Chapter Nineteen

MY parents wanted me to stay in Chicago. As much as I didn’t want to add to the pain and drama of the weekend, I said no. I still needed to create my own life, my own future. As horrible as it was, the revelations had been cathartic. Painful, but cleansing. Maybe now we could heal as a family, get to know one another without the ghost of my illness hovering above us.

While I refused to consider leaving Cody College, I did agree to stay an extra few days before returning to campus. I couldn’t afford more time than that—I had to be back in Wyoming before the next full moon. Eventually they relented.

The conversation with Owen the night before his flight back to Wyoming went a little differently.

“When I get back, I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore.” I’d mentally rehearsed what I was going to say. I repeated the words over and over while in the shower. While brushing my teeth. While watching Owen pack his belongings into his duffel bag. We sat on my bed, him at the foot, me at the head, eyes locked.

Since we’d really never talked about whether we were officially together—one night fooling around did not make a relationship—it may not have been a breakup. But our time together certainly felt like more than friendship by this point. And, ultimately, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t safe to be around. Not yet.

“What do you mean?” His tone was even, calm. His scent, however, was anything but. There was a peppery hint of anger. The musty smell of hurt. My lion grew restless at the combination of smells and emotions. Owen was his/mine/ours to protect. And right there was the problem. In my head, the lion was a separate entity. And as long as I was unable to reconcile both sides of me—lion and man—I would constantly be battling myself for control. It would be like the autoimmune reactions I’d grown up with while my body tried to either reject or accept that part of my biology. But now the lion had manifested, and he was capable of hurting—of killing—someone. Emotionally, mentally, I was not prepared to deal with the reality of the predator inside me.

In the twenty-four hours since the events at Dr. Mirza’s office, I’d lost count of the number of times Paul’s death replayed in my head.

The pop of the rifle.

Owen slumping to the ground.

Rage.

Shifting.

Blood.

Insomnia was nothing new, but last night my dreams kept showing me dozens of scenes of flashing claws and jaws and blood. But instead of Paul, instead of someone who’d threatened me and someone I loved, I killed my mother. My father. Owen. Over and over, again and again.

When I didn’t answer him right away, he asked, “It is the mother-hen thing? I know I tend try to take care of people, to act like I know best, when maybe they don’t need it. I can try—”

Damn it. This was worse. I couldn’t let him think it was anything he’d done. This was 100 percent about me and my issues. I had to try to explain. Owen deserved my honesty.

“Owen, I can’t control myself when I shift. You and your dad both warned me, told me I needed to work with someone, but I didn’t take it seriously. I thought I could just not shift. But, Owen, I killed someone. I didn’t think, I reacted. What if I do that around you?”

“You won’t.”

“But I did. I bit you. You bled. And before, when I saw you and David together, I almost shifted. Even if I didn’t hurt anyone, I could too easily accidentally shift in front of a human and put everyone at risk.”

“What are you going to do? Become a hermit? Are you going to drop out of school? I fully support your decision to work on control. Of course I do. But you’re being too hard on yourself. You’ve only been a shifter for a month. Not even a month, actually. You need to give yourself a break.”

“A break? Owen, I killed somebody. There’s no break from that.”

He just watched me. Damn him and his compassionate eyes.

“The thing is, you eat at my control. Not your fault. But, Owen, I’m more than a little in love with you. My reactions around you are colored by that. They’re more extreme, more volatile.”

He sucked in a breath. “You… you love me?”

I ducked my head. Why had I said that? Well, because he deserved the truth. I nodded. “Yeah, I do. It would absolutely destroy me if I did anything to put you at risk.”

“For how long?”

I jerked my head up. “What?”

“This distance you want to keep between us. How long do you plan to do it?” He didn’t look worried or even compassionate anymore. The set of his jaw, the rounding of his shoulders… he was determined.

“I… I don’t know. I have no idea how long something like learning to accept and/or control my inner lion might take.”

Owen leaned forward, bringing our bodies a little closer together. I tried to ignore the warmth of his breath and the intensity of his gaze. “I’ll give you three months.”

“Three months,” I repeated dumbly.

“Three months or whenever you feel your control is adequate for us to be together again. Whichever comes first.”

“What happens in three months?”

“I come and get you. Because, Yusuf? I love you too, and I refuse to spend more than twelve weeks apart. So you take the time, work with Buddy or whoever to do what you need to do. I want you to be safe and happy, and if that means a temporary break, so be it. Make no mistake, it is temporary.”

I almost missed most of what he said, too caught up in I love you too.

Dry-mouthed, I nodded. Three months. Or less. Suddenly I was very sure I’d be back before the deadline. I had some serious motivation.