Seven days of fighting Hyde’s anguished protests.
Seven days of existing instead of living.
He looked out at the blizzard. Snow fell so thick and fast he could barely make out the houses across the street. The wind shrieked, rattling his windows, piling drifts against anything that would hold them.
And somewhere out there—beyond the protection of town, in a small cabin on a dead-end road, Chloe was alone.
Maybe afraid.
Definitely isolated.
In danger, Hyde supplied, and his fists clenched. He’d made his choice seven days ago when he’d walked away to keep her safe from himself. But what if the real danger wasn’t him at all? What if he’d left her vulnerable to something worse than Hyde’s transformation?
He was moving before conscious thought caught up, grabbing his coat and his keys. He slung his medical bag slung over his shoulder and filled a pack with supplies—blankets, flashlight, emergency provisions. The rational part of his brain screamed that it was a terrible idea, that the roads would be impassable and that he’d likely get stuck himself. That even if he reached her, she would probably demand that he leave her alone.
But Hyde was roaring now.Mate in danger. Baby in danger. GO.And for once, he didn’t fight him. He stepped out into the blizzard and let the door slam shut behind him.
CHAPTER 19
The baby kicked and Chloe’s hand moved automatically to the spot, rubbing circles over the bump that seemed to grow larger every day.
“I know,” she murmured. “I miss him too.”
Which was ridiculous. She’d known Victor for what—two months? Less? And most of that time he’d been professionally distant, keeping her at arm’s length with careful politeness.
But those moments when he’d let his guard down…
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the couch cushions. The cabin felt smaller somehow without him. Emptier. She’d only had him here once—that night a week ago when everything had felt possible—but his absence left a Victor-shaped hole in every corner.
The kitchen where he’d stood with dawn light painting him gold. The couch where she’d woken in his arms. The space by the door where he’d said goodbye with his hand already transforming.
She should be angry. She was certainly entitled to fury. He’d given her one perfect night and then ripped it away because he was too afraid to try.
But she understood fear. She’d spent a good part of her life afraid to demand better from those around her. The baby had changed that—what she wouldn’t ask for herself, she would demand for her child—but she still understood that fear.
So no, she wasn’t angry at Victor. Just sad. And maybe a little stubborn. Because she’d learned something important from Travis’s rejection: she was stronger than she thought. She was capable of more than anyone—including herself—had believed. And she wasn’t ready to give up on a stubborn, terrified doctor who transformed into something magnificent and thought it made him a monster.
The baby kicked again, harder this time, and she laughed despite herself.
“Okay, little bean. Point taken. No moping.”
She pushed herself off the couch with more effort than she liked to admit. Almost eight months pregnant and already feeling like a whale. How women did this for nine full months—or longer, in some Other species—remained one of life’s great mysteries.
The kitchen called to her. She’d been meaning to make soup all week, something warm and comforting for the cold weather that had descended over the past few days. The forecast had mentioned snow but she hadn’t paid much attention. From what she understood, the North Carolina mountains really didn’t get much snow until after Christmas.
She gathered ingredients with the methodical focus that had gotten her through the past week. Carrots. Celery. Onions. Therhythm of chopping vegetables soothed something in her chest, and made the cabin feel less empty.
Victor would come around eventually. She believed that. She had to believe it, because the alternative—that he’d spend his whole life convinced he was dangerous—was too sad to contemplate. And when he did, she’d be ready. Not desperate. Not waiting by the window for him to rescue her. Just… ready. Open to the possibility of them if he could get past his fear.
The soup began to simmer, filling the cabin with rich scents of chicken broth and herbs. Her great-grandmother’s recipe, passed down through generations of women who’d made do with what they had.
Women like her ancestor. The midwife who’d left Fairhaven Falls for reasons the archives hadn’t revealed yet.
She’d been searching, though. Slowly piecing together the story between patient files and town records. Her ancestor had delivered half the babies in town for two decades. She’d been highly respected, but then she’d disappeared from the records entirely. Why?
The question nagged at her during quiet moments and made her think there was more to her connection to this town than simple geography.
The baby shifted and her hand went to her belly again. “What do you think, little bean? Am I imagining connections that aren’t there?”
