Touched by Stone by Rachelle Hobbs

Author:Rachelle Hobbs [Hobbs, Rachelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Untold Press, LLC
Published: 2022-09-02T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

Dax

I pace and pace in front of her door. My door. It's mine. Yet turning the knob is out of the question.

She's in the room; her earthy scent bleeds through the door's cracks. But I can't face her. I know what look she's going to give. Many have given it to me a thousand times before. Fear. Pity. She wasn't supposed to be exposed to my true form during a meltdown, something that hasn't happened in decades. When I saw Cedric looming over her, with his dick out…

I wanted to kill him. It took hours of flying, of letting my beast free to rage until the need to shift into my human form overwhelmed me. Time has lost its relevance. The sky darkened in a blink, only a few stars visible around a cloudy moon. The day got away from me, and I barely noticed.

Now here I am.

I'm the one who knows what to do next. Always. Emotion never blurs my judgment. It hasn't since I was a youngling and couldn't get it together. It's counterproductive to solving a problem. Except now, I can't stop feeling. Foreign emotions swim in my mottled brain, taunting me. Telling me I've ruined any chance of gaining Emery's trust. Those stolen moments with her, playing board games and giving her time to get used to me, none of that progress will matter now.

How to approach the tiny beauty and explain myself? I'm now the monster of her nightmares, maybe worse than the bastard who invaded her home.

I stop pacing in front of the door, stare at the knob, and slam the heel of my palm to my forehead once. Twice. Three times. I sway, foot to foot, over and over. Smells are stronger, the vinegar and citrus Cook uses to clean turning my stomach. The old man lit the sconces hanging in the hallway instead of having the overhead lights blaring. I'm thankful. Bright light would only make things unbearable. The worst thing is how the fabric of my sweats feels like razors cutting my legs. I refused to put on a shirt, wearing just enough to be appropriate.

Steady…

The phonograph enters my mind. I picture it in pieces and relive the time I put it back together, remembering the peace it gave to sit for hours with the parts in front of me, admiring the mechanics of it, imagining how it would sound when it worked. Then Emery's face enters my Zen, asking about the finished product, interested when I gave her the entire history.

My control slips further. I'm going to–

The door whips open.

Emery stands there in a white T-shirt, one of Matty's, and nothing else except a pair of blue panties. "Dax? How long have you been out here?"

One hour, six minutes, and fifteen seconds, give or take a few seconds.

My body stills, only because I force it to. It hurts to not move, my sweatpants now a million claws against my thighs. I open my mouth. Close it. Try again. "I want to explain what happened.

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