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“Dillon,” I repeated, feeling a sharp sting in my chest as I spoke. “Just go. We can talk later.”
As he hesitated, I added, with a steely edge, “Now!”
That was when he lowered his eyes, turned to the door, and left leaving me shattered in pieces.
Chapter 9
Dillon
The sun was setting over Brooklyn as I left Remy’s townhouse far behind. Heading towards the train station, my footsteps were weighed down by the crushing ache in my chest. The air was unseasonably crisp for late spring, but the cold did nothing to chill the heat that ripped through me.
Why had I allowed Remy to do this to me again? I had fallen into that same trap, exposing my vulnerable heart to the same person who had torn it to shreds before. What broken part of me kept putting myself in this situation?
Hil had warned me about Remy. He had said that Remy would go back to his pack life, and he had. Hell, he was marrying into it.
Hil also said that Remy would hurt me. Not only had Hil been right about that, but after Remy had done it the first time, I had turned around and had let him do it again. I was an idiot who deserved everything I got.
There was no wonder my vampire father ran away from me. Had he been scared of me, or did he just see how much of a mess I was? I didn’t deserve anything more than what I got.
As stupid as I was, though, I had finally learned my lesson. Never again would I give Remy another opportunity to treat me like he had. I got it; the outreach center was important. There were real lives it could affect. Talking with Leo had shown me that. And I still wanted his help figuring out what I was. So I would help him.
But that was it. I was done with whatever emotional game Remy was playing. From this point forward, we were going to be colleagues. Nothing more. If he thought he could hurt me and get away with it, he was about to learn that I could hurt him right back, I thought as a swirling energy built within me.
No, I refused to need him. At least not anymore. I was done. I really was. And as the finality of it slowly sank in, instead of exploding like a supernatural bomb, tears rolled down my cheeks.
Boarding the same train on which I had decided to work with Remy, I ended my foolish childhood fantasy. Remy and I weren’t made to be together. We weren’t even destined to be friends.
I was fated to be alone. I always had been. And as the glow of burnt oranges receded behind the towering downtown buildings, I sank into the seat of the train and cried.
The following morning, I woke up with a renewed sense of determination. I had spent all night mentally preparing myself to face Remy, to show him that I could be just as cold and detached as he had been the day before. As I showered and dressed, my resolve strengthened. I began looking forward to the confrontation.
Arriving at work, I strode in ready for the day with my head held high. Surprisingly, Remy’s office door was closed. The room lay still and silent. There was no sign of him anywhere.
I shook off my disappointment and focused on the tasks at hand. Busying myself with watering the plants and dusting the shelves, I checked the clock every few minutes. Surely Remy would arrive soon, and then I could put my plan into action.
But as the hours ticked by, the gnawing fear in my gut grew larger. Remy was avoiding me just like the man I thought was my father had done all those years ago. A thunderclap of pain shot through my chest. It hurt more than when Remy had asked me to leave.
Slowly, the cold exterior I had been practicing crumbled. My once steadfast resolve now seemed foolish and hollow. I was simply incapable of hurting Remy like he hurt me.
With the void growing inside me I could no longer focus. When the afternoon slipped away without a sign of Remy, the emptiness consumed me. I was drowning in it.
Over the next two days, Remy remained absent from the office. My heart beat a little faster every time the door rattled, but each time it wasn’t him. I remained alone with nothing to do but stare at his vacant office. It was torture.
The image of Remy’s empty desk plagued me even as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep. The hurt was like a physical weight on my chest, an all-consuming ache impossible to escape.
I had been ready to give him everything I had, but he didn’t want it. I had fooled myself into believing that his engagement wasn’t real, but it was. And after making me believe that I was special to him, he left me. Now he wasn’t coming back.
This was not the way you treated someone you loved. That left one conclusion. The man I had been in love with since I was 14 years old, didn’t love me. And why would he when no one did?
I returned to work each day after that expecting him not to show yet being hurt all over again when he wasn’t there. No one was. It took two weeks before the rattling door was anyone other than housekeeping. So the day when a stumpy, formally dressed man ascended the stairs, I stood and greeted him confused.
“Can I help you?” I asked wondering if he was at the wrong address.
“My name is Robert Wendel. I’m Mr. Lyon’s attorney,” he said overflowing with anxiety.
My emerging abilities kicked in without willing it. The man in front of me wasn’t a wolf. Nor was he human or a vampire. The name that popped into my mind was Nymph. I didn’t know what that meant but I knew that he possessed magic. Not anything he could wield, but enough to affect people’s luck.
“Mr. Lyon isn’t here,” I informed him.
