Jekyll, an Urban Fantasy (26 page)

His abs tightened as she reached all the way around his waist, pulling slightly, wanting him to face her.

“No, don’t.”

She was too close to him—it wasn’t safe for either of them.

“Look at me, Mitch. Really
look
at me.”

He didn’t know what would happen if he did, but he couldn’t help himself. His body was screaming at him to turn around, fall to his knees, and beg her to tell him everything would be alright. When all he did was
turn
, his pride thanked him.

He saw her exquisite beauty, the lines of her cheekbones, the softness of her lips. All the memories of their time together rushed into his mind. If he wasn’t
already
stunned speechless, he would’ve been.

“I promise you, Mitch. It’s really me. Not Chastity. I’m still the person you know.”

His only way out of this was to see at those eyes. The eyes of his enemy. So he forced himself to look. But, damn it, all he saw was
her
. Still beautiful, still kind. The color all that had changed, all he didn’t recognize.

Damn it
. His only way out still led back to her.

Her hair was the same rich brown it used to be, her skin as smooth as a moonless sea, her voice the same pitch and cadence, but more like the days after he’d stopped being such a bastard. More similar to how it sounded once she’d finally gotten through all of his walls and could just be herself.

He was too close to her. Her scent seeped into every cell of his body. One of them moved—maybe her, maybe him. His lips brushed against hers. He closed his eyes, knowing how close to the edge he actually was. Like a reformed alcoholic holding a drink. And then, in less than a moment, he felt himself fall off the fucking wagon.

Relief mixed with desire mixed with shame, all jumbled up in a kiss that could only be described as endless. Their mouths opened, passion coming from weeks or maybe
years
of uncertainty, hoping to find comfort in each other. He wanted to consume her. Every part of her.

She threw her head back and he devoured her neck, tasting her, remembering her, knowing her all over again. His mind filled with memories—happy ones of the days they’d spent wrapped around each other. Letting the taste of her linger on his tongue like a fine wine that he was
never
going to let go of.

“Wait,” she whispered into his hair breathlessly, her voice heavy with lust. “Wait. I need you to tell me something.”

“Anything,” he said as his teeth glided along her collarbone.

“Mitch?” She took him by the chin and pried him off her, lifting it so they were face to face.

But he didn’t want to answer the question he knew she’d ask. He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t see her. Because then he’d have to face the fact that those memories were just
that
—memories. And they would never be reproduced, no matter how much both of them wanted it.

“Please, Mitch. Open your eyes.” Her voice betrayed a sadness he recognized in himself. She wanted him to stop pretending. But he didn’t want to. He was quite comfortable living in his memories. Kind of.

“Look at me and tell me that you know who I am,” she said. “That the person you want to be with is the person you’re with right now.”

He shook his head, feeling the chill of air between them as she stepped away.

“I need to know that you can love the woman I am now. That you believe me. That you are choosing
me
and not pretending I’m someone I’m not. Please.”

He opened his eyes slowly, as if each lash held a separate burden. He saw grief mar her beauty, felt her disappointment that his answer wasn’t immediate, unquestionable in its affirmation.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tasting her as he drew his lips between his teeth in shame. “I can’t
...” I can’t make any plans beyond this moment.

§ § §

She swallowed, watching the words leave his lips.
And round three goes to…no one
. How many more bouts would they have before he stopped trying? Before she gave up
hoping
he’d try?

When she moved to walk away, he put his hand on her shoulder. Then moved it to her neck and then her jaw, raising her chin so she was forced to face at him. But as soon as she did, he looked away. Like he wanted to believe, wanted to face the truth, but couldn’t quite bear it.

“It’s not the color.” He dropped his head forward, his action belying his words.

“I remember the way you used to look at me before”—she waved her hands around—“all of this. It made me feel amazing, like you were seeing something in me that I didn’t know existed. Like you could see beyond the pain and insecurity I wore on the outside, and into something better. And it made me want to
be
better. To let that part of me out, show her off. It kind of kept me going.”

“When you were with
them
?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “But before that too. When Jolie tried to kill me, and…with Hyde, knowing I had it in me helped me fight back. Like I had something worth saving. Then, after I woke up in The Clinic, all I could think about was getting back to you.”

Anger flared in his eyes. “Damn it, Eden! Why did you come back? You should’ve run away when you had the chance!” He stepped away, his hand fisted, arm tightly coiled, aiming at the wall. At the last minute, he stopped, slowly relaxing his hand and running it through his hair. But his body was still tight, violence brewing just under his skin. “They knew where I lived. Where I worked. You should’ve just run in the opposite direction. You could’ve been free.”

Free?
“I couldn’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

Did he really not understand? After everything, could he
still
not understand? “Because of you.”

“No.” He shook his head. “All I do is screw things up. The only safe place is as far away from me as you can get.”

“What kind of life would I have if I’d run away? Wondering what would happen to you?”

He chuckled. “Listen, I understand that you know how to fight now, but I really
can
take care of myself.”

“It’s not the fighting I’m afraid of.”

“Shit, Eden. Stop talking in riddles. Just tell me what the fuck is happening.”

She sighed, afraid he’d ignore her words or not understand their significance. “If I leave, they won’t help you.”

“I don’t need their fucking help.” His hands turned into fists again.

She wanted to take them into her own and, after prying his fingers apart, slide hers through. But she didn’t move. “You
do
. Or you’ll die.”

“So?”

She flinched. “So? Don’t you get it? Without their drugs, you’ll die.”

“So I’ll die.” He backed away. Creating another void between them. “I’m half-dead anyway. I’ve been half-dead my entire life. With a four-day reprieve when we were together. Then right back into a walking coma when you left. When I
told
you to leave. Fuck!” This time he didn’t, or couldn’t, stop himself. He took his anger out on the wall, but she knew who he was really punishing—
himself
. As if all of this was his fault. “So now I’m saying it again, but this time run farther—out of Florida. Out of the States. Go. Run for it. I’ll give you whatever money you need. Just
leave
. Go where they can’t find you. Have babies. A dog. A…normal man.”

“I don’t want a normal man, I want
you
.”

His laugh was guttural, defeated. “A very sad, but true, statement.”

“I meant it in a nice way.” She didn’t care what kind of man he was, as long as he was still a man.

“It doesn’t matter how you meant it. I said it was true and I
meant
it was true. I’ll never be the kind of man you need.”

“The kind of man I need doesn’t give up. He fights. For himself and for me. You
are
that man. And you could be more.”

“Nah.” He gestured to himself. “This is all there is.”

She swallowed the part of her that wanted to make a joke, change the subject to defuse his anger, or lie. Because if she lied right now, for no better reason than to avoid the truth, she would be ignoring the best part of her old-self . The one who valued honesty. And she wanted to hold onto that for as long as she could. So she would come clean, hoping he’d understand the deal made sense because they would get something they wanted for something that didn’t cost them much—
her
blood, sweat and tears for
his
serum.

“Alex told me they’re close to a cure. They just need more time. All we have to do is figure out a way to give them what they need without giving them
all
of us.”

“No fucking way.” He started pacing again. “I’ll never give them what they want. I’ve already given them enough, when I didn’t know I was.”

“They want me to go back, do their stupid tests or whatever. I
need
to do it. It’s the only way they’ll give you the serum. The only way to control Hyde. Without it—”

“I can handle Hyde.”

“No, Mitch, you can’t,” she said, glad her desperation wasn’t showing-through in her voice. “Stop lying to yourself. Landon told me how often you’ve been transforming and what you’ve done to cope. It can’t go on forever. You need to take the serum.”

“No. I don’t. I don’t have to do anything. Not for them. And if it means I die, I die. But I’ll do it on
my
terms, not anyone else’s. Otherwise, I won’t be living at all. There isn’t much I can control, that I can
chose
. But this one I can. And I won’t knowingly give them that power over me. I just won’t. I make my
own
choices now—no one will ever take that away from me again.” There was a pause—in his words and in his actions, as if time just took a coffee break leaving them with nothing but this moment.

“There’s only
one
thing I want that someone else controls,” he said. “And that’s
you
.” When he moved, it was
towards
her, not away. “I want to be with you, Eden. Just once, and then you can go. One more chance to be inside you. Shit, I want you so badly. Like, embarrassingly badly. Like, ‘I’m about to come in my pants just standing five feet away from you’ badly.”

“You mean, if I say no, you’ll actually come in your pants?”

“It’s a distinct possibility, yes.”

She thought about it, knowing how much she wanted that and
more
from him, and then shook her head. “That’s not good enough.” Would he truly give up his life to prove a point? Just to be able to say ‘Fuck you’ to them?

He put out his hands, palms up, a grin on just one side of his mouth. “You’re going to ignore a dying man’s last request?”

Her inhalation sounded very close to a sob. Probably because it was. “Damn it, Mitch. How can you say that?”

“Would you rather I lie?”

“No, but it’s a lousy offer.”

He winced. “Then it should be an easy decision to make.”

“You want me to decide between making love to you and then leaving—knowing you’re somewhere far away dying—or walking away
now
and never seeing you, never touching you again?
That
decision?”

“That’s the one,” he said slowly.

She considered holding out—denying them both the opportunity to be together until he gave in and did what she wanted him to do. But she wanted
him
. God, she wanted him. And if she tried bluffing, she’d be deceiving them both. Withholding her body would just be another form of manipulation. He was offering her a chance to feel him again. But what would it get her? Sexually satisfied, but still mourning the loss of him.

“How can you do this to me, Mitch? You’re such a prick.”

His brow furrowed. “Yeah, I thought we’d gone over that a while ago.”

“Fine.” Her voice was strong, even though she was dying inside. Leaving her with two choices that both led to saying goodbye. “Then I choose the latter.”

“The latter?” Disappointment filled his face, even as he tried to shake it off and be strong, pragmatic. “Oh…fuck. I didn’t see that coming. So much for my ultimatum. And my irresistibility. Um…okay. I’ll set up a bank account for you or something. Can I at least get a hug goodbye? Or a pity-fuck?” He laughed sadly.

She knew it was a cruel punishment for them both, but she was hurt.
Beyond
hurt. And she wanted him to feel what it was like. He would leave her? Just for his pride?

Of
course
she wanted to be with him. One more time, a thousand more times. Neither would be enough. But walking away without feeling him inside of her was something she’d never be able to do. And she hoped— No, she
prayed
that once he remembered how they were together, how they were meant to be together—opposite sides of the same coin—that he’d want more time. No matter what it took to get.

So her decision had been made, but not for the offer he’d given her. She’d be with him now, but she wouldn’t walk away. Not ever.

“I was lying,” she said.

“What?”

“Lying. I do that now.”

“Oh. That was funny.” He voiced his relief with a laugh. “
So
funny I think my heart stopped for a minute back there sometime. Just wait a minute until I can get it started again.”

“I want to be with you.” She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him closer. “But the other part is still up for negotiation.”

“Not negotiable.” He barely touched her, their clothes the only physical barrier between them. Their lips hovered just a breath away from each other. “Whether we make love or not, you’re still walking away.” His lips grazed hers with each consonant he spoke.

“Despite what you may think, you can’t control me. You need to understand that I’m not a damsel in distress, this isn’t a fairytale, and you sure as hell are no Prince Charming.”

His mouth dropped open in shock as he pulled back slightly. “But…but…I’m almost
freakishly
charming. And I’d probably look good in a fluffy shirt.”

She wanted to live in his laugh, enjoy the joke, ignore the fact that she knew he was still hesitant to make eye-contact. But what good would that do? It wouldn’t be enough. Not for this moment, or all the ones she hoped would follow.

“There’s no such thing as true-love’s kiss. You either know me, and want me for who I am, or not. I can’t be the girl I was. Not even for
you
.”