“The intent doesn’t matter. The capability does.”
“So you’re going to what? Spend your whole life alone? Never risk caring about anyone because you might hurt them?” She took a shaky breath. “That’s not living. I’m not even sure that’s existing.”
“It’s safe.”
“For who? Not for me. Not for this baby who already knows your touch and trusts you. Not even for you, spending your whole life afraid of yourself.”
His control was slipping. He could feel Hyde pushing harder now, drawn by Chloe’s distress. Fighting his decision to end this.
“I should go.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll arrange for Dr. Carlisle from Pinehaven to take over your prenatal care. She’s excellent. Very experienced with high-risk pregnancies.”
“I’m not high-risk.”
“You are if I’m involved.”
She flinched like he’d struck her. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” he agreed. “But it’s true.”
He reached the door. His hand on the knob was fully transformed now—massive and green-tinged and inhuman.
“Victor.” Her voice stopped him. “Look at me.”
He couldn’t. If he looked at her now—if he saw her crying because of him—he’d break. Hyde would win and he would stay and eventually he’d hurt her. Or the baby.
Or worse—he’d make them love him first.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the door. “I can’t be what you need.”
“You already are.”
The words stabbed sent a knife through his gut as he opened the door and stepped out into the November cold.
“Goodbye, Chloe.”
He closed the door on her response, and walked down the porch steps with Hyde fighting him the entire way. He made it to his car before his hands slammed against the steering wheel hard enough to bend metal.
The roar that tore from his throat was pure Hyde—anguish and rage and loss all compressed into a sound no human voice could make.
He’d done the right thing. The only thing.
So why did it feel like dying?
CHAPTER 18
The next seven days passed in a blur of grey and white. Grey days where he moved through his appointments with mechanical numbness, making diagnoses and writing prescriptions. White nights when he dosed himself with the suppression formula and ran until his body gave out.
Hyde fought him constantly now, but not with the violent force he’d experienced before. This was worse—a soul-deep ache that made every breath an effort. Hyde wasn’t trying to emerge and rampage. He was grieving.
They were grieving.
He increased his dose of the suppression formula. Then increased it again when the first adjustment didn’t work. His hands trembled constantly now and his fine motor control suffered. He dropped a scalpel during a minor procedure and had to excuse himself, claiming a muscle spasm.
Petal watched him with knowing eyes but said nothing. The town’s Other residents weren’t as circumspect.
“You look like shit,” Houston observed when Victor stopped by the River Cafe for coffee he wouldn’t drink.
“Thank you for that medical assessment.”
