I fisted my hands, staring into the mirror, pressure building in my head as I realized whether I turned solid black or actually turned into a Hunter, the end result was the same.
My life as I knew it was over.
I would never kiss Ryodan. Never touch him. Never get to lose myself in passion on that big, beautiful body of his. Never get to test his sexual limits, and mine. On him, I could vibrate at my highest intensity and never have to worry about blowing out his heart. So many desires I’d hidden, guarded in my heart, believing somehow, one day, I’d get to taste them all. When it was time.
Not.
Twenty-two years. That was all I’d gotten and, holy hell, had they been crazy. Caged, lost, fractured, soon to not even be human at all.
For whatever reason, in my mind, me and Ryodan had always been a foregone conclusion. Just as Dancer was mine, so was he. It was always only a matter of time. Or so I’d believed. Some women got a single great love in their lifetime. I’d gotten two at the same time, totally different, yet both mine. I’d known it even then. Dancer’s failing heart had made my choice easier. I honestly don’t know what I’d have done if he’d lived a long life. I’ve always been torn between the two of them. And although I’d worked hard to hide it, Dancer had seen it. Called me on it. Loved me anyway. That had taken enormous courage. To love someone you knew wanted someone else, too, but had, for whatever reason, chosen you. I can’t say that I’d be capable of it. I don’t think my heart is that pure.
Then Ryodan had screwed everything up by leaving. I’d almost been done working through it. The whole grief/guilt conundrum had swallowed me whole for a while. Ryodan’s abrupt departure had pushed me over the edge. Any boxes that were about to open, I’d slammed shut again.
Somewhere in the suite a door opened and closed. Footfalls. He was here.
And the way I saw it, it was all his fault.
Once, I’d have freeze-framed out there, slammed into him, vented my anger on his body. I didn’t dare do that now.
I turned and stalked back into the bedroom and nearly ran smack into him. We both backpedaled instantly.
He looked like hell. Every muscle in his body was tight, his eyes narrowed to slits, glittering, and there was thunder in his blood. I could hear the sledgehammer of his heart a dozen paces away. His knuckles were scraped, his hands cut but already healing, no doubt from demolishing the anteroom.
“That was yesterday,” he said tightly. “Today I trashed the gym. And my office.”
“What the hell do you have to be angry about?” I demanded.
“Clarify your emotions, Dani,” he snapped. “It’s not me you’re upset with.”
“Don’t tell me who I’m upset with,” I snapped back. “I know perfectly well who I’m upset with. The person that left for two bloody years. We could have had two years, Ryodan, but you blew it!”
He snarled, “Don’t you dare try to blame that on me! You bloody well know why I left. You won’t let yourself think about it. The person you’re angry with is you.”
“Bullshit.” I fisted my hands at my sides and locked my legs down to keep from lunging at him.
“For a woman who always seizes the moment, I’m the one moment you sure as fuck never seized. And I was right there for the seizing.”
“No, you weren’t. That’s exactly my point. You left. You went off into the world and had adventures and sex and a life without me and you wouldn’t even be back now if I hadn’t wished you back and AOZ granted it, thinking the starving black beast would bite me in the ass somehow!” I exploded in a heated rush.
“You wished me back? That’s how I got here? Bloody hell, and you’re just now telling me that? Barrons and I wasted half a day trying to figure that out!”
“And if I hadn’t wished you back,” I yelled, “you’d still be out there having a life while I was here by myself, trying to handle this whole bloody city alone, turning black and slipping away and you wouldn’t even know it! You know why? Because you don’t care! You didn’t text or call me even once. You don’t fucking care about me at all!”
His head whipped back and he roared, hands fisting, body straining, and he morphed so swiftly into the beast that his clothing exploded off him in pieces, shirt ripping down the back, sleeves and pants splitting, falling away as he transformed from a six-foot-four, 240-pound man to a nine foot, nearly five-hundred-pound beast.
Then back to the man.
Then the beast, then the man.
Beast.
Man.
Sound of bones cracking, tendons grating.
Beast. Man. Beast again. Faster.
Back and forth he went at a dizzying speed and I watched with horror, struck by the sudden fear that he might kill himself if he didn’t stabilize his body fast, from the sheer stress his organs were undergoing in the rapid, incessant transformations. Not to mention his skin and bones! And, no matter how angry I was with him for ruining our lives, I can never stand to see that man die.
“Ryodan, breathe! Get a grip on yourself!” I cried, but my words were gasoline on his fire and the morphing sped up and he began to bay, jaws wrenched wide, then he was a man roaring, then a beast howling, such a terrible, desolate, fractured sound, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say so I shouted, “Ryodan, goddamn it, I love you! Stop hurting yourself! Don’t you dare die! I can’t deal with that right now!” Not only did I hate watching him die, I’d have to wait days, maybe even weeks for him to get back so we could finish this damned fight, and who knew if I’d even still be here?
The beast jerked, stumbled, dropped to a knee, shuddering violently, then began to turn back into a man, bit by bit, first his hands, then his arms, his shoulders, and finally his face.
I held my breath, refused to say anything, in case it pushed him back into that terrible morphing of forms again. For years I’d wanted to see the great Ryodan lose control. I’d just learned a painful lesson. I never wanted to see it happen again. I’d kill anyone who ever tested his control, protect him. Never let him break. This man was my…bloody hell, my hero and I wanted him to always stay strong and whole.
He knelt, gasping for breath, chest heaving, tatters of clothing hanging on his trembling body.
Then, chin tucked down, he glanced up at me from beneath his brows, eyes still crimson and ground out, “Never. Tell. Me. I. Don’t. Care. You can fling any other insult you want at me, but not that one. Never that one. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you. Everything.”
He lunged to his feet and stalked toward me, naked but for odd bits of clothing here and there. I yanked my gaze to his face, in no mood to torment myself further.
“Don’t touch me!” I stepped hastily back. “And put something on.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he growled. “Suggesting works better at times like these.”
“You tell me what to do all the time and it’s—”
“You never listen.”
“—not like we’ll be having future times like these because—”
“We’ll always be butting heads like this. You’re too goddamn stubborn and so am I.”