The Leopard King Read Free

greatest weakness against her, but at the moment, he was an injured beast, so she breathed through the pain of that challenge. He knew perfectly well how hard she’d tried, how much she’d suffered for repeated failure—and how impossible his request was—yet she couldn’t return to Slay, defeated by a few harsh words. So she waited until the pain subsided while considering the gauntlet he’d thrown. One impossible thing added to another, so why not become Dom’s mate if she could shift? She might as well wish on a star for a solution.
    So she said, “Deal.”
    He cocked his head. In leopard form, his ears would be swiveling. “We both know you can’t do it, no matter how much you want to.”
    “That doesn’t mean I’ll give up.” She turned away before he figured out one critical fact.
    It hurts me too, asshole. Seeing you, without her.
    Mechanically, she went about searing the steak strips, leaving them oozing blood on the inside. It was ironic; she preferred her meat that way too, even if she couldn’t change like everyone else. He cursed as she plated the food with artful care, and then she carried their dishes into the ruined dining room. Dom probably didn’t expect her to right the table and two chairs, but she did, and then she sat down.
    “You expect me to have dinner with you?” he demanded.
    “It’s the sensible option. Or you can starve yourself until you’re too weak to resist when I force-feed you.”
    A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he slammed into the seat across from her and grabbed his food like she might fight him for it. He devoured her cooking with a ferocity that yielded to simple hunger; Pru registered the moment he stopped pretending to savage her with his teeth. She didn’t speak again until their plates were clear, and then she washed up in the kitchen. Since she’d expected him to retreat, his silent departure came on cue.
    Proud, arrogant, and a touch vain, but also kind, generous, and protective—for years she’d witnessed Dom’s devotion to Dalena, and now she had to add selfish and self-absorbed to that list. If he didn’t care about Ash Valley anymore, if only his pain mattered, then he was more of a bastard than anyone could’ve predicted. Pru controlled the urge to slam around the kitchen; that would reveal too much about her state of mind.
    By then, exhaustion had her in a chokehold, so she switched off the lights and went down the darkened hall toward the stairs. Ruined furniture made her feel like a squatter as she used her phone to avoid pitfalls. On the second floor, the first bedroom had no mattress, just padding and foam that had been clawed to shreds. Likewise, the second room offered no shelter, so she made a nest in the third. While the bed was broken, Dom had left the mattress amid the wooden shrapnel.
    If the retreat had central heating, he didn’t have it on. Undressing in the austere bathroom, she shivered in stepping into the shower. The water never warmed properly, either, and Pru’s teeth chattered under the chilly spray. Cold and miserable described her situation all right; it was like Dom denied himself creature comforts as penance. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn that he wore a hair shirt like a self-flagellating monk beneath the tattered sweater that looked like he hadn’t taken it off in weeks.
    With her confidence at low ebb, she crawled beneath a mound of musty covers and tried to sleep. At some point she must’ve, but guttural cries jolted her awake. It sounded like Dom was being strangled as he wept, and she hesitated. If he was awake, he might pull her head off for stepping over the line. On the other hand, nobody should fight nightmares alone.
    She followed the sounds to the end of the hall. He hadn’t spared this room either, and Dom sprawled amid the wreckage, long splinters of wood and shards of glass that glimmered in the moonlight streaming through the window. No furniture remained intact, and he lay curled on the bare floor,