At the thought of her friend, she closed her eyes and sobbed uncontrollably. She needed a friend so badly right now. She needed to hear from somebody that things would get better, that she would get over this, forget Zane, forget that she loved him. She needed help.
Portia didn’t know how long she’d wandered the woods when she finally reached a road. There was little traffic. She kept in the shadows of the trees until she’d figured out what to do, planting herself at the side of the road and lifting her thumb.
The first pickup truck halted. She didn’t hesitate and grabbed the door handle to open the door.
The driver was a man in his forties. He gave her an encouraging look, and she let herself fall onto the passenger bench.
“Where to, honey?”
“Just drive.”
She could sense his intentions instantly, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t lay a hand on her.
You have the sudden urge to drive to San Francisco. You don’t see me. I’m not in your car. Just drive.
She pushed her thoughts into his mind until he turned his face away from her as if he didn’t even see her and put the truck back in gear.
As she put more and more distance between Tahoe and Zane’s cabin, her heart continued weeping in silence. Nothing in her life had ever hurt as much as losing Zane. Without Zane, she had nothing to look forward to.
She looked out the passenger side window seeing a faint reflection of herself pasted over the darkness outside. She didn’t deserve this. Somehow she had to prove that she wasn’t the daughter of a monster. Then Zane would love her again.
Chapter Thirty-One
Zane packed the remaining weapons into the back of the Hummer and shut the trunk. He’d loaded up everything he’d stacked in the cabin, knowing he wouldn’t return here. Portia knew this place and how to get here, which meant Müller would eventually find out about it. He had no doubt that blood was thicker than water and that once Portia had gotten over the initial shock of what had happened, she would side with her father.
In hindsight it had been stupid not to kill her on the spot, but the thought of shedding her blood had made him recoil. As much as he knew that he had to eliminate her just like her father so that no evil remained, there was a part of him that protested loudly. He tried not to listen, but the voice inside nagged.
“Z! Where the fuck are you?” he yelled for the dog, looking for an outlet for his anger.
There was a soft whine coming from the inside of the cabin. Zane stalked inside, his boots causing the porch to vibrate as he trampled across and barreled inside.
He found the animal curled up in front of the fireplace, his snout buried in a piece of fabric. Zane stepped closer and recognized what Z was suddenly so fond of: one of Portia’s bras.
Zane stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t even given her a chance to pack or take any of her things. Even her wallet was still here, as was her cell phone and all her clothes. He’d sent her out into the cold without anything, being the heartless bastard he was.
The dog snuggled deeper into one of the cups of the bra, inhaling her lingering scent.
“Stop it, Z!” he admonished. “She’s not coming back. Ever!”
Not after the way he’d treated her, the way he’d threatened her. Threatened to kill her. God, what kind of a monster would say that to the woman he loved? What kind of brutal asshole would toss out the love of his life because of where she came from, because of who her sire was? Had he no heart? No compassion? No decency?
The dog looked up at him with big round puppy eyes before digging his snout back into the Portia-scented bra. His dog had no scruples. He followed only his heart, not understanding anything else. If only Zane could do the same, but his mind didn’t allow it.
His entire life was based on his one goal of avenging his family, and more specifically his sister, the innocent Rachel, the child who’d never been given a chance at life as a woman. The sister he’d killed because she’d begged him to.
He couldn’t suddenly change the direction of his life, throw everything away and betray Rachel because he’d fallen in love with his enemy’s daughter. Rachel would never forgive him. And he owed her this. He’d promised her to get justice for her and all the others who had died at Müller’s hands. He wouldn’t rest until he’d fulfilled that promise.
His own wishes didn’t matter. He’d lived without love for the last six decades. So what made things so different now? Why could he not let go of what he felt for her? Didn’t his heart understand that the love he’d felt for her couldn’t survive, wasn’t allowed to survive?