“I’m not a shifter and it’s a big deal to me. And there’s no way I’m coming back. That was more than nudity, Bailey. And you know it wasn’t consensual.”
She looks at her feet briefly and then looks me right in the eyes.
“I just want you to know, Ivy, that when you get back here, no matter what, you’ve got me. You and me are gonna be good friends.”
I would believe that if I were staying. I really would. I like her a lot.
“I’m not coming back,” I say. I give her a hug. “I better get out of here before… you know.”
“Before he wakes up.”
I nod.
“Mated pairs are destined, Ivy. And forever. You guys will figure this out.”
She’s not getting it. There’s no coming back from this.
“Thanks for helping me, Bailey.”
She nods with a sad look in her eyes.
I get my stuff and get into my car and I leave.
This time, I don’t leave a note.
I have no idea what to say to him. No, it’s not that I don’t know what to say, it’s that I have nothing to say. Nothing at all. Big difference. All I know is I need to go. I can’t fathom what I’ve endured tonight.
41
Tyson
I wake disoriented, looking at red and gold carpeting when I wake. I’m on the floor in the hallway. I’m on the other side of the door. Separated from Ivy.
I sit up and scrub at my eyes with the heels of my hands. I feel… strange. Foggy.
“Run?” I hear.
I look up.
It’s Greyson. He’s nude and standing over me.
“What?”
“Come for a run with me and Rye. We have an hour until sunup. We’ll catch up with Linc, Joel, and Jase. The six of us will talk.”
“Where’s Mason?”
“Mason’s at his place. He’s there with his father, some elders.”
I scrub my eyes some more. I detest this foggy feeling. What is it?
Cat approaches. “Are you going for a run with the boys?”
I look over my shoulder at the closed bedroom door.
My vision blurs a little. I blink it off.
“Don’t worry. Bailey will keep her company. We’ll talk to her. It might soften things if we talk things over with her. And if you get a good run in, you might find it clears your head, too.”
I nod and rise.
“I’ll check on her first.”
“You should run,” Cat corrects. “I’ll go in and check on them. I’m guessing Bailey slept in there with her as she’s not here and her bag is downstairs.” Cat sniffs the air and her face goes confused.
“I think Bailey went home. My truck isn’t here,” Greyson says. “She likes waking up in her own bed.”
“I don’t smell her in there,” Cat says.
I strain to hear Ivy’s breathing, her heartbeat. I should hear it if I listen.
“Shh,” I tell them.
I don’t hear it. Her scent is vague, but it feels too vague.
I push the bedroom door open and find the room empty.
I frantically check the bathroom, the closet, and adjoining empty room with the rocking chair. It’s all empty. No sign of Ivy or Bailey.
My eyes meet my mother’s and I don’t hide that I’m furious.
“That drug you gave me. If I hadn’t had that, she’d never have gotten past me.”
She jerks back, remorse spreading across her face.
42
Ivy
I held it together, all the way home, knowing I just had to. I had to just drive. I had no radio on, made no stops, just followed the road home with a single-minded focus to stay alert and get myself there in one piece.
And now, five minutes after I’m at my apartment, seeing that life here looks just the same as how I left it, I’m in my bed, huddled into a ball, staring off into space with burning eyes, a dry throat, and feeling like my chest has caved in.
I’m not just staring into space, though. I’m being assaulted by scents and scenes. I’m smelling Irish Spring bar soap and that rustic cabin smell. Smelling him. Reaching for the feeling, the warmth that used to wrap around me. None of those smells or sensations exist here. They’re all in my head. I guess I’m mourning that touch I’ll never feel again.
On the heels of all the sentimentality, I’m seeing flashes of the rage on that monster’s face. Watching the blood vessels pop in the other guy’s eyes as they stared one another down. Watching him bare his throat in some weirdly somewhat submissive pose as Tyson roared while thrusting into me, though the guy’s face didn’t say he wanted Tyson to bite him. Though the guy bared his throat sort of submissively, the look on his face told me he wanted to fight. His bleeding eyes met mine for a brief instant where I saw defiance.
I squeeze my neck and my fingers land there. Where the sensation of Tyson Savage lingers. I pull my hand away, recoiling. I thought my eyes were dry, my tear ducts all tapped out, but I’m crying again.