Chapter 6 #2
Hundreds of times, he’d pulled Darcy inside.
All he had to do was zero in on the feeling of her in his gut, in his blood, in his bones, and he’d feel the swirling start.
He still felt her, and it was a comfort of sorts for that split second that Darcy remained a part of Jack.
He clenched his eyes tighter, desperately hoping for the lightning-fast shift that would instantly transform him into a black wolf.
He listened, despairing and wretched with every second that passed, for her heartbeat, loud and strong, like a beacon.
The swirling didn’t start.
There was no transformation. No heartbeat. No beacon.
Tears of anguish coursed down his face as, with a keening cry, he faced the truth.
He still felt her inside, but she wasn’t there anymore.
They were unbound. Which meant that Darcy had been turned.
Sobbing with agony and a deep, hollow misery, Jack swung his body back into the car, turned the key in the ignition, and slammed his foot to the gas.
Feelings of worry, pain, desolation, and fury fought for dominion, but one thought silenced them, pushing Jack onward with a searing single-mindedness. She belonged to him.
He wouldn’t let her go.
Whatever it was, it tasted good and right, and oh god, it soothed the cramping and twisting in her belly. Warm, metallic juice sloshed out the sides of her mouth, dripping onto her feverish skin as she leaned forward to drink more.
“Go slow,” she heard a masculine voice warn, its deep rumble tightening every muscle in her body, forcing her to slow her pace, to obey.
“Mmm,” she moaned, barely able to open her eyes, her fingers curling into the sheets beneath her hands. She tried to reach up, but realized her wrists were bound to the bed, prohibiting movement.
She moaned, but it sounded like a growl in her ears, animalistic and yearning, and the bowl pressed to her lips was tilted back farther, allowing more thick, warm liquid to fill her mouth and run down her throat.
“She’s taking it better than most,” commented the deep voice. “She’s lucky to have you.”
A familiar voice answered near her head, “We worked weeks on that potion. I never thought I’d be using it to help ease her…transition.”
Willow. Willow was here. But where was here? And what was happening to her? She ached everywhere, her body itched and burned like fire, and her fingers and jaw were in agony. Nothing helped except the juice. She needed more juice.
“M-m-more,” Darcy gasped as she felt the bowl being pulled away.
The deep voice chuckled, and Darcy’s insides clenched with longing, darts of erotic yearning zinging through her body, making her skin tingle, making her nipples pucker and tighten, as though reaching toward his voice.
“Gimme a minute, petite.”
“Is this…normal?” asked Willow.
“No. Normal is hunting. Normal is eating a…well, a—”
Darcy couldn’t hear the last word that he said. The bowl of warm liquid had been pressed back against her lips again. Her eyes rolled back in her head in bliss, and the world scuttled away as the most visceral, most sensual, most important voice in the world commanded her to drink.
It was almost noon by the time Jack arrived in Portes de l’Enfer, but upon entering the small village, he drove straight to his mother’s cabin, barely cutting the engine in his car before jumping out and striding to the front door.
Over the past four hours, his shredded heart had wheezed and ached in protest of Darcy’s loss.
It seemed to know that while it still beat for her, hers had ceased beating for him several hours before.
And yet, Jack wouldn’t let himself believe that the binding—a twenty-year binding—could be broken so easily.
It couldn’t be true that he could have her love one day, only to lose it so completely the next.
And the horror of what she was experiencing made Jack clench his fists with frustration and sorrow.
His only mission in life, for all of his life, had been to protect her.
How had he not seen her single-mindedness about being turned?
How had he failed to see that she would take matters into her own hands if he stood in her way?
He fisted his hand and banged on the door with all his might. His mother had done something utterly unforgivable. Without his permission, she had turned his mate, and he was here to settle accounts with her.
Raising his hand to knock again, the door whipped open, and instead of connecting with the wood of the door, his fist connected with Lela’s nose instead. She reeled back, stumbling into the rustic kitchen table behind her as her nose exploded in a shower of red, and she gasped in outrage and pain.
“Merde, Jacques! What is the matter with you?” she demanded, covering her bleeding nose.
“Lela! Where’s Darcy? Where’s my mother?” When she didn’t answer immediately, his gaze flicked to the hand covering her belly protectively. “Oh god. I’m sorry.”
“You punched your pregnant sister. Nice job, shithead.” She turned her back to him and headed for the bathroom, returning a moment later with a washcloth pressed against her nose.
He stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, smelling deeply. Neither his mother nor Darcy were at the cabin. Nor were they in the village.
“Where’s Darcy?” he demanded, entering the cottage and closing the door behind him.
“How the fuck should I know?” asked Lela, sitting down in Tallis’s rocker in front of the dark fireplace. “In Carlisle? At Dartmouth?”
Jack shook his head. “She’s not. She came up here.”
Lela leaned forward, eyebrows furrowing. “To Portes de l’Enfer?”
“Yeah. She…I think she…” The exhaustion and pain of the past three days suddenly came to a head, and Jack stumbled as the room swam before him. He reached out to steady himself on the edge of the table.
Lela was up in a flash, her arms around his waist as she guided him to the other rocker by the fire. It smelled of Tombeur, and Jack let his eyes flutter closed.
“Jacques, that’s impossible,” said Lela, squatting in front of him with her hands on his knees. “If Darcy came here as a human, without your protection, I mean…”
Jack bowed his head, his chin touching his chest, embarrassing tears flooding his eyes. He managed to speak, though his voice broke on the words. “She’s not human anymore.”
Lela gasped, and a moment later, she was on her knees looking up at him, her hands cupping his wet cheeks as she searched his eyes. “What happened?”
“Where’s my mother?” he asked her.
“I-I don’t know. She got a call and left right before dinner last night. I got up at three in the morning to go to the bathroom, and she wasn’t here. I assumed she was staying up at Tombeur’s.”
“She stays there a lot?”
Lela nodded. “It’s better that way.”
Jack swiped at his eyes. It made sense for his mother to turn Darcy at Tombeur’s cabin.
It was remote, hidden in the woods. Tombeur’s pack was more wild, more spread out, covering more territory than in Portes de l’Enfer, which functioned more as a centralized village.
Turning a human into a Roux-ga-roux was something best done in a controlled, remote environment, as far as possible from other humans.
He started to stand up, but Lela’s hand on his thigh stopped him.
“Let me make you something to eat first. You look…Jacques, you look terrible.” She shook her head, her face etched with worry. “Why do you look like this?”
As he sat at his mother’s table while Lela reheated last night’s leftovers, he told Lela about how he’d refused to talk to Darcy about turning her, how she’d created a potion in an attempt to prove to him that she could be turned and live a “normal” life, how the shift suppressor had worked, but not in a way that made it a viable option for Darcy, how she’d left him when he was exhausted and weak, and how he’d lost consciousness and driven off the road en route to find her.
Lela’s face fell when he told her that he couldn’t reach Darcy through Dansmatête anymore.
“Tallis turned her,” said Lela, lowering her hands to her stomach in understanding. “She’d do anything to protect you.”
Jack nodded as the food in his stomach threatened to revolt. He took a long sip of water, grateful when it settled.
“When you find her, she won’t know you,” Lela murmured, shock and sorrow making her voice tremble.
Jack’s lungs froze as she said the words, his breath catching until his chest ached, and he finally expelled breath in a long, jagged stream. “No.”
“But you still love her.”
“Like I always have.”
“Oh, Jacques,” she whispered, reaching for his hand across the table as she understood the hell-on-earth that her brother was experiencing. “I’m so sorry.”
Jack looked up at his sister’s eyes, but he felt none of the fury toward her that he was entitled to. Had she done this to him and Darcy? Yes. But he couldn’t hate her for it. Lela hadn’t taken Darcy away from him. His mother had done that. He was saving his anger for her.
Pulling his hand away, he stood up. Even though he knew that Darcy was unbound to him, somewhere in his heart, he believed—as she had once—that their binding was stronger than her turning.
He hoped, stupidly yet desperately, that she’d look into his eyes and their strong, strange, beloved bond would be restored.
“I have to get to Tombeur’s.”
Lela stood up and placed his bowl in the sink, then crossed the small room, reaching for her jacket. “Assuming we’re driving?”
“You’re not coming,” said Jack flatly.
“Fuck you, Jacques. You’re about to kick Tallis’s ass, right? I’ve been waiting for this day my entire life.”