Page 24

Chapter 24

Prowl

Daff wasn’t here.

The waiting room was empty and held no trace of her scent.

Doctor Asshole exited the corridor to my left, eyes running over me.

“You survived.”

Because King had sat against his door all night, watching me stalk the room like a caged cat.

“Barely.”

“Barely is still an acceptable result. Follow me.”

He walked off, assuming I would follow.

“Where’s Daff?”

He sat behind his desk, looking like he had all the time in the world, while my lion raged within, desperate to see her.

“Close the door.”

“Where is she?”

“Delayed,” he said, when I refused to move.

“If you want more answers, you’ll close the door.”

Was this a battle I wanted to fight?

Abso-fucking-loutely.

Would I?

No. Because Daff was my end game, and I was desperate to see her.

Which meant getting through this shit show as fast as possible.

“How do you feel you went?”

“Fine.”

“No flashbacks, mood swings, bouts of rage, no violence towards property, yourself, or others?”

“No.”

“Successful, then.”

I grunted.

It hadn’t felt successful.

More like a slow, painful death that was only survivable because I knew she was safe, hopefully happy, and wearing my mark.

“You need to seriously consider your next course of action.”

“Trialling eighteen hours of separation?” I asked.

Because of course the asshole would be pushing for the next one already.

“That’s one of them.”

The only other course of action I was interested in was putting an end to this farce, and him leaving Daff and I the hell alone.

“You have other options.”

I impressed myself by not rolling my eyes.

“You’ve made it perfectly clear I don’t.”

“You do have options. They just haven’t been ones you’re interested in hearing.”

“Your options aren’t in my best interest.”

“But what if they’re in Daff’s?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything. I’m asking you to look past your own inclinations and think about what’s best for her. You’ve spent your life in one cell or another. This,” he said, waving about the room, “Is paradise to you. But what is it for her? Here, you are free, but she’ll always be trapped.

“She’ll never buy her dream home.

Study the degree she always wanted.

Find a partner who can wine and dine and travel the world with her.

She’ll never kiss her kids goodbye on their first day of school.

She might never be a Mother, depending on your fertility.

“Then there’s the family she has that she’ll never see again. Her Father, her brothers. Nieces. No Christmas gatherings, Easter egg hunts, trick or treating with her family, current or future.

“No romantic weekend getaways, Father’s Day dinners, introducing her partner to her family and friends.

Or just never speaking to any of them again.

Is that really the life you want for her?

”

Fuck.

“She’s mine.”

“Yes, and she’s made it clear she returns the sentiment. And willing to fight for whatever it is you both think you have together. So it’s up to you to do the right thing. For her.”

A growl lodged in my throat, fighting for freedom.

“The right thing would be letting us stay together.”

“For you, maybe. But for her?”

He let his question hang between us.

“The longer this continues, the harder it will be on her when she leaves. You’ll have the support of everyone here. People with shared memories who can comfort and reminisce with you. But Daff? Her NDA means she can’t breathe a word about you or your relationship with anyone.

“Her heartbreak will be hers alone and borne in silence, with no way to share or unburden herself.

Not to family, friends or even a therapist with the skills to help her.

“Is that what you want for her? Because that’s what will happen if you don’t end this now and give her time to heal here, with people she can actually talk to.”

My head was raging.

My heart was aching.

My gut sinking with guilt.

Could I knowingly, willingly, take all those experiences from her?

Or make her face the fallout of going back and hurting all on her own?

But there was one last stubborn piece of me resisting.

“If she’s pregnant, none of it will matter.”

He tapped his desk with the end of his pen.

“For argument’s sake, let’s say you’re fertile. And then, lucky enough again, to conceive a child by accident, with no concept of diet, supplements or tracking her cycles, from your initial rounds of unprotected sex.

“Let’s say you managed to line that all up and didn’t miscarry during the first trimester when risks are their highest with normal, healthy, human sperm.

Or develop any number of inconceivable, fatal defects at any stage of the infant’s gestation, as a result of your own mutated genetics.

How likely do you truly think that pregnancy is?

”

How could words spilled from this asshole’s lips hurt more than any attempt to teach, train or control me ever had?

He tossed his pen onto his desk.

“Look, if a miracle happens, and she is, then we come at this from a different angle and do what we need to do. But for now, while that isn’t the case, the sooner we act, the better. The longer this continues, the harder it will be for her.”

I scrubbed my face with my hands, torn between destroying his office and puking my guts up.

He was asking me to do the impossible.

To give her up.

Not because I wanted to, but because it was the right thing for her.

She deserved more than me and this base.

We weren’t worth the sacrifices she’d make, the grief she’d carry.

Her coming into my life was already a miracle, more than I’d ever hoped for.

I dropped my hands, defeat choking me.

She didn’t need to be with me to still be mine.

I’d carry her in my heart and soul until the day I died.

However soon that ended up being.

“Reassign me to the Wild Zone. I’ll settle near Rage. If I reach the point of needing another cell, put me down.”

“You’ll need to sign off on your wishes while you’re clear-headed.”

I nodded.

He pulled open the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet, skimming through the tabs and pulling out a file.

He flipped it open, revealing a picture of me, at the time of my rescue, and half a dozen other pages of notes.

He pushed one towards me.

“Sign that. Both sides.”

The pen felt like it weighed half a ton in my hand, hovering as I skimmed over the document.

And signed on the dotted line.

Twice.

He added his signature beside them.

“I’ll see the appropriate people know about your decision. You’re doing the right thing,” he said, returning the folder and closing the draw.

And that’s all that mattered.

Doing the right thing for Daff, for her long term happiness.

“I’ll go there now.”

I couldn’t handle seeing her.

One look, one whiff, and I’d grab hold of her and refuse to let go.

“Someone will collect your personal items and leave them at the gate.”

I nodded.

What else was there to say?