Chapter 18
The next seven days passed in a blur of grey and white. Grey days where he moved through his appointments with mechanical numbness, making diagnoses and writing prescriptions. White nights when he dosed himself with the suppression formula and ran until his body gave out.
Hyde fought him constantly now, but not with the violent force he’d experienced before. This was worse—a soul-deep ache that made every breath an effort. Hyde wasn’t trying to emerge and rampage. He was grieving.
They were grieving.
He increased his dose of the suppression formula. Then increased it again when the first adjustment didn’t work. His hands trembled constantly now and his fine motor control suffered. He dropped a scalpel during a minor procedure and had to excuse himself, claiming a muscle spasm.
Petal watched him with knowing eyes but said nothing. The town’s Other residents weren’t as circumspect.
“You look like shit,” Houston observed when Victor stopped by the River Cafe for coffee he wouldn’t drink.
“Thank you for that medical assessment.”
“Ginger says Chloe’s been crying.”
His hand clenched around the disposable cup, crumpling it. “That’s not my concern.”
“Like hell it isn’t.” Houston leaned across the counter, voice low. “I don’t know what you did, but that girl’s miserable. And you—” He gestured at Victor’s haggard appearance. “You’re barely holding it together.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He left before he could respond. Or shift. Or put his fist through Houston’s concerned face.
Sam cornered him at the Moonlight Tavern two nights later, actually emerging from the water and entering the tavern in his land form.
“Nina says—”
“I don’t care what Nina says.” He downed his whiskey in one burning swallow. “I don’t care what any of you say. I made my decision.”
“To be miserable?” Sam settled on the barstool beside him. “Bold choice.”
“To be safe. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” The Kraken cocked his head, studying him with those ancient silver eyes. “Seems to me safe is just another word for alone.”
“I’m alone by choice.”
“Doesn’t make it hurt less.” Sam signaled the bartender for another round. “I tried to keep Nina at a distance, to protect her from myself.”
“And?”
“And I was wrong.” Sam accepted his drink with a nod of thanks. “Being with her is easier than being without her. She calms me.”
“I’m not a Kraken.”
“No, you’re a Hyde. Don’t you ever wonder why he’s part of you?”
He had, many times. The journal Chloe found had referred to the Hyde as the guardian within, but his father’s records painted him as nothing but a curse.
“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “The result is the same. I’m dangerous.”
“To enemies, maybe.” Sam sipped his drink. “But to Chloe? To that baby? I saw you at Halloween, remember. Watching them from the shadows. Looking like someone had carved out your heart.”
“I was—”
“Protecting her from a distance. Yeah, I got that.” Sam set down his glass. “Question is, who are you really protecting? Her from the big bad Hyde? Or yourself from actually being happy?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.
The next day, he caught a glimpse of her entering the Town Hall. She looked tired. Pale. Beautiful. Hyde surged and his vision flashed green before he could suppress it. The car swerved and he jerked the wheel straight, nearly clipping a parked truck.
He took another dose of the formula when he got to the clinic. Then another that night. And again the next morning. His hands shook so badly he couldn’t hold his coffee cup steady. The tremor spread up his arms, making even basic tasks difficult.
“Dr. Jackson.” Petal appeared in his office doorway, her tiny form somehow imposing. “You need to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Whatever you’re doing to yourself.” She crossed her arms. “The suppression formula. You’ve made three batches this week. Double your normal usage.”
“My dosage is not your concern.”
“It is when you can barely function.” Petal moved into the room, shutting the door behind her. “You’re poisoning yourself, Doctor. That formula was designed for occasional use. Emergency situations. Not daily consumption at the levels you’re taking.”
“I need it.”
“You need to stop running from what you feel.”
He slammed his hands on the desk. “I need to be safe. To keep people safe from me. This—” He gestured at himself, at the tremors, at the exhaustion. “This is the price of that safety.”
“No,” she said firmly. “This is the price of fear. And it’s killing you.”
He couldn’t respond. He could barely think past the constant pressure in his skull, the way his bones ached from fighting Hyde every second.
Petal left without another word.
That night, Victor sat in his silent house and read his great-grandfather’s journal.
The guardian responds to threats, the precise script read. But also to love. I find myself shifting not in anger but in joy when Margaret laughs. When our son takes his first steps. The guardian does not wish to destroy—it wishes to protect. To serve. To be part of something greater than isolation.
He closed the journal. His great-grandfather had been wrong. Had to have been wrong. But the words haunted him through another sleepless night.
On the seventh day, Flora arrived.
He was attempting to eat breakfast—a piece of toast he’d been staring at for ten minutes—when someone pounded on his door. He was tempted to ignore it, but someone might need medical assistance and he still felt obligated to provide whatever help he could.
Instead, Flora stood on his porch wearing a bright pink tracksuit that read “Flirty at Forty” despite her being well past eighty. Her black eyes glittered with knowledge and disapproval.
“You look terrible,” she announced.
“Good morning to you too, Flora.”
“Don’t you ‘good morning’ me, boy.” She pushed past him into the house before he could respond. “Seven days. You’ve made that girl cry for seven days straight and made yourself sick as a dog. Enough is enough.”
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“Everything in this town concerns me.” Flora spun to face him, pointing one gnarled finger. “And that blizzard rolling in tonight? Definitely concerns you.”
His stomach dropped. “What blizzard?”
“The one they’re calling historic. They’re predicting three feet of snow, high winds, and power outages.” She glared at him. “That little cabin Chloe is renting is outside of the town limits, on a dead-end road. If something happens—”
“She’ll be fine.” He forced the words out, even as Hyde fought to be free. “She has supplies and I’m sure she’s prepared.”
“Is she? Or are you just telling yourself that because facing the alternative means admitting you care?”
“I care.” The words burst out before he could stop them. “Of course I care. That’s why I left. To keep her safe from—”
“From yourself. Yes, yes, we’ve all heard the tragic martyr routine.” Flora waved dismissively. “But here’s the thing about martyrs, dear boy. They die alone and miserable while the people they’re supposedly protecting suffer anyway.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.” Flora moved closer, her small frame somehow commanding. “I understand you’re scared. That you’ve spent your whole life convinced you’re a monster. That your father’s failures haunt you.”
“My father nearly killed my mother.”
“Your father was a weak man who never learned to work with his Hyde instead of against it,” she said sharply. “He let his fear control him, but you are not your father, Victor Jackson. You’re better. Stronger. More controlled than he ever was.”
“Control isn’t enough. I nearly shifted with Chloe—”
“And did you hurt her?”
“No, but—”
“Did Hyde hurt her? Threaten her? Show any sign of violence?”
He thought back to that night, to Hyde’s enormous hands cradling Chloe’s belly, and the fierce protectiveness that had filled him.
“No,” he admitted.
“Then what are you so afraid of?”
“That next time will be different. That I won’t be able to stop it. That I’ll—” His voice broke. “That I’ll destroy the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”
Flora’s expression softened. “Oh, my dear boy. Don’t you see? You’ve already destroyed it. Not through violence, but through fear.”
He sank into a chair, all the fight draining out of him. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Go to her.” Flora put a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder. “Before this storm hits, and make sure she’s safe. And while you’re at it, maybe you can let yourself have what you both want.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is.” Flora squeezed his shoulder. “But the complicated things are usually worth it.”
She left as abruptly as she’d arrived, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the sound of wind picking up outside.
A blizzard with Chloe alone in that cabin. He told himself she’d be fine. The cabin had a generator, and she had her phone. She could call for help if needed. Except what if the cell towers went down? What if the generator failed?
What if she went into labor?
Stop it, he told himself. I’m catastrophizing again. She’s fine. She doesn’t need me, and she definitely doesn’t want me there after what I said.
But Hyde was pushing restlessly against his skin, not angry but worried.
He paced his kitchen as the wind rattled the windows. Then he tried to focus on patient files, on anything other than the image of Chloe alone and potentially in danger.
By noon, the first snowflakes were falling.
By two o’clock, the wind had picked up to a howl.
By four, he couldn’t see across the street.
He stood at his window and watched the snow pile up with terrifying speed.
Already several inches had accumulated and the forecast called for the storm to continue all night and into tomorrow.
Three feet of snow with drifts potentially twice that high.
And her cabin was on a dead-end road that wouldn’t be plowed until the main routes were clear.
She’s fine, he repeated like a mantra. Perfectly safe. She doesn’t need me to rescue her.
But his hands were shaking again, and this time it wasn’t from the suppression formula.
He grabbed his phone and stared at her contact information, his thumb hovering over the call button. But what would he even say?
I know I told you we couldn’t be together and broke your heart, but there’s a storm coming and I’m worried.
She’d probably hang up on him. She’d certainly have every right to do so. He set down the phone. Then picked it up again. Put it down.
Hyde was prowling now—pacing inside Victor’s mind with increasing agitation. The guardian sensing that something was wrong. Sensing a threat to their mate. Their baby.
Not ours, he corrected automatically. Not our anything.
But he couldn’t convince himself. He’d spent seven days trying to convince himself that leaving her was right, and that putting distance between them was necessary for her safety.
Seven days of misery for both of them.
Seven days of fighting Hyde’s anguished protests.
Seven days of existing instead of living.
He looked out at the blizzard. Snow fell so thick and fast he could barely make out the houses across the street. The wind shrieked, rattling his windows, piling drifts against anything that would hold them.
And somewhere out there—beyond the protection of town, in a small cabin on a dead-end road, Chloe was alone.
Maybe afraid.
Definitely isolated.
In danger, Hyde supplied, and his fists clenched. He’d made his choice seven days ago when he’d walked away to keep her safe from himself. But what if the real danger wasn’t him at all? What if he’d left her vulnerable to something worse than Hyde’s transformation?
He was moving before conscious thought caught up, grabbing his coat and his keys.
He slung his medical bag slung over his shoulder and filled a pack with supplies—blankets, flashlight, emergency provisions.
The rational part of his brain screamed that it was a terrible idea, that the roads would be impassable and that he’d likely get stuck himself.
That even if he reached her, she would probably demand that he leave her alone.
But Hyde was roaring now. Mate in danger. Baby in danger. GO. And for once, he didn’t fight him. He stepped out into the blizzard and let the door slam shut behind him.