Prowl the Night by Crystal Jordan

wilting to his side. She hated that, hated herself even more for doing this to him. This was why she usually resisted arguing with him. He wanted the bad feelings out in the open, but what use was hurting each other more? It didn’t solve anything.
    She swallowed hard and tried to pull herself back together, but her tone still had a bite. “I regret that I had to give up my whole life for a man who can’t spare an hour for me unless it’s in bed.”
    He flinched, and she knew she’d hit her mark. “You know my work is important.”
    The ugly bitterness that festered in her soul poured forth. “Yes, I do. The most important thing in your life.”
    â€œThe Prides are the most important thing.” He thrust his fingers through his wet hair, droplets flying through the air. “Without them for protection, we’d all be lost—scattered to the wind with no defense against humans discovering us and turning us into lab rats.”
    She sighed and rested a hand against the bathroom doorjamb. “Right now, I feel like I’m lost even with them.”
    â€œCiri . . .”
    â€œDon’t worry about it.” She shook her head, closing her eyes as the purest truth came out. “I just . . . didn’t realize before we were married how very different we are.”
    His voice softened, but she could still sense his aggravation. “I had a lot less responsibility to deal with at the time. I wasn’t yet the Brazilian Pride heir, or Second in another Pride.”
    â€œI know.” She compressed her lips, and just felt . . . sad. Meeting his gaze, she blinked back tears. “I know.”
    A hint of desperation filled his voice, and his usual ardor animated his face. “We have a lot in common.”
    Disbelief zinged through her. “Name something. Anything.”
    â€œWe love each other.”
    She snorted, and she could tell that stung him. “What else? We value none of the same things. You love politics, and I want nothing to do with it. I love art, and you couldn’t tell a Monet from a Picasso if your life depended on it. You were born to power, and I was born as no one special. You’re Brazilian, and I’m Japanese. You’re progressive, and I’m a traditionalist.”
    He shook his head. “We’re both driven by our work, defined by it, even. We value our families and want the best for them, for all Panthers. We just go about it in different ways.”
    â€œThat’s not a lot of common ground.”
    â€œWe can find more.” He threw his hands in the air.
    â€œWhen are you going to make time for that?” She shrugged helplessly. “Do you plan to give up the three hours of sleep you get each day?”
    He growled. “It would be easier if you could find some way to care for Pride politics.”
    That foreign, terrifying rage stabbed through her again, and she flared back at him. “It would be easier if you weren’t a Pride heir, but it’s unlikely either of us will get what we want, is it?”
    â€œThis is important.” He gestured at the Pride den around them, his hands moving in sharp, jerky motions. “What I’m doing here affects so many people. It’s vital that I do well. This is important. ”
    The wilder his manner became, the more she withdrew behind her reserve. She just couldn’t relate to this fervent side of him. “I understand that, but that doesn’t mean I want to be the one to do it. There are other things that are important too, Tomas. Like our marriage, for example.”
    â€œI’m not saying that’s not important.” He jammed his fists down on his hips, magnificent in his nakedness and anger.
    She arched an eyebrow. “But it’s not worthy of your time or attention.”
    â€œI won’t be Second forever.”
    Dropping her forehead against the doorjamb, she sighed. “I know . . . but you said it would