping from a dream.

I didn’t think that.

He couldn’t help the way his breath came out in a sob at the welcome sound of her gentle voice.

He padded over to her body and lay down at her feet, careful not to touch her, but unable to refuse what small comfort she didn’t withhold.

Listening to the sound of her breathing, with his terrible longing for her soothed by her presence, his eyes finally drifted closed.

The last thought he had before he fell asleep was, I belong to you and you…