He loves me? Loves me? How can he say that to me? I spin over and emotions just burst from me. They erupt from my pores the way a wolf bursts from Ty when he shifts and I go at him with a feral cry, slapping his face.
This catches him by surprise.
“Do not ever fucking put your hands on me without my permission again. Ever again. In fact, you have no permission to touch me, you fucking monster.” I get up on my tiptoes to get as close to his face as I can get and scream, “Ever again. I’m going home!”
His cum is leaking down my leg so I angrily storm to the bathroom and slam the door.
“You’re already home,” he shouts, voice like thunder. “You succeed at leaving me, Ivy, I will hunt you down and when I find you, you’ll be sorry.”
Alone in the bathroom, I burst into tears.
“Very sorry!” he vows in a guttural voice that makes my chest bloom with pain.
22
Tyson
Uncle told me we had to keep our nature a secret because the non-shifters would fear us, exploit us, think of us as nothing but animals that were beneath them. He told me it was a vital rule, most important, because they would lock us up like animals and make us live in our own filth.
When she called me a filthy fucking animal, it cut deep. And then a monster? I’m angry with her.
I’m even more angry with myself because she’s upset with me. Truly furious. And that she thinks that of me? That I’m filthy and monstrous. And I must be, because I would rip apart any man or monster like me who thought she was his.
I would stop her from leaving me by any means.
Even if someone thought they claimed her first.
And if she did accomplish escape, I would hunt her down and bring her back. I won’t live without her.
I don’t like how I feel, staring at the closed bathroom door that’s between us. First, I hear things falling or being thrown more likely, and then the water running, the toilet flushing, followed by the sounds of my Ivy crying. I hear her whimpering. Not the whimpers I give her that make her tremble and writhe with ecstasy; these whimpers are not like that. Her breath hitches and she’s sad. I not only feel but smell the sadness and it’s immense.
And I wanna hold her, comfort her, take the sad away.
My chest feels heavy at those sounds and I don’t like it.
I don’t like it.
I’m angry. I’m an angry filthy monster and I want to rip something apart.
I wanna rip the door down and pull her into my arms even more.
I want her laughing and sweet, holding me, running her fingers through my hair.
She makes a choking sound and I can’t take it anymore.
I rip the door wide and find her sitting on the floor beside the bathtub, her knees up against her chest and her face buried in them. She jerks up and looks at me with red eyes and a swollen face. She dashes tears away with the back of her hand and I see her purple wrist. I put that purple there. I put those tears there.
I feel sick. So sick.
I drop to my knees and gather her toward me, but she pulls away. Of course she does. She wants nothing to do with me.
“Ivy…”
She slaps at my face and I’m shocked. She slaps it again and then she’s pounding on my chest with both fists, tears streaming down her cheeks. She’s wild with her anger, smacking me and crying, her breath stuttering with her sobs.
I lift her off the floor and take her to the bed. I want her to stop hurting, stop being angry and sad.
I don’t know what to do, how to make it better, so I try purring. She likes it when I purr.
She stops punching and buries her face in my chest, puts her arms around my neck and sobs harder.
“Ivy,” I pull her close and pull the covers over us.
Those arms around me feel like everything I want.
Now she’s trying to escape again.
I hold tight despite that she’s trying to pull away from me.
She’s so very angry at me and she doesn’t know whether she wants me or hates me. I hate it.
“Lemme go, lemme go, lemme go.” She punches me with her little fists. One catches my jaw. The other pounds on my chest.
I let her go. She turns away and buries her face into the mattress, her body shaking with her distress.
“Leave me alone!” she demands in a voice that sounds wet and hoarse.
I back away, grabbing yesterday’s jeans and reaching into the cabinet for a shirt. I step outside and stare at the sky.
I feel lost.
I feel hopeless.
I hurt.
I prowl back and forth across the porch, dragging my hands through my hair, wanting to rip my own innards out.