Alone.
Tears were streaming down her lovely face, and she was devastated. Heart shattered. She’d gambled on love and lost.
He came back to himself and found his guests staring at him in alarm. “It’s all right,” he said hoarsely. “I’m fine. I’m sorry, but will you both excuse me for a few moments?”
“Wait,” Calla called out.
But he kept moving. Strode inside the building and made for the safety of his office, where he could think. Reaching his space, he closed and locked the door and then dropped into the chair behind his desk.
“Oh, God,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “It can’t be.”
His body flashed hot and cold. Grew clammy with fear. Lowering his hands, he reached for his desk drawer. Slid it open.
And stared for a long time at the gleaming pistol inside.
His hand shook. After a time, he closed the drawer, leaving the weapon untouched. But it was tempting. It would be too easy to end the pain of submitting to Darrow. The nightmares.
The dreams of what could never be.
Against all odds, fate had given him another chance at love—with a woman he could never touch.
A woman he couldn’t allow to touch him. To feed from him.
The very idea of another pair of fangs sliding into his skin, lips sucking, pulling at his life’s blood, the compulsion making him beg . . . He couldn’t do it. And so, fate had screwed him one last time.
Because Princess Calla Shaw, vampire, was his Bondmate.