Chapter 33
thirty-three
Violet’s green eyes shimmer in the moonlight, beaming the purest empathy and deepest regret.
And, goddamn it.
I think that’s enough for me.
The final shard of my resentment clatters from my grasp and falls to the floor, shattering into dust. Leaving only the scars it sliced into my palm.
Because that’s the thing.
Hating Violet? Seems to hurt me as much as it hurts her.
I don’t know why. Maybe it’s all the years I spent burying my designation and silencing my Omega. He was in a cage, just like this frail, beautiful woman. He tried to fight his way out, just like her Omega fought to keep her alive.
How can I hate her when I understand so deeply?
I can’t.
And that’s that.
There’s no reason to, anyway. She hasn’t even attempted to approach Atlas, which is wild. I know the half-bond doesn’t necessarily cause her physical pain, the way it does for him, but still. Her Omega must be begging for his attention.
Yet here she is, dressed in all the layers I picked out, sneaking around alone instead of bothering anyone.
This must be so scary for her. Half-bonded to an alpha who has rejected her, feeling like an intruder in a house she can’t leave.
Two mates vying for her affection when she’s barely gotten a handle on having an Omega at all.
If I were in her position, I’m not sure I would have been able to coax control away from the voice at my center, but she’s done it several times.
I see her struggling to hold on right now. Poignant silence stretches between us, agreement heavy in the air.
Atlas is the very best alpha.
He deserves the world.
And this kind woman believes I’m everything he needs, even though I’ve never been sure.
Her thigh-length hair is finally clean, which only makes it more striking. The golden waves tumble over her shoulders as they hunch, her head falling forward. Weighed down by the shame she can’t shake.
Poor girl.
She’s so fucking sweet. And after hearing the pieces of their story Ryker was able to bite out, I know she’s also innocent and kind and brave. Selfless. Open-hearted.
All the things I’m not.
“You know,” I go on, speaking over the sting of guilt-laced grief. Looking for something to offer her. “Finn and Ryker are good alphas, too.” I can’t help but wince as I add, “In their own ways.”
Violet smiles again. This time, the gentle curve of her lips seems distinctly grateful. Her appreciation beams at me, full of light and warmth. So genuine and good and just—
Jesus. Why does she have to be so pretty?
And why does knowing I put that look on her face make my stomach flip?
Any hope she won’t notice my perfume vanishes as quickly as it appears. Her attention drops to my groin, noting the semi-hard bulge there before she glances away, blinking. Her chest stutters as she inhales.
“Y-your scent is really nice,” she compliments, squeaking slightly. “Is—is it… maple?”
I grin before I can help it. Most people don’t get so close with their first guess. “Maple pecan.” I can’t help but chuckle, impressed. “You got it.”
Her happiness dims, and I find myself drifting closer, wondering why. Until she sniffs her collar and frowns in befuddlement. “I keep thinking Ryker is too dark to be vanilla… and Finn is citrusy, but it’s definitely something fancier than regular lemons…”
Christ. She’s… cute.
And I like it?
Kill me.
A wry smirk twists my lips. “It’s tonka bean,” I correct. When her eyebrows arch, I elaborate, “Ryker. He isn’t really vanilla, though it smells nearly the same.”
Without thought, I shuffle a few steps to the left and open one of the kitchen cabinets.
I pull a few bottles off our spice shelf and hand her the small vial of tonka beans.
Atlas bought it months ago, hoping specialty ingredients might inspire me to return to baking…
along with all the other hobbies I enjoyed before Blackwood Corp took over my life.
My former life.
Violet opens the tiny jar and sniffs. I watch, vicariously wrinkling my nose.
If I’m honest, Ryker has always been a little too dark for my tastes.
The roasted undercurrents in his aroma taste burnt on my tongue more often than not.
I can tell Violet disagrees when her pupils expand slightly, and she draws it deeper.
Another quiet laugh bubbles in my throat. “Yeah, see? And here—Finn.”
I hand her another spice bottle, this one full of dried herbs and dehydrated lemon zest. When she waves it under her nose, fresh honeysuckle swells into the air.
Goddamn. It is good. Appealing in a way no other omega’s perfume has ever been.
What the fuck is happening?
I swallow thickly, my voice dropping to a husk. “Lemon verbena,” I explain. “It’s like a bougie blend of herbs and citrus.”
Leave it to my best friend to be the fanciest fucker in any room, even when he has no right. Bitterness nips at my insides. A slight char caramelizes my sugared, unneutralized essence.
Violet’s brows quirk, silently asking why. I shrug. “Finn and I are having a bit of a… Not a fight, really, but suffice it to say, he can be a bit of a”—con artist, thief, asshole—“rogue.”
She blinks owlishly. “A rogue?”
I keep forgetting how innocent this woman is. Fresh guilt worms into my guts. Damn it. I don’t want to scare her or make her feel uncertain about her mates. I also don’t want to outright lie, though…
I settle for another tight shrug. “You’ll see.”
Violet stares at me for a long moment, her essence seething between dismay and reluctant arousal. She sniffs the bottle of lemon verbena again, sways slightly, and sets the bottle down with an accusatory scowl that renews my smirk.
“Yeah,” I confirm. “I know. He has no right to look like he does and smell that way. Rude.”
My joke has its intended effect, shaking the last of her anxiety off her face. “It sort of is,” she giggles softly.
Violet’s aroma sweetens into something equally unfair, filling the kitchen with a perfect blend of honey and warmth. Every bit as golden as her hair.
I hate how much my Omega likes the look of those shiny strands. The tresses seem silky and thick. Perfect for burying my face in or looping through my fingers.
Violet notices me eyeing it—or perhaps the way my own pupils have expanded, hazing my vision. Either way, her answering smile is a kind, delicate thing.
“The hair, right? I know it’s sort of crazy.
I originally started growing it out for my sister,” she explains, unprompted.
Pretending I’m not practically perfuming just from looking at the satiny blonde waves.
“She loved to braid hair and practice different hairstyles. It was a good distraction from the man who posed as our father and all his… experiments.”
Stinging sympathy jolts me back to reality. Focus, I snap at myself. She’s talking about Briar.
When I meet her gaze, listening, Violet’s voice drops lower. “And then, in all the facilities, playing with it gave the omegas I bunked with something to do. Or something to hold onto, when they needed that.”
Hell and damnation.
My crumpled, taped-together heart rips open all over again, but this time in a different direction. Instead of shredding for myself, it tears in two for her.
“So you kept it all this time because it helped them?” I ask. “And it reminded you of Briar?”
Violet finger-combs some of the tresses over the front of her tank top, casting her eyes to the floor. “At first. Then… I kept it because of Ryker. Because he would—” Her voice breaks. “Hide. He liked to bury his face in it every time we were together. And after losing him, I-I couldn’t—”
She couldn’t cut it off.
Motherfucker. I am not going to cry right now.
Clearing my throat, I try for a somber half-smile. “Well, he loves it. When I dared to suggest you might want a trim at some point, he nearly bit my face off.”
That lovely, shy little curve of her lips reappears. When a lock of her hair falls across her cheek, my fingers twitch, repressing the urge to sweep it behind her ear and clear my view.
“I know it isn’t practical,” she mumbles, peeking at the golden waves covering her right arm. A crease appears between her thin brows. “I’ll probably have to do something with it, before I—”
Her words choke off. But I hear the one she doesn’t say.
Leave.
Before she leaves.
Because this is all temporary. I’ve made that very clear. She can stay until her first heat is over and her hold on Atlas starts to dissipate, but then…
It hasn’t escaped my notice that she hasn’t even asked to speak to Briar since I told her she couldn’t.
I shove down the urge to tell her I’ve changed my mind, chanting reminders to myself.
We don’t know for sure what will happen after her heat…
And Cillian might hurt Atlas if he thinks it’s the only way to free Violet.
“Will you go stay with Briar?” I ask, ignoring the thick wedge of guilt that lodges itself in my diaphragm. “When you leave?”
She quivers, biting her lip again. “I don’t know. The last time we spoke, it was a phone call… and I couldn’t tell her where I was or why. I know you said she’s been looking for me… but you also said she’s happy and safe, now, right?”
My nod is stiff, but it’s the truth. Briar is a perfect mate for Cillian and his pack. She fits in like a rose among thorns.
Violet’s genuine relief pierces a tender place between my ribs.
She attempts another smile, but this one is strained.
“I want to be healthy before she sees me, I guess. And, hopefully, have everything figured out with Ryker and Finn…” She sighs, wincing.
“Briar is my baby sister; I don’t want her to worry about me. ”
Lord, this girl. She’s been held captive. Her Omega hid from her for a decade. Now, she’s accidentally half-bonded to her mate… who’s rejecting her. For me.
And she’s concerned about her sister.
The same way she’s only worried about how this whole mess affects us.
It reminds me of Atlas, actually. He’s the same way. Self-sacrificing to a fault. Noble. And just… good.