Chapter 27
Violet
I wake up wrapped in so much softness that I briefly wonder if I’ve died and gone to heaven. I’m cocooned in luxurious cotton sheets, resting atop a plush mattress that perfectly cradles every inch of my body. Kane’s signature leather and pine scent clings to the bedding, warm and grounding.
Wherever I am, it’s ridiculously comfortable.
But where am I, exactly…?
I squint my eyes open, peering up at a wood-plank ceiling awash with morning light. The pale glow of dawn filters in through gauzy white curtains, turning the whole room golden, but nothing about this place is familiar.
I blink a few times, waiting for the fog to clear from my brain so memory can surface.
It comes back in fragments– Kane manhandling me in the locker room, the sharp tips of his canines grazing my neck, him shoving me into the passenger seat of his SUV to take me to his lake house.
I didn’t argue. I’ve been curious about this place since he first mentioned it, but there’s a gap in my memory between leaving the club and waking up here.
I don’t remember walking inside, and I definitely don’t remember climbing into this absurdly comfy bed.
Guess that hit I took from Reaper must’ve been harder than I thought.
The sound of a door opening snaps me fully awake, my gaze darting across the room in the direction it came from.
Kane steps out of the en-suite bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of black slacks riding obscenely low on his hips.
He rubs at his jaw absently, and every muscle in his chest and arms shifts with the movement, rippling beneath tan skin.
I get a full ten seconds of ogling him in before he notices, his dark-eyed gaze colliding with mine.
“You’re awake,” he murmurs, crossing to the dresser. He pulls open a drawer and retrieves a perfectly folded black t-shirt from inside while I watch him through the haze of lingering exhaustion.
There’s something unsettling about seeing him like this, barefoot and completely at ease, without the usual tension he carries in his shoulders. Like the Commander is just a uniform he puts on within the city limits.
He drags the shirt on over his head– probably a mercy, since the view was criminal– and pivots toward me.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” I breathe. “I don’t even remember getting here last night.”
“You passed out in the car,” he says nonchalantly. “I carried you in.”
Oh.
Heat rises to my cheeks before I can stop it. I burrow deeper beneath the covers as if that’ll somehow hide my embarrassment, the soft sheets brushing against my bare skin. Realization dawns, and I lift them to peek underneath.
“Why am I naked?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.
Kane’s expression shifts like he’s been caught stealing something. He drags a hand through his hair, gaze cutting away.
“They say for mates, skin on skin contact can accelerate healing,” he mumbles. “Through the bond.”
“Uh huh,” I smirk.
The corner of his mouth twitches, but he reins it in fast.
“How’s your head?” he asks, tone shifting back to clipped and practical. “Any lingering pain?”
“Nah, all good.”
Not that I’d admit if it wasn’t.
He nods once, turning back to the dresser and grabbing a pair of socks from inside. Then he moves toward the door, bending to grab his boots.
“Are you going somewhere?” I ask, pushing up onto my elbows.
“Store,” he replies flatly. “Out of coffee.” He tucks his boots under an arm, glancing back at me over his shoulder. “Get some more rest.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I mutter, flopping back against the pillow.
“When I get back, we’re going to talk about last night,” he warns.
I make a face. “You mean how you cost me ten grand?”
His jaw ticks, but he keeps his voice even. “I mean how you keep insisting on putting yourself in danger.”
“I was in zero danger until you showed up and distracted me,” I scoff.
He heaves a long-suffering sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Get some rest. Then clean up. I’ll be back with coffee, and we’ll finish this discussion.”
“Whatever, Commander Dickhead,” I grumble, rolling my eyes. “Don’t forget the creamer.”
Something dangerous flickers in his expression, sharp and controlled. “Don’t make me put you over my knee, mate,” he growls.
Heat floods my face instantly. I flip him off and roll onto my side, putting my back to him before he can see exactly how that threat landed. My wolf is practically doing backflips at the thought of another spanking, and it’s humiliating how much I want it, even when I’m actively mad at him.
I wait until the door shuts and his footsteps fade down the hall before I let myself exhale.
Silence settles back over the room, and I close my eyes, fully intending to drift off again, but there’s no way in hell I’m falling back asleep now. Not with the way my head’s spinning. I huff out a sigh and shove the covers aside, climbing out of bed and heading for the bathroom.
It’s completely immaculate– all gleaming white tile and polished fixtures.
The only thing that looks out of place in here is me.
I grimace at the sight of my own reflection, quickly turning away and getting in the shower.
It has one of those rainfall heads built into the ceiling, and I crank the water hot, scrubbing myself clean in the space of about five minutes.
When I step out, I find a fresh towel draped over the rack. Kane must’ve set it out before I woke up.
It’s annoyingly considerate.
I wrap myself in it and head back into the bedroom, searching for something to wear.
The walk-in closet is aggressively organized, full of monochrome button-downs, tactical pants, and about forty identical grey t-shirts hanging in rigid formation.
It’s so painfully him that I can’t help but snort a laugh, abandoning the closet to try the dresser instead.
That’s when I notice the vase on top.
It’s stuffed full of peonies, white and pale pink, every bloom fully open. Completely out of place in a room that otherwise looks like it belongs to a military minimalist. I stare at them for a long moment, trying to process what the hell I’m even seeing.
Kane is many things, but romantic has never been one of them. If this is some attempt at an apology for last night, it’s the strangest one I’ve ever seen.
I shake it off, choosing to ignore the mindfuck of the flowers and refocusing on the dresser, pulling open the top drawer.
It’s full of neatly folded t-shirts, arranged in a spectrum from black to grey to white.
I steal a soft looking light grey one from the middle and pull it on over my head.
It’s way too big, the hem brushing my thighs, but it’s comfy as hell.
The next drawer yields a pair of black boxer briefs, which I shimmy into and roll the waistband to secure them on my hips. Then I start in on finger-combing my hair, catching my reflection in the full-length mirror across the room.
Bare legs. His shirt. Peonies on the dresser behind me.
I look like I’m playing house, which is so deeply not me that I almost laugh out loud.
Almost.
I leave the bedroom and step into the hall, the silence pressing in on me from all sides. There’s none of the distant traffic hum I’m used to, no sirens or city noise. Just stillness. The air smells clean, with a faint hint of lake water, fresh wood, and something floral.
It takes me a second to place it, but as I wander further down the hall, it becomes impossible to miss.
Peonies.
There’s another vase on the kitchen island. One on the coffee table in the living room. A smaller arrangement on the entry console. It’s like the man raided a floral wholesaler and cleared out their entire inventory.
I exhale a slow breath, a strange sensation crawling up my spine. Kane and flowers do not compute. Kane and this many flowers computes even less.
I move into the kitchen and pull the nearest vase closer, picking it up and studying it like it might offer answers if I stare hard enough.
These peonies are pale lavender, the outer petals already wilting at the tips.
The vase itself looks vintage. I turn it slowly toward the light, trying to piece together how and when and why he decided to fill the entire house with flowers.
A door slams, the sound cracking through the silence like a gunshot. I flinch, and the vase slips from my fingers. It hits the floor and shatters, glass and water and flowers exploding outwards.
“Shit,” I hiss, dropping to a crouch automatically. I start gathering the flowers and broken pieces without thinking, adrenaline spiking, moving too fast and too careless. I spit another curse as a shard slices clean across my palm, blood welling up from the cut instantly.
“What happened?” Kane’s deep voice booms.
I look up to see him standing at the threshold of the kitchen, a paper grocery sack hooked in the crook of his arm. His eyes go straight to my hand, and the shift in him is immediate.
Before I can even blink, he’s dropping the bag on the counter and closing the space between us.
“Let me see,” he demands, already reaching for me.
“It’s fine,” I snap reflexively, curling my fingers in, but he catches my wrist before I can pull away.
He turns my palm upward to inspect the cut, his expression darkening. His thumb brushes just beneath the wound, careful not to touch it directly, and the contrast between his stormy gaze and the precision of his touch makes something twist low in my stomach.
He releases me just long enough to grab a paper towel and wet it under the sink. When he turns back, his hand slides to my waist without hesitation. My breath catches as he lifts me onto the counter in one smooth motion, taking full control of the situation.
I should protest, but I don’t. Because it’s fucking hot when he’s like this.
He presses the paper towel gently to my palm, and I fight a wince– though the awareness of how close he’s standing quickly drowns out the bite of pain.
“I can do it myself, you know,” I mumble, softer now.