Chapter 3
They made love on the chair at the kitchen table, then ran upstairs to have a long, hot shower together.
She finally hopped out because she needed to meet Willow, but Jack took an extra moment alone, letting the water sluice over his skin, wishing they could be carefree, wishing that their life wasn’t fraught with secrets and danger.
He finally turned off the tap and wrapped a towel around himself.
Stopping in the bathroom doorway, he watched her quietly, his heart brimming with love for her.
Darcy sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on her socks and shoes, and he had a sudden flashback to the first time he ever saw her.
She looked up to find Jack staring at her from the bathroom doorway. Her lips tilted up, and her eyes brightened immediately until she caught his expression. Her brows knitted for a moment in question.
“What?”
“Avec elle, ma mort et ma vie. Avec elle et nul autre.”
“With her, my…?” she asked.
He crossed the room, falling to his knees before her, laying his damp black head in her lap. He closed his eyes as her fingers fell lightly onto his hair, gently burying themselves in the thickness. His voice sounded muffled against the fabric of her jeans.
“With her, my death and my life. With her and no other.”
Her hands slipped around to caress his face, her palms lovingly holding his cheeks as she righted his head, making him look at her.
“Avec elle, ma vie,” she replied, her green eyes serious and worried. “La vie.”
With her, my life, she repeated in his head. Life. No death. We will figure this out.
He took a deep breath, then sighed, leaning forward to touch his lips to hers.
She didn’t open her lips, and he couldn’t help feeling deprived.
He had half a mind to force the issue, kiss her harder until her mouth opened, until she couldn’t catch her breath, until he had her stripped down and panting beneath him. “I’d keep you here all day if I could.”
“You can’t. Willow’s waiting for me.”
“Hmmph,” he grumbled, pushing off her knees with his elbows to stand up.
“And don’t forget we have dinner at my mom’s tonight,” she added, tying her other shoe, then standing up with her hands on her hips. “You’re a duckling now.”
“A duckling?” He threw an incredulous glance at her, letting his towel drop to the ground as he pulled on a pair of jeans. “I’m a Roux-ga-roux. Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”
Darcy shrugged, still grinning. “The big wolf doesn’t like being called a duckling.”
“He does not.”
“She means well,” said Darcy softly.
“I know,” he answered, throwing on a T-shirt. “And you know I like your family. I just wish we could be alone tonight. Before…”
“We have all day tomorrow,” Darcy reminded him, stepping into his arms to hug him goodbye.
She rested her cheek against his shoulder, and again he thought about distracting her, keeping her with him, making it impossible for her to leave him.
“And what will we do tomorrow?” he asked instead.
“Have fun together,” she breathed, her words slow and deliberate, the underlying worry in contrast to the words.
“A walk in the woods?” Her favorite.
“Mm-hmm.”
“A picnic?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” she said, her voice warming up now. How he loved that he could tell the nuances of her mood by the changes in her tone. “And you can tell me stories.”
“Stories?”
She leaned back, her eyes playful and bright. “Pack stories. Or stories about you and your childhood.”
“Julien’s the storyteller.”
“I don’t want Julien,” she said, pursing her lips together. Darcy and Julien’s meeting had been rocky, at best. “I’m going to lie on your chest and stare at the sky, and you’re going to tell me stories.”
The position she was describing, her head on his chest under a ceiling of green leaves with bits of blue sky shining through, was a common position for them when he pulled her inside, into Dansmatête, where he was a black wolf, and she was ethereal, like an angel.
He wondered if she’d chosen the image randomly or if it had been influenced by the moments they’d spent inside together.
She smiled at him. “Subconsciously influenced.”
“Get out of my head, human.”
She leaned up to kiss him lightly on the lips. “See you later?”
He nodded, his chest aching, as it always did when he watched her go.
Six hours later, Willow and Darcy sat side by side on the couch in Willow’s office, staring at the glass canning jar on the desk, which was halfway filled with an amber-colored liquid.
Willow nudged Darcy’s side. “You did it.”
“We did it,” said Darcy, turning to grin at her friend.
“You sure about the dosage?”
Darcy shook her head. “I’m not sure about anything.”
“Hey, that’s not true. You’re sure this’ll work. I am too.”
Tears sprang into Darcy’s eyes, and she let her weary head fall.
“Kid,” said Willow, rubbing her friend’s back. “What’s going on? We did it. We made the shift suppressor. Pleine Lune is tomorrow night, and we made it in time. You can breathe a sigh of relief.”
“I wish it were that simple,” said Darcy, swiping at her eyes and taking a deep breath.
“But Jack still refuses to talk about turning me. I mean, I don’t know how it will go tomorrow.
Do I think this will keep him from shifting?
Yes. I do. But it’s not like he’s agreed to turn me.
He won’t even talk about it, Willow. So what’s the point of making this if he won’t turn me? If he goes up there, and they…they…”
“Darce. Stop.”
Darcy looked up at Willow’s dark eyes.
“One step at a time. Let’s get through the next few days. Jack may feel differently once he’s experienced a shift suppression. How can you expect him to agree to turn you when we don’t even know if it’ll work yet?”
Darcy took another deep breath and nodded, the logic of Willow’s words a comfort to her. Willow was right. Jack might feel differently four days from now. He might. But what if he didn’t?
Though Darcy had loved the last three weeks, staying at Jack’s house, sleeping beside him every night, and learning more about the man to whom her life was bound, it was starting to really bother her that Jack refused to discuss the equinox, the re-binding, or turning her.
Yes, Willow’s words were soothing, but Darcy couldn’t help but worry that Jack would refuse to turn her.
Darcy was unconcerned about the binding itself.
She believed, with her whole heart, that the binding would hold.
She’d never felt anything as strong as her love for Jack or witnessed anything as profound as his commitment to her.
She had faith it would hold, so she barely wasted a moment worrying about their binding.
The only thing that really frightened Darcy was the possibility of losing him permanently.
The thought of Jack heading up to Portes de l’Enfer for the re-binding alone and being forced to submit to an Inquisition twisted her stomach and compressed her lungs until she couldn’t breathe.
There was only one thing Darcy held as an absolute truth.
She had to show up at the re-binding. Turned or unturned, she had to be there.
One option was for him to turn her. And as much as she worried about the change in her form and nature, the last few weeks had given her ample opportunity to study Jack, his care and compassion, his kindness, deep sense of responsibility, and devotion.
He was her example of everything a Roux-ga-roux could be, and she would be honored to be like him.
He saw himself as dark and bad, but she saw his goodness, his light, and the thought of being like him didn’t frighten her.
Turning seemed such a small thing when held up against Jack’s life.
She’d still be alive. Yes, she’d have to learn how to be Roug, but she’d have the most loving, attentive mentor as she learned.
Didn’t he see? Couldn’t he understand that there was only one solution, and it had very little to do with the shift suppressor?
The shift suppressor was just Darcy’s way of sweetening the deal, of making the turning more palatable to Jack.
Because while the idea of turning bothered Darcy less and less, the other option terrified her.
The only other option was for Darcy to show up at the re-binding as his bound mate in human form.
A shiver went down her spine as she imagined the hundreds of fangs and claws outstretched for her blood.
But if he wouldn’t turn her, it was the only way to save him, and there was not one cell in her body that would allow her to stay idly behind in Carlisle while she sent him to his doom.
Turned or human, Darcy would be at the re-binding. As far as she was concerned, it was nonnegotiable.
“I’m sure you’re right, Will,” said Darcy softly.
“No, you’re not.”
Darcy stood up, pursing her lips at Willow. “I won’t let anyone hurt him. I can’t.”
“Hey.” Willow stood up, cocking her head to the side. “Make me a promise?”
“What is it?”
“If…if you decide, at some point, that you’re going to take things into your own hands, tell me.”
“Willow, I—”
“Promise me. If he won’t turn you, and you decide to show up at the binding…” Willow’s face contorted, and she shook her head, lowering her voice to a pleading whisper. “It’s a suicide mission. You know that, don’t you?”
Darcy kept her face impassive. Strong. “I know it would save him.”
“But you would certainly die.”
“Willow,” said Darcy gently. “My life wouldn’t be worth living without him.”
A tear snaked down Willow’s face. “If you decide to go north, promise you’ll tell me first.”
“I’d be putting you in danger too.”
“No. They wouldn’t hurt me. I’m an Enchanteresse.”
“There would be hundreds of them and only one of you.”
“I don’t care.” Willow reached forward and grasped Darcy’s hands. “Promise me. If you decide to go north, you’ll tell me first.”
Darcy swallowed, bracing herself to stay placid as she lied. “I promise.”