Strange Case, an Urban Fantasy (Hyde Book III)

by Stewart, Lauren

  Straining from physical exertion and emotional fatigue, Eden held the creature’s eyes. The color was so familiar to her. What was behind them was so foreign. Her voice never raised above a whisper as she told him what he was. So many things—son, brother, liar, manipulator, abuser, torturer, rapist, murderer.

  All in his human form.

  §§§

  Don’t seize, don’t seize, don’t seize. Because Eden’s plan might actually work. The bastard was losing with every second that passed, getting closer to the white light that would turn into hell as soon as he walked through it. Something no one had ever deserved more.

  But everything would go to hell if Mitch had one of his super-fun seizures and dropped the chain. When his hand slipped, he shoved his wrist through the closed cuff, using his forearm as a bar he could hold with his other hand.

  Could the fucker please just die already? So this would finally end. Blood dripped from Mitch’s arm where the cuff was slicing into his skin. But if either of them let go, that would be the least painful thing he’d ever feel.

  Until today, Mitch had never killed anyone. Wanted to? Yes. Fantasized about it? Innumerable times. There was a big difference between thinking it and doing it. But a rabid dog had to be put down. It was the humane thing to do for the inhuman and evil creature. And Mitch hated every motherfucking second of it.

  Even though it felt like they’d been pulling on the chain for hours, days maybe, it had probably been less than five minutes. But five minutes was too long for a man or beast to go without oxygen. So after a few more ugly twitches, the bastard’s thick arms fell limply to his sides and his body sagged. Eyes that were a piercing ice-blue a minute ago were now a dead ice-blue.

  Neither one of them relaxed. They waited and watched for any sign of life. Eden understood it first. She dropped the chain and turned to bury her head in Mitch’s chest. He held her as she wept, knowing she wasn't grieving Whittley’s death. She was grieving all the shit caused by his hands or on his order. Finally. She needed to grieve.

  He held her tighter as he watched the Hyde change. Just like his father did fifteen years ago. The Abnormal became a man again. A dead man who’d been just as evil as his Hyde was. Maybe more.

  There was no way Whittley was still alive, but Mitch was feeling like Santa—he'd be checking that shit twice. Because the only thing he had any faith in was the woman he held in his arms.

  Chapter XLV

  When a shudder went through him, Mitch prayed it was just fatigue, the effects of a truly shitty evening. But in their world, bad things didn’t happen in threes. They happened in hundreds. And this was number one-oh-shit-one. The thirty-eight second countdown might not have started yet, but something was off…more off.

  Has it been four hours already? If he made it out, he should buy himself a celebratory watch. Get it engraved with ‘Congrats, asshole. The world has to put up with you for a little while longer.’

  Eden went to verify the asshole was dead with a capital ‘Fucking.’ Since Whittley was wearing a chainmail turtleneck, she used his wrist to check for a pulse.

  “Babe?”

  “Just shut up a minute.” Bitter words spoken with nothing other than fatigue and sadness.

  He knew she was at least as tired as he was, but they had to keep moving forward. Having lots of dead enemies meant the external threat was gone, but there was still that itty-bitty other issue—Mitch’s internal, time-released one.

  He picked up the now-empty syringe and held it up to the light. How many drops would it take to do the job? Probably more than three.

  When she saw it, she moaned, “Nooooooo. What did you do?” She barreled into him, knocking him onto the ground. “What did you do?” repeated over and over as she slammed her fists into his chest, straddling his waist. As if her violence was still unfulfilled and needed a new outlet now that the old one was dangling from a chain.

  Tears spilled everywhere. “Why, Mitch? Why?” Eventually her crying overwhelmed her screams, and she collapsed onto his chest. He kissed her hair, her temple, her forehead, anywhere he could reach. For as long as the world would let him.

  “You bastard,” she cried, clutching the empty syringe in her fist. “Why did you let him do it?”

  “I didn’t exactly let him, babe.”

  “I can’t take this anymore. I can’t.”

  When she lifted her head, he realized he’d never seen anything more beautiful. Sure, she was ugly-crying—red eyes, runny nose, the works. But she was his. And her eyes, as puffy as they were, still had hope in them, love in them, trust in them. And those were things he could work with.

  “Don’t give up on me yet, babe.”

  “I can’t handle anymore. I don’t know what to do.” She stood on shaky legs and helped him to his feet.

  Unfortunately, the shock was over, the adrenaline was waning, and his entire body was feeling the effects of being tossed around like a dog’s chew toy. And now, he could start worrying about other fun things. If he started to seize, the worst-case scenario would definitely happen.

  Being a moron is really inconvenient sometimes. For instance, when you need to whip up a syringe of something and the only person who knows the recipe is at a hospital a few miles away.

  Yep, I’m a moron. “I probably should’ve asked Landon to write down the recipe, huh?” So he’d have to go with option two. He picked up the bottle of J-0026 and then took Whittley’s wallet out of his shredded jacket. The guy wouldn’t mind—what’s a benjamin between friends? Or enemies? Especially dead enemies.

  Mitch had never snorted anything because he’d always seen his body as a temple. A satanic temple that didn’t need any more bad shit put into it—the place was already packed to the rafters.

  She watched him roll the bill up. “So you’re just going to take it and see what happens?”

  “Yep.” What was the worst that could happen? Death. And if he didn’t take it? Death. Yeah, tough call.

  “And you think you’re going to make me leave, don’t you?”

  He grimaced. “It would be safer for you and make me a little less neurotic, so yeah.”

  “Until you’re standing in front of me big and hairy, I’m not leaving.”

  “Wow. That’s incredibly superficial of you.” He looked at her, thinking about how much she’d changed from the woman he’d found on his doorstep so many times. “So it’s for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part until I get big and hairy?”

  “I’m going to wear white.”

  “Of course you are. You look great in white. Is it for a special occasion?” Her glare made him smile. Made him oddly happy and inappropriately hopeful. He looked around the cage that might be the last one he’d ever be in—whether the drug worked or not.

  “Come here.” He wrapped his arm around her. “I’ve decided something.” He ran his fingertips across her jaw, down her neck, and to her heart. “This isn’t my favorite part of you anymore.”

  “No?”

  He shook his head. “All of you is. Every piece from your head to your toes.” He cocked his head to the side. “Except your ears. You have funny ears.”

  She poked him in the cheek. “Liar! You love my ears.”

  “Yes. Yes I do,” he whispered, nibbling on one, feeling her shiver. “Your ears, your new hair, the works. Except the part that’s bleeding.” He turned her slightly to look at her shoulder. “Promise me you’ll take care of that. Because I told you no more holes.”

  “Shut up.” Her smile was a sign of her strength and resilience. And it was beautiful.

  He rested his forehead on hers. “So, I’m going to try not to die, but if I do…you’re going to be okay, right?”

  Without specifics, she seemed to know exactly what he was referring to. “A few hours ago, everything would’ve been different. But I didn’t come here to kill Ryan. I didn’t even really want to hurt him more than necessary. Because that’s what he would’ve done. I don’t want to be like
him, Mitch. I won’t be like him.” She was calmer than she’d been in a long time. Maybe resolved, maybe just tired. But things were much closer to ‘o-kay’ than ‘oh-shit’.

  “Are we sure this is the only way?” she asked.

  “No. But it’s the only option we have.” And it needed to happen now. He wasn’t quite ready for the countdown to start, but his body was definitely doing some pre-seizure warm-ups. He tapped the code into the keypad and opened the door.

  “There could be some RLS-7 in here somewhere. In one of those cabinets. I think we should wait.”

  “For what exactly?” The only thing he was waiting for was her to leave.

  “For Danielle to test it somehow. On someone else.”

  Another lab rat. Nah, Mitch was the perfect rat for the job. So before she could start negotiating, he kissed her.

  And then he shoved her out the door.

  “Damn it! No, not like this!” She scrambled to her feet and rushed to the keypad.

  “Don’t, babe. Please. You can’t help me now. All you can do is get hurt. Don’t open the door until we know one way or another. There are other people—here and in other places—who need help, and they won’t get it if both of us are dead.”

  What he said barely made her hesitate before she started typing numbers in. “No, Mitch. Not like this.”

  As soon as the makeshift straw and the probably-toxic powder met, he inhaled as hard and as much as he could. Before she could stop him or stall or make him reconsider.

  Fuuuuuuck. There were a lot of reasons he’d never done drugs. And now he could add one more—that shit stung. He suddenly had a new respect and distain for anyone who willingly put anything up their nose. His head shook, trying to rid itself of the poison and the pain, his hands wiped his face like a kid forced to eat broccoli.

  “I wasn’t ready yet,” she said frantically.

  He was. He was done being angry and frustrated and unsure. Whatever happened now would happen. For both of them. She looked at him with so much fear it rocked him back a step.

  He loved her more than he’d ever loved anything. More than he’d known was possible. Really understanding that made him want to cry. He wouldn’t, but he wanted to. Oh shit. Really? Come on. He tried to hide it from her, but her expression stopped him. From moving, from breathing, even from tearing-up like a fucking wuss. Mostly.

  “Why are you smiling?” she yelled, smacking the glass. She was anxious, angry, and scared, and it would only make her madder if he admitted that he’d never seen anything sexier. Her passion was beautiful because it was for him.

  He felt a tear slide down his cheek. Saw her face change to concern, apprehension.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked so quietly, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it or just read her lips.

  “No.” It’s embarrassing as hell though.

  She reached up as if to wipe it away, pulling her hand back when she realized she couldn’t touch him. “What’s that for?”

  “You.” He took a deep breath. “Everything good inside me is for you. Because of you.”

  “You know the expression ‘For better or for worse’?”

  “Sure, I think I’ve heard it before.” He raised an eyebrow. “Wait. Are you hinting at something?”

  “Maybe later. What I meant is that we get the bad with the good. You once told me that it was okay to be bad every once in a while, and you were right.” She cocked her head to the side and a sad smile flickered across her lips. “But just about that.”

  “My bad isn’t exactly average.” And his ratio of wrong things to right things was probably about five thousand to four. Well, four might be too generous.

  “True. But your good isn’t average either. Your good is incredible.”

  He’d always thought he knew who he was—an asshole going through life punishing himself for being an asshole. Afraid of his transformations, of being like his father, of allowing Hyde to hurt someone.

  All real things. All things that, until recently, were preventable. If he hadn’t been so stupid. He’d spent the last fifteen years hurting people so they’d stay outside the danger zone. But he’d been way more dangerous than Hyde ever had.

  Stick a bastard in a cage, and he’s fine. Give a bastard too much time to think, and you’ve got problems.

  And then she came along and refused to be affected by his best insults. Until then, the idea that he was actually worth anything hadn’t even occurred to him. But she believed he was worth something, so it had to be true.

  And he had to stop trying so fucking hard to prove her wrong.

  He’d spent his life keeping the wall separating man from beast intact. But there was no wall. No wall, no war, and no victor. There was just him—the jackass, fighting this other side of himself that he would never be able to beat. Not two separate beings. One. But there was good in that one. A nice-sized chunk of it. And Eden had made it bigger. Stronger.

  He pulled away from the glass just enough to take a breath, the first deep breath of a new life, a new him.

  You’re still a long fucking way from nice, but—

  Oh, shit. Something shifted in his brain, like he’d blown a fuse or something. Another traumatic injury caused by positive thinking. He shouldn’t have done it. Stick to the hard stuff, asshole.

  Oh, fuck. He did not feel right. And no amount of aspirin was going to help. Nothing would help him now. You finally get used to who you are and then you’re over. He’d laugh if it wasn’t so tragic. And if he didn’t think laughing would pop a gasket in his head.

  He felt a wave of heat, then nausea, and stumbled backwards. Aw hell, please let this be a good sign and not another really fucking bad one.

  “Look at me, Mitch.” She pounded her fist on the glass. “Focus on me.”

  He tried. As pain ravaged his insides, he tried. “You’re so beautiful. Thank you for choosing me.” He could look at her forever. And he did.

  Until everything disappeared.

  Chapter XLVI

  Eden screamed when he fell. She kept her hands pressing against the glass, forcing herself not to touch the keypad and open the door. There was nothing she could do for him now.

  Thirty-eight seconds passed.

  Then a minute. And another.

  No seizure. No Hyde. No movement at all. From either of them.

  When the speed of her tears slowed to a manageable level, she unlocked the door and went inside. She knelt down and brushed the hair out of his eyes, even though they were closed. She talked to him for a while, not really knowing what she was saying. It didn’t matter.

  “It’s not like you ever listen to me anyway.”

  He looked like he was just sleeping, as if any minute he would raise his arms above his head, stretch, and then feel around for her before even opening his eyes.

  But that didn’t happen.

  After what seemed like forever but was probably just an hour or so, she kissed him gently and stood up. “I’ll be right back, babe.”

  As she walked down a long hallway of white doors, her steps were heavy. Her left arm was getting harder and harder to move. Finish this. Pain can happen later. Crying too.

  She stopped in front of a room marked: ‘Normal #1’. She couldn’t fight anymore so, before opening the door, she had to find out if ‘Normal #1’ was human. A little test. If he said something vile and repulsive, she’d... Well, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  “You in there!” she called. “I’m female and I’m naked. So tell me what you wanna do to me.”

  “What did you just say?” asked an irritated voice.

  “Do you want to fuck me?”

  “Shit, you bastards really get off on this, don’t you?” He sounded disgusted, not disgusting. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

  She unlocked the door and swung it open, expecting and planning for the worst. The man was big, long legs, very muscular, but definitely human-looking. Blue scrubs, messy blond hair, and a face like a fallen-and-pissed-off ange
l. He was sitting on the bed, but his entire body was tensed, as ready for something to go wrong as she was. ‘Normal’ was a misnomer. This guy wasn’t normal.

  “Who are you?” Her hand stayed on the door, ready to slam it closed again.

  “Lost my file?” He laughed without smiling, bitterly. “Or is it your first day on the job?”

  “I’m not one of them. Which is kind of a good thing because they all seem to have died. So if you’re not one of them either and you’re not insane, you’re free to go.”

  Not even his eyes moved.

  She didn’t have time for this. “Look, jackass, I’m not posing for any pictures today. You want out? Then get out.”

  He lifted his hand, exposing the cuff around his wrist, a weird-looking chain attaching it to the wall.

  “Are you kidding? I have necklaces thicker than that.”

  “I didn’t know they used palladium alloy for jewelry. I’ll have to get some—there are a few necks I’d love to see something wrapped around.” There was no inflection in his voice, no fear or surprise either. But Eden knew that behind the calm was a storm. A big one.

  She walked towards him slowly, taking a safety pin off her belt. The closer she got, the more she felt him—he had a pull, but it wasn’t a huge one. He seemed to feel it too, getting slightly uncomfortable, more edgy, as if he didn’t understand where the feeling was coming from. He probably hadn’t been around too many others like her.

  “What’s your name?”

  “You can call me Fox.”

  “That’s your name?”

  “That’s what you can call me.”

  “Okay…Fox. You touch me, even by accident, you die. You move too quickly, you die. You say anything inappropriate, you hurt really badly.”

  He watched her in silence, his brow furrowed, still on edge. Rightfully so, if he’d been on the receiving end of the only thing Ryan was good at.

  “No joke—you move, and you’re dead. Do you understand?”