Lover Unleashed - J. R. Ward [188]
Fates, she should never have gotten near him.
And this was precisely why intermixing with humans was frowned upon.
“Worry not,” she said softly. “I shall not compromise you mentally. I have done more than enough.”
As he exhaled his relief, she felt tears clog her throat.
He stared at her for a beat. “Thank you.”
She bowed a little, and when she righted herself, she was shocked to see a shimmering in his beautiful mahogany eyes.
“I want to remember you, Payne. . . all of you. All of it.” That sad, yearning stare of his searched her face. “The way you tasted and felt. The sound of you laughing . . . gasping. The time I had next to you—” His voice cracked, and he recovered by clearing his throat. “I need those memories to last me a lifetime.”
Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks as her heart stopped working properly.
“I’m going to miss you, bambina. Every day. Always.”
When he held out his arms, she went into them and lost her composure completely. Sobbing into his shirt, she was enveloped by his strong, solid body, and she held him as tightly as he did her.
And then they both broke the embrace at the same time, as if they were of one heart. And she supposed they were.
Indeed, there was a part of her that wanted to fight and argue and try to make him see another side, another way. But she was not sure there was one to be had. She could no more predict the future than he could, and she knew no more about the repercussions of what had changed within him than he did.
There was nothing left to be said. This end that had arrived unexpectedly was an impact that could not be cushioned by talk or touch or even, she suspected, time.
“I shall go now,” she said, backing away.
“Let me get the door for you—”
As she dematerialized out of his home, she realized those were the last words he would speak to her.
That was their good-bye.
Manny stared at the space his woman had just inhabited. There was nothing of her there anymore; she’d disappeared into thin air sure as a shaft of light that had been cut off.
Gone.
His immediate impulse was to go into the front hall closet, get out his baseball bat, and wreck the place. Just break all the mirrors and glass and dishes and shit—then get to work throwing what little furniture he had over the lip of the terrace. After that . . . maybe he’d take his Porsche out onto the Northway, get ’er up to a hundred, and pilot a course that terminated in the underpinnings of a bridge.
No seat belt in this scenario, obviously.
In the end, though, he just sat on the bed next to the gym bags and put his head in his hands. He wasn’t a pussy to sob like he was at a funeral. Not at all. He just dripped onto his running shoes.
Manly. Really fucking manly.
But how he appeared to the peanut gallery of his empty condo was as unimportant as his pride, his ego, his cock and balls . . . all of it.
God . . . this wasn’t just sad.
The loss ruined him.
And he was going to carry this pain around with him for the rest of his natural life.
How ironic. Her name had seemed so strange to him at first. Now, it was so very apt.
FIFTY
Payne did not go back to the mansion; she had no interest in seeing anyone who lived there. Not the king, who had given her a freedom that it turned out she did not need. Not her twin, who had advocated on her behalf. And certainly not all the happy, fortunate, blessed couples who lived beneath that regal roof.
So instead of heading north, she re-formed herself on the shores of the waterway that ran beside the tall, glassy buildings of downtown. The breeze was gentler at ground level and carried upon it the chattering sound of the waves licking at the river’s rocky flanks. In the background, the hum from the vehicles surmounting the bridges’ gently curving backs and fading down on their far sides made her feel most