Book 3 - Page 75 (1/2)

I stood up.  I wasn’t sure how.  I made my way slowly, unsteadily, to the bar.  I didn’t look back at Mona again.  I would have done a great deal to never have to set eyes on her again for the rest of my life.

Stephan met me halfway, and just swooped in and picked me up.  I studied the chiseled line of his jaw.

“You look like a blond superman,” I told him.

He smiled.  “You don’t look well, Danika.  I’m driving you home, unless you have an objection.”

I shut my eyes.  “Will you take me to your place?  I need to keep away from my life for a bit.”

“Of course.  We have lots of room.  You can stay for as long as you need to.  I’ll take you, and Javier will bring your car, later, so you aren’t stranded.”

“Thank you.  Absolutely everyone on the planet should have their own Stephan.”

“I think you might be a little bit in shock, Danika.”

I only wished.  Shock smacked of numbness, and I wasn’t that.

To say I didn’t handle the news well was a gross understatement.

I lost it.  Just lost my mind.

The first stage was avoidance.  It was pure cowardice.

And utterly necessary.

I avoided him with skill.  With talent.  I not only antic.i.p.ated where he would be, I antic.i.p.ated where he’d think I would be, and steered clear of it all.

At one point, he camped out in his car on the curb in front of my house.

That night, I got a hotel room.

The next stage was worse.  It was anger.

Rage, fury, outrage, utter devastation.  I stopped avoiding him because I wanted him to feel my wrath, needed it.

I went to his house and strode up to his door.  He opened it before I could knock.  I had no clue how he’d known I was coming.  What, had he just been watching for me out the window?

No matter.

I walked in, not even looking directly at him.

I took a deep breath and turned to face him, raising my trembling chin to meet him in the eye.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice so, so soft, his golden eyes softer.

My arm jerked back and swung forward.  There was no tangible communication between my brain and my arm as I slapped him as hard as I could, hard enough to leave my arm sore and my palm numb.

I staggered back, eyes wide on his face.  I suppose I expected some sort of an angry reaction from him, something volatile, or perhaps mean.  Some normal response to being struck in the face.

His eyes were wild, but not with anger, not with rage.  Something else moved there, something more worrisome, though I could not put my finger on what, precisely.  At least, not right at first.

He followed me as I took jerky steps backwards, still with that light in his eyes that was trying to break me.  It was unholy.