Chapter 11 #2
His free hand came up without conscious thought, hovering near her face. He wanted to touch her so badly his fingers trembled. He wanted to trace the curve of her cheek, tangle his hands in her hair, pull her against him and never let go, but such wants were dangerous.
“What if I can’t?” The question came out broken. “What if the journal is wrong and I’m right and—”
“What if you’re not?” she interrupted gently. Her hand was still on his arm, warm and steady and anchoring. “What if all this control and suppression is actually making things worse? What if trust is the answer instead of fear?”
Hyde pushed harder. Yes. Trust. Let us protect her properly. Let us love her.
His eyes blazed fully green now, and he could feel the shift happening, his hands growing slightly larger, his senses sharpening.
“You’re asking me to risk your safety on a what-if.”
“I’m asking you to trust that I know my own mind. That I can make my own choices about what risks I’m willing to take.” She took his hovering hand in hers, and deliberately guided it to her cheek.
Her skin was so soft and warm, and his breath stopped.
“I’m asking you to be brave enough to try,” she whispered.
His hand cradled her delicate face. His thumb traced her cheekbone of its own accord, and he felt the tremor in his fingers—Hyde’s strength barely leashed.
“You’re going to undo me,” he whispered.
“Good.” She turned her face into his palm, pressing a kiss to his skin that shot through him like lightning. “Maybe you need undoing.”
She rose on her toes and kissed him. It wasn’t the desperate, hungry kiss of the other night, but something softer, more certain.
Her lips moved over his with gentle persistence, a question and an answer in the same breath.
His other hand came up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in the soft silk of her hair.
Hyde roared triumphantly, and his control shattered.
He kissed her back, careful despite the desperation clawing through his chest. His other arm came around her waist—mindful of her baby bump, holding her steady without crushing her close.
She made a soft sound against his mouth and his whole world narrowed to that single point of contact.
She tasted like chamomile tea and sweetness, and when her hands came up to grip his shoulders, he felt the rightness of it down to his bones. Hyde was humming with contentment, a deep, possessive purr that vibrated through his entire being. This is right. This is ours.
For once, he couldn’t argue. When he deepened the kiss, she met him eagerly, her mouth opening under his. He poured everything into the kiss—all the lonely years and the desperate longing and the terrifying hope she’d awakened in him.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. One hand slid up to cup the back of his neck, and the touch sent heat racing down his spine. He gently pulled her closer until her soft curves pressed against him. The baby bump nestled between them, a reminder of everything fragile and worth protecting.
Hyde pushed closer to the surface and he felt his hands growing larger, stronger, but she didn’t pull away, only melted closer against him.
He broke the kiss to trail his lips along her jaw, tasting her skin, and breathing her in.
Her pulse fluttered under his mouth and Hyde wanted to mark it, to claim her in a way that would tell the world she was under his protection.
Mine, Hyde growled.
Ours, he corrected, but the distinction felt meaningless because for the first time in his life, both sides wanted exactly the same thing.
Her head tilted back, giving him access to her throat, and he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck, gentle despite the need burning through him.
She gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and the sound sent his control spiraling further.
He captured her mouth again, and this kiss was less careful, more desperate.
His tongue swept against hers and she responded eagerly, matching his intensity.
His hand—larger now, Hyde’s influence unmistakable—swept up to cup her breast, the soft weight fitting perfectly into his palm.
He felt the peak tighten through the thin layers of her sweater and bra, and his thumb brushed over it, circling slowly.
She made a soft, broken sound against his mouth and arched into his touch, silently demanding more.
He could feel the difference between human and Hyde, the extra strength that made him painfully aware of how breakable she was. But she arched into him, pressing closer, and whispered against his lips, “Don’t stop.”
The phone rang, and the shrill sound cut through the haze of need and desire like a knife.
He froze, his whole body going rigid. The phone rang again, and reality came crashing back.
He was standing in his office with Chloe pressed against him, his eyes blazing green, his hands transformed, and his control hanging by a thread.
Hyde was right there, closer to the surface than he’d been in years.
The phone rang a third time.
“I have to—” His voice came out rough, barely human. “You have to go.”
“Victor—”
“Now.” He forced himself to step back, to drop his hands even though everything in him screamed to keep holding her. “Please.”
Confusion and hurt flashed across her face, but she must have seen something in his expression that convinced her because she grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
The phone rang a fourth time.
He watched her go, his fists clenched, fighting the urge to follow her and finish what they’d started. The door closed behind her, and he lunged for the phone, needing something—anything—to ground him.
“Yes?” The word came out as a growl.
“Dr. Jackson? This is Mabel Anderson. I’m so sorry to bother you, but my husband—he’s having chest pains and shortness of breath. I didn’t know who else to call.”
The words penetrated the lingering fog of need and desire, and he forced himself to focus, to think like a physician instead of a man whose control was crumbling. “How severe? On a scale of one to ten?”
“He says six, but I think he’s lying. Maybe eight.”
“Call an ambulance. I’ll meet you at the clinic in five minutes.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
He hung up and stood there breathing hard, his hands still transformed, his eyes still glowing. Someone needs you, he told himself. Focus. But all he could think about was her taste on his lips, the feel of her body against his, the way she’d looked at him without fear.
He headed for the bathroom, needing his suppressant. He needed to get Hyde back under control before he saw a patient. The medical bag sat on the counter where he’d left it that morning. He pulled out the vial and syringe with shaking hands.
One dose. Perhaps two. Whatever it took to push Hyde down and restore his control. His hand slipped as he tried to fill the syringe. The vial shattered against the sink, sending glass and suppressant everywhere.
“Dammit!” He grabbed for the pieces instinctively, and a shard sliced deep into his palm.
Blood welled immediately, bright red against his skin, but then it started to glow. Green light pulsed from the wound, and he watched in horrified fascination as the cut knitted itself back together, leaving only a faint line that faded even as he stared at it.
His hand was completely healed. In seconds. Hyde was so close to the surface that his healing ability was manifesting without conscious effort. Fuck. This was worse than he’d thought, worse than just heightened emotions or loss of control. This was integration – both sides blurring together.
Dangerous, his father’s voice whispered in his memory. This is how it starts. First the healing manifests. Then the strength becomes unpredictable. Then the rage surfaces and people get hurt.
He braced his hands on the counter, trying to think.
The suppressant was gone, spilled across the sink in a puddle of broken glass, but the Andersons needed him.
He had no choice but to face his patient with Hyde barely contained beneath his skin.
He quickly cleaned up the glass and washed his hands, watching the water run clear.
There was no blood, no evidence of injury. It was like it had never happened.
Patients first. Personal crisis later.
The journal sat on the hallway table where he’d dropped it when Chloe kissed him. He picked it up, intending to set it aside for later, but it fell open to a page near the middle, and his eyes caught on a single phrase written in his great-grandfather’s careful hand—balance is always the answer.
He stood frozen for a moment, staring at the words. Not control, but balance.
Outside, he heard the distant wail of the ambulance siren.
The Andersons needed him. He set the journal down carefully and headed for the door, his great-grandfather’s words echoing in his mind.
Balance. His palm tingled where the wound had been, and Hyde hummed beneath his skin, protective and present and impossibly close.
He hurried out into the night, towards duty and patients and the carefully constructed life he’d built, but everything had changed. Because Chloe had kissed him. And somewhere in his great-grandfather’s journal might lay the answers he’d been too afraid to seek.