“I have a meeting with Henry Girven. He’s a top manager. I’m so excited. I’ll have to book a flight. He said he’d fit me in as soon as I can get to Los Angeles.”
Hone fought to keep calm. He wanted to protest, beg her to stay, but he remained silent. He had no right to impose his wishes on her, to corral her dreams. Perhaps she would come back to New Zealand.
His taniwha whined.Whined. Hone suppressed him with ruthless intent. He couldn’t trample on her talent.
* * * * *
A week later
Hone managed to hold it together until Cassie disappeared through the passenger-only zone at the airport. His taniwha writhed, and his skin strained to contain his form. He strode through the airport, intent on going home.
Three-quarters of an hour later, he peeled into his driveway and skidded to a stop. Damn, he’d forgotten Manu would be here. Too bad. He needed a drink.
His door slammed as he marched to his kitchen and his booze cabinet. He’d known this day would come, but it didn’t make it any bloody easier.
Manu sat at the kitchen table, a drink before him. Pain squashed him, made him seem less while fatigue highlighted his bloodshot eyes. Hone bit back a frustrated snarl. He understood his cousin’s mood. Understood exactly the torment-ripping emotions, the helplessness, the unasked for thing called vulnerability.
Hone plonked onto the opposite seat. He poured himself a drink. “What are you drinking? Whisky?”
“Yeah.”
Hone topped up Manu’s glass.
“Dad challenged me to a fight,” Manu said.
Hone lifted his head, met his cousin’s bloodshot gaze. “Cassie has gone home to the States.”
“She left you?”
Hone snorted. “Kind of ironic, huh?”
They drank in broody silence, each mired in their own misery. Day turned to night. The level of the whisky bottle reduced steadily, but neither of them became drunk. Stupid dragon genes. Couldn’t even get a good alcoholic buzz.
Finally, Hone got up and staggered to bed to sleep. He didn’t sleep, couldn’t sleep when all he wanted was Cassie.
