Moon River by J. R. Rain

Russell’s hand. I opened my mouth to speak...and hadn’t a clue what I would say...
     
     
     
    Chapter Nineteen
     
     
    “Hi,” I said.
    “ Hi, baby,” he said, and squeezed my hand lovingly and with so much emotion that his grip literally shook.
    Lord, help me, I thought.
    “ Are you okay?” he asked, and the exaggerated look of concern in his eyes was almost comical.
    That’s not him, I thought. The Russell Baker I knew was strong, confident, controlled.
    The expression on his face suggested that his whole life, his whole existence, all of his happiness, hinged on my happiness. In fact, on my answer.
    Lord, help me, I thought again.
    “ I love you, Russell,” I started.
    “ I love you, too, baby, more than you know.”
    He tried to release his hand—except that I knew where that hand was going: to the first boob it could find.
    Sex connected us beyond what was normal, what was healthy.
    So, I held his hand firm and he relaxed it. He continued gazing at me with those big, beautiful, brown eyes. His muscles flexed and undulated just under his skin, like slumbering vipers. God, he was so sexy.
    Not anymore, I thought.
    Release him.
    I considered telling him the truth, and then erasing his mind later. Yes, I could do that, but that wasn’t fair to him, or his subconscious. I suspected that even if I did erase his mind that his subconscious would remember...and haunt him forever. Maybe not. Maybe he truly would forget. But I doubted it. His heart would remember. Somewhere, deep inside he would remember.
    Was it fair to just break up with him, with no explanation?
    No. He has to know, I thought.
    It was the only way.
    No lying. No hiding. Unfortunately for Russell Baker, I had been unaware of my ability to control him. Now I knew, and as I thought those words, tears came to my eyes.
    The tears were for my heart.
    And for Russell’s heart.
    Yes, I loved him. Yes, I thought there was a chance it was going somewhere.
    But I will never control him, and would never allow myself to control him. Or anyone. The bitch within me had effectively cut me off from loving another human, another mortal.
    I had tried to keep Russell from the truth of who I was, but now the truth, I knew, would set him free. I swallowed and looked away as the tears continued to come to my eyes, knowing what I was about to, what I had to do.
    Lord, help me, I knew what I had to do.
     
     
     
    Chapter Twenty
     
     
    It was after.
    I’d spent the last two hours pouring my heart out to Russell, telling him everything, from my attack seven years ago, to my hunger for blood, to my supernatural abilities, to the love spell he was under.
    At first, he had laughed lightly, holding my hand and wanting to change the subject. He tried to even have sex again. Then he tried to change the subject again. Then he asked me to stop. Then he asked why I was telling him all of this. Then he asked if I was crazy. Then he grew angry. He stormed out of the bedroom, only to return, rubbing his temples and pacing randomly.
    He wanted to know why I was telling him all of this , why I was doing this to him, why I was pushing him away with my crazy talk. We had something good, he kept saying. Something beautiful and pure and real.
    I got up from the bed and took his hand and led him through my house and into the garage. I had planned ahead for the night. The kids were with Mary Lou, and Russell and I had the house to ourselves. He liked that idea. He thought that meant a night of sex.
    He thought wrong. Sex was the problem. Sex was binding him to me against his will. I suspected sex had this effect on many people, although perhaps not as strongly.
    Once in the garage, I showed him the old refrigerator in the far corner. Dusty and dirty and forgotten—and also padlocked.
    “What’s this?” he had asked.
    I said nothing, only fetched the key from under the old coffee can filled with random nuts and bolts, a can hidden behind a tool box on a shelf under the workbench