“Promise?”
“You have my word.”
She slid in and out of awareness on the way home. They were in a car, she knew that. Agony wracked her when she coughed up blood. The guard was awake, snapping out questions that Ciri didn’t understand. Isabel was with her, but the other woman remained still and silent. That should have concerned her, but her mind couldn’t quite grasp why.
She heard shouting, knew people were upset, scared. One of the twins had Isabel in his arms. The Pride’s doctor arrived, his gaze sweeping their guard and her before he focused on her friend. Ciri tried to push herself to her feet. Strong hands grasped her arms, helping her out of the car. It was the man who’d saved them. She focused the one eye she could open on him. “Who are you?”
“My name is Marcos.” His grip was gentle, and he held his hands out to catch her when she pulled away to stand on her own.
Tomas’s voice drew her attention. “Are you all right? Ciri!”
“Fine. I’m fine.” She swayed in place, held out her hand to ward him off. “Don’t touch me.”
No, she didn’t want him to touch her. If he’d made time for her, this might not have happened. Isabel wouldn’t be hurt and Ciri wouldn’t be in more pain than she knew was possible to feel. Every part of her stung or ached, sharp agony stabbing from her worst injuries straight to her brain. Would Roberto have attacked their guard and Tomas? Two large Panther males might have given Roberto pause, or at least a more even fight. Tomas hadn’t cared to come with her, and she’d been hurt. That was all she could process through the pain. She was done pretending everything was all right. Nothing was. Nothing ever would be again.
It was over.
Tomas froze with his hands outstretched toward her. He hovered before her, desperation and fear ripe in the air. Too late for him to care. Far too late.
“Don’t . . . Just don’t touch me.” A deep shudder wracked her, followed by another and another. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stumbled away from her mate. She couldn’t control the shaking no matter how tightly she hugged herself.
“Come on, Ciri. You need some rest.” The doctor stepped forward, his warm steadiness a balm to her battered soul. His touch was lighter than a butterfly’s wing as he supported her elbow. She leaned against him gratefully.
“Rest. That would be good.” She’d like to sleep forever. Maybe then the world would make sense when she woke up. Now things were broken in ways she didn’t think would ever be fixed. And she was so tired, so hurt.
She just wanted it all to be over.
Tomas watched her stand at the window to their sitting room, her arms wrapped around herself. The doctor had banned Tomas from their room so that she could rest undisturbed. He wanted nothing to wake her. Sleep had healed all her injuries. Her physical injuries, anyway.
“I can’t do this anymore, Tomas. I can’t spend my life waiting for you to find time for me. Our mating isn’t working, and I don’t think it ever will. I just . . . can’t do this.”
The words fell in the silence between them. He took two more steps toward her before they hit him, the blow so painful he staggered and almost fell to his knees.
“No.” Panic fisted in his chest. “Don’t do this, Ciri. Why can’t we just talk about this? Let’s have it out and be done with it!” He gestured wildly, and she flinched.
He saw her arms tighten around herself. “We’re just too different.”
“We balance each other! There’s nothing wrong with that. We don’t have to be the same.”
She laughed, and it was an ugly sound. “You want us to be the same. You want me to be like you, but I’m not.”
“Just talk to me!”
“I am talking to you.” Her chin lifted, and he wanted to shake her out of her detachment. “I’m just not fighting with you, and that’s what you want. We can discuss this calmly.”
He thrust his hands through his hair, gripping the strands tight. “You’re saying our mating is wrong and you want me to be calm? Have you lost your mind?”
“I’m saying that maybe we rushed into things. Perhaps we should consider that.” She tried to say it as gently as possible, tried not to accuse or criticize. He’d learned when he was in Japan that it was the way of her people not to confront, to maintain harmony and respect. At the moment, he hated that part of her personality.
“This is insane! We’re mated. There’s nothing to explore about being mated. You are or you aren’t, and we are.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“It’s as simple as that, Ciri.”
She shook her head, her jaw set in a stubborn line. “I’ve asked Eva to find a new room for me. It’s done, Tomas. My decision is final.”
“A new room?” His tone sounded blank even to his own ears. A part of him couldn’t believe this was happening. Not any of it. Another part of him felt like this was inevitable. They’d been heading for this point for months. This was just what had pushed them over the edge.
“I think the suite next door is free.” Her voice rose and shook and he wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be all right, but he couldn’t because it would be a lie. It wasn’t all right. It never would be again. She cleared her throat. “M-mates don’t do well when separated, so I won’t be so far that we’ll go insane, but . . . I can’t stay.”
“I understand.” Numbness spread through him, a mortal wound that went so deep he couldn’t even fathom the extent of the damage.
She nodded, the movement jerky. “Good. I’ll go, then.”
“Good,” he echoed. Turning on his heel, he left. He just put one foot in front of the other and walked. His heart thudded in his chest, the beats unnatural and slow. Reaching the top of the stairs, he glanced around, uncertain where to go. There was no safe place. He couldn’t go back to his room and watch his wife leave him. He just couldn’t do it. He wasn’t strong enough for that. The last place he wanted to be was in the Second’s office. He felt like a sham in the position, and if he got another call from his father, he might lose control in a way he never had before.
Eva started up the stairs, a stack of linens in her hands, and he knew they were for his mate’s new bed. A bed he would never share. His stomach heaved and he moved down the steps, away from Ciri, away from everything.
He was in Panther form before he’d even passed Eva, his clothes abandoned in a heap on the stairs. The butler would have it taken care of, and he refused to think about the sympathy he could see in her normally impassive gaze. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was at a full run. One of the housekeeping staff jerked the front door wide for him and he pelted through the opening.
Claws digging into the soft, green grass, he raced for the farthest edge of the property, knowing it wouldn’t be far enough to run off the agony poisoning his soul. The landscaping blurred as he sped by, but there was no way to escape himself. Everything had fallen apart, and worse, he’d failed his mate. Failed to protect her, failed to give her everything she needed. Failed.
He was as unworthy of her as he was of the Pride leadership. He’d been pretending all along, but he didn’t know who he was or what he was doing. And he’d failed in the attempt to find out.
He skidded to a stop before he hit the huge wall that ringed the property. Head down, he panted for breath. His lungs burned, but that was the least of his pain. If there were a way to rip his heart out, at that moment, he would have.
Turning slowly, he made his way back to the mansion. He didn’t know what he’d do when he got there, but for once he didn’t give a damn. His paws crunched when he reached the gravel path that circled the house. The window outside of Antonio’s office stood open, and he paused when he heard Ciri’s name mentioned.
A voice spoke that he couldn’t place at first, and then he remembered. The man who’d saved Ciri. Brother of the madman who’d tried to kill her. Outcast.
He didn’t stop to think. One nimble leap and he stood on the windo
wsill. The tableau froze before him; every adult member of the Cruz family except Isabel was present. They turned to stare at him. He ignored them, his gaze locked on the young man who’d played a part in the evening’s horror.
He paled under the scrutiny, but his chin lifted. “You’re Tomas Montoya.”
Tomas nodded, stepping down to the window seat and then to the floor. His tail lashed through the air behind him, and he drew the man’s scent to him, locking it in for all time.
“I’m Marcos Ruiz.” The boy’s clothes hadn’t fared well in the fight with his brother, but they’d clearly been threadbare before that. Life hadn’t been kind to the young man since he’d been cast out, an unnatural thinness hollowing out his cheeks. “I—I’m sorry your mate was harmed.”
Marcos met Solana and Antonio’s emotionless gazes. “I’m also sorry for how I behaved toward you. My brothers will never apologize, so I’ll do so on their behalf. I—” His voice faltered. “I never understood what it was like to have nothing, to be nothing. I didn’t know life outside the protection of the Pride. I had no idea what you’d gone through. I do now.” He snorted, the sound full of self-derision. “My family hasn’t done as well as you did, and we had each other.” He shook his head, looking straight into Solana’s eyes. “I’m never going to have the opportunity to say this again, so I want to get it out before I leave. We were bullies, arrogant and wrong. We should have offered you empathy, not scorn. We deserved everything that’s happened to us, and you deserved none of what happened to you. I’m sorry for my part in hurting you, and even more ashamed that I thought I had the right to do so.”
Solana’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged. Antonio reached over and took her hand, their fingers lacing tight as they looked at each other.
Marcos rose to his feet. “I hope Ciri and Isabel recover quickly, and this leaves no lasting damage.”
Psychologically, he meant. Both women had awakened physically fine. He didn’t know Isabel well enough to guess, but how this affected Ciri’s mind and her emotions was less clear. Panthers had no magic to cure the emotional pains. If they did, Tomas would be taking advantage of it now, but there was no easy way out of the chaos his life was in. And, unlike the man before him, he still had his Pride.
Returning the younger man’s nod, he watched while he turned for the door. He felt as if he should do something, but his mind couldn’t grasp what that might be. The man had saved his wife’s life, after all. But the thought of Ciri made pain shaft through Tomas, and he wanted to howl with the agony of it. If he thought for even a second it would help, he’d do it, but there was no end in sight, nothing that would give him back what was so precious to him.
“Wait.” Solana half-rose from her seat, and Marcos paused, his hand gripping the doorknob.
“Yes, ma’am?” Wary surprise reflected in the man’s eyes, and he tensed as if ready to flee.
It was in that moment that Tomas understood the courage it must have taken to walk into this mansion. Marcos was outcast, one who’d threatened the Pride leader’s mate. Free game for anyone who wanted a target. He must have known that there was always the possibility his brother’s actions would be revenged upon him; he must have thought there was at least a chance that he might not get out of this den alive.
If his brother had been there, there would have been bloodshed. Given even the slightest opportunity, Tomas would have torn the man open with his claws. He saw the sidelong glances his cousin kept throwing him, and suddenly he saw that they expected him to hunt down his wife’s attacker. He wanted to. God, how he’d love to unleash some of this pain on a man who so richly deserved it, but it would solve nothing. It wouldn’t bring Ciri back to him; it wouldn’t heal the breach in his mating.
The chair creaked when Solana sank back down. She seemed to have lost the ability to speak after that one word. Swallowing, her throat worked for a second. “I forgive you,” she croaked.
Antonio’s hand came down on her shoulder, squeezing in support. “I think . . . we might consider revisiting your outcast status, Marcos.”
Stunned silence greeted that announcement, and no one looked more dumbfounded than the man in question. Marcos shook his head a bit. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“We’ll find a room for you for the night. Get cleaned up, and we’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
Marcos’s gaze roved the plush surroundings, then looked down at his filthy wardrobe. It wasn’t hard to grasp that he was thinking of how far he’d fallen in the time he’d been away. “I don’t know if I can live here again, not with the memories of my family, but I’d like to no longer be outcast. At least I could leave the continent if I wanted to, and not be considered a dangerous trespasser in another leader’s territory.”
Antonio tilted his head. “I understand. We’ll review your situation and find a solution that works for everyone.”
“Thank you, sir.” Some relief showed on Marcos’s face. No doubt his brother—perhaps both of his brothers—would have been hunting him to exact the same kind of vengeance they’d hoped to visit upon the Cruzes.
“I appreciate that you stood against your brothers and saved innocent women who are under my protection. That can’t go unacknowledged.”
“Thank you again.” Marcos pulled the door open. “Until tomorrow, then.”
“Yes.”
Solana sighed when he left the room. “That was the right thing to do, but I’m not sure I want him to live here either.”
“We’ll find a solution that works for everyone,” Antonio repeated. “We might find another Pride to take him.”
Diego crossed his arms where he slouched against the mantel. “Africa is looking for new members.”
“But taking in a former outcast wouldn’t be the impression that Benhassi wants to give to the other Prides. He wants to show his Pride as unified, upstanding, and trustworthy.” Miguel lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “A man who attacked a woman, a Pride leader’s wife, wouldn’t be considered trustworthy. Even if he regrets his youthful stupidity.”
Antonio glanced at Tomas, and he straightened, understanding the question in the older man’s gaze. South America. He could bring him into the Brazilian Pride. Marcos had saved the heir’s mate, so even if he was viewed as untrustworthy, no one would question the debt of honor that bound the Pride leader to admit him as a member. Tomas met Antonio’s eyes, nodding decisively.
He might not be able to do anything about his situation with Ciri, but this he could do. He would have to convince his father of it, which would be more than a little difficult, but it could be done.
Dragging in a deep breath, he felt a small sense of calm center him—the eye in the terrifying storm his life had dissolved into. He had a purpose, something to do, some good that he could make come of this disaster.
He needed to call his father.
Ciri stood in the new room, which felt even less like hers than the one she’d shared with Tomas. The furnishings were the finest money could buy, lovely and bright in shades of cream and gold.
It was the night of the ball—the one Tomas had worked so hard to put together, the one where she would pretend that they were still happily mated. She couldn’t bring herself to shame either of them by admitting the truth publicly. It was no one else’s concern. For tonight, she would do what duty dictated. After that, she didn’t know. Could she refuse to play the political game? What could they do to her if she did?
Her long sheath gown sparkled as she walked over to the window. She didn’t want to sit down, didn’t want to touch anything, didn’t want to acknowledge that this was her room, her space, her life now.
Fog blurred the edges of the city’s skyline, making it look like an Impressionist’s painting. Beautiful, like the room, and just as ill-fitting. It was nothing like Tokyo, and her destiny was nothing like she’d dreamed. This was supposed to be an adventure with her mate; instead it had shown just how different, how ill-suited, they were for each other
.
It seemed cruel that fate should do this to them. Neither of them were bad people, were they? They both did the best they could, tried to live the most honorable life they could, but those lives didn’t fit together, not without one giving up all of who they were for the other, and that wasn’t fair. Not to either of them. They would spend their days as Ciri had spent the last few months—resentful, hurting, lost, and alone. Separated from everything that was her.
Antonio had asked her to meet the Japanese representative when he arrived at the Pride den, and it was almost time. A storm over Tokyo had almost canceled his flight, but he’d made it out just in time. It would be nice to see someone from home, to reconnect with that part of herself. Gathering her long skirt, she turned and swept out the door, along the hall, down the main stairs. The scents of Panthers reached her, the representatives who had come for the ball and summit. Each smell locked into her memory, distinct and individual. She’d found since her attack that her senses were keener, the wildness unleashing in a way she had never allowed except in the bedroom with Tomas. She hadn’t bothered trying to cage it again. The feline side was one of the reasons she—and Isabel—were still alive.
The feel of life and activity hummed around her. It was odd to have so many in one place, filling the mansion with people and music. A small orchestra of musicians had been assembled from different Panther Prides, and Ciri was curious to see how well they played together. As usual, she was more interested in the art than the politics. The thought made a sad smile curl her lips. It had been more than a week since she’d spoken to Tomas, and a small part of her wondered how he was doing. No doubt better than she was.
As she reached the foot of the stairs, she tilted her head to listen to the musicians playing. Because she was straining her sensitive ears, they picked up the sound of voices coming from the Pride leader’s office.
“Juan Ruiz was arrested earlier today,” Landon said.
Prowl the Night Page 9
