Chapter 2
TWO
VIOLET
The bar was called Greek Madness, tucked inside the most expensive building in the city.
Rumor had it that membership was reserved for residents of the building itself, those living in other properties owned by some Greek mogul or another, and whichever guests those residents added to their guest list. I was on it thanks to my friend Sophie Baldwin, a fellow med student who had just started her residency training in obstetrics and gynecology.
We’d crossed paths in college during one of the family functions in which her aunt recognized my last name and introduced me to her niece.
Both of our families were well off, although they couldn’t be more different.
Her family was close-knit and loving. Mine was dysfunctional, to say the least. But still, Sophie and I clicked right away, and she’d been a steady friend ever since.
The bell dinged when I pushed the door open, and a sensual blues number drifted through the air, slipping out into the cold winter night behind me.
For a second, I almost turned around.
I had come to DC seeking comfort from Sophie, and yet I had left her alone in her condo, slipping out into the night because the walls there had felt too close, too full of wishful “what-ifs” and envy of her family. I didn’t know how to deal with it.
So, I’d left the condo with the excuse that I needed air.
Sophie wouldn’t have understood if I told her I was envious.
Her parents died when she was young, a tragedy that had wrapped her life in sympathy and open arms. Her aunt had taken her in without hesitation and her cousin had treated her like a sister.
She had grown up surrounded by people who chose her every day.
I had grown up learning how easily you could be left behind.
My grandfather despised my parents, and that bitterness had trickled down to their children. Family gatherings had been cold, strained events until they stopped happening altogether. And now my parents had discarded me too.
Which meant I had nobody.
My hand lingered on the door, the cold metal pressing into my palm, but I eventually pulled it open.
The bar was nearly empty. Dim lights were strung over the counter, casting everything in amber hues. The air smelled of old, expensive liquor. The place had a classy, comfortable atmosphere with a veil of privacy, and most attractive of all was the fire crackling in the corner, warming the air.
I walked to the end of the bar, taking the seat closest to the window. The stool creaked under my weight and I glanced around, but the few patrons here weren’t paying attention to me.
The bartender glanced at me.
“What can I get you?”
My throat felt tight. “Just… tea for now.”
He nodded and came back faster than I expected with a ceramic mug and a container of sugar cubes. I pushed the sugar away and wrapped my hands around the cup, mostly so my fingers would stop shaking.
I stared at the surface of the dark liquid, my reflection distorted by plumes of steam. It made me feel like a ghost.
Lily would have told me to get a grip. She hated melancholy. I used to too.
I glanced at the empty stool beside me, something about it making me feel even more lonely.
My throat ached with the threat of tears, making it hard to breathe. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have…
I cut my line of thinking, refusing to go there tonight.
Instead, I reached for the pendant hanging around my neck and twisted it over and over while I focused on the hem of my red wool dress.
With each passing second, the unbearable pain eased its viselike grip and I found solace in the solid metal of the pendant.
With a deep breath, I let it go and sipped my hot tea, letting it singe a path down my throat and into my belly.
Just then, a dark figure slid onto the stool beside me.
“Ouzo.”
I closed my eyes at the deep, low voice, something about it calming. I tilted my head and threw the man a side-glance.
He had a presence about him, and it was as overwhelming as his voice.
He was handsome, shockingly so, and it had nothing to do with the Armani suit that molded his muscles perfectly. There was an aura to him that screamed power and strength.
And then he turned and fixed his attention on me, his dark gaze slamming right into my soul. It was a force that hit me so suddenly and unexpectedly that I was momentarily frozen.
I tried to shake off the effect, but it was impossible.
Yes, he had beautiful eyes, but it was the loneliness in their depths that spoke to me—a reflection of my own.
“You shouldn’t stare at men like that, golden one,” the stranger said, and a sudden flush of heat coated every inch of my skin.
“Golden one?” I repeated, my voice coming out weaker than I’d like.
He tilted his chin. “Your hair.”
I blinked at him. “My hair is light brown…”
“Looks golden from where I’m sitting,” he said with a shrug, but I wasn’t buying his nonchalance.
I bit my lip, my eyes bouncing from his dark, almost black hair down to tanned skin that told me he spent a lot of time in the sun. He sported a straight nose and a square jaw that only compounded his masculinity.
I took another long sip of my tea, unsure whether ogling a stranger in my current state of mind was smart.
“I’m Lykos,” he said, extending his hand and making my decision for me. “Since we’re staring at each other, it’s only appropriate that we know each other’s names.”
I swallowed the laughter bubbling up my throat, shocked at how unfamiliar it felt. “Violet.”
His strong fingers wrapped around mine, and I couldn’t help but notice how much their size dominated my own. I met his eyes again, still shining with a quiet sadness. Or maybe I was projecting again.
“You can let go now,” I said slowly.
The instant his fingers loosened and dropped away, I missed their heat. Not that I intended to unpack that ridiculous notion.
“My apologies.” He sounded like he meant it.
“None needed.” The bottom of my belly contracted and I licked my lips. “I actually liked it.”
“Strangely, me too.”
My neck and cheeks heated at his admission, but his brows were drawn together.
I reached for my pendant, the cool metal settling like lava against my fingertips. His eyes locked on it as he took a sip of his strange drink, ice clinking in the fancy glass.
“What is that?” I asked, gesturing at his drink. “What’s ouzo?”
I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed the last of it, drawing out the movement as if he knew I was watching.
“It’s Greek,” he said, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “An anise-flavored spirit.” One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Would you like to try it?”
I shook my head, wrapping both hands around my teacup. “It probably won’t go with my tea.”
“It goes with everything.”
The confidence in his voice made me laugh under my breath. “Okay, then. Maybe it’ll lift my mood.”
“It’s lifting mine.” He motioned toward the bartender without looking away from me, wordlessly ordering another two.
The bartender nodded and moved down the bar.
“Or maybe it’s the company,” he added, so low I almost didn’t hear him.
I felt my throat tighten. Was I supposed to laugh? Thank him? Pretend I hadn’t heard? I was suddenly aware of the warmth creeping up my neck.
Maybe the alcohol was loosening his tongue.
Or maybe something was wrong with me, because I wanted him to keep talking.
The bartender returned and placed two short glasses on the sticky wood surface. The liquid inside was pale and milky, like fog trapped in crystal.
“Careful,” he said lightly. “It’s stronger than it looks.”
“That sounds like a warning.”
“It’s more of a promise.”
I picked up the glass, turning it slightly between my fingers. The scent of licorice drifted up and I hesitated for half a second before bringing it to my lips.
The moment the ouzo touched my tongue, heat burst across my mouth. I jerked back, coughing violently.
“Holy… crap,” I croaked.
He laughed low. “Told you.”
I wiped at my watering eyes, trying to reclaim my dignity. “That tastes like someone liquefied a bag of black licorice and set it on fire.”
His smile widened.
“And yet,” he said, lifting his own glass in a slow toast, “you’re still going to take another sip.”
Lykos placed his elbow on the bar, the motion drawing him closer. My head swam, finding the scent of his cologne a thousand times more potent than the alcohol.
I carefully brought the glass back to my lips and took a small sip. He was right. The next sip was easier.
He turned sideways and his breath skimmed the shell of my ear as he said, “Good girl.”
The words made me shudder and our eyes locked. Two lonely souls in a dark bar on a cold winter night. Suddenly, I desperately wanted to feel his warmth.
“So…” I’d never had a one-night stand, but there was a first time for everything. Besides, I wanted to forget. Just for one night, I wanted to feel free, worshiped… adored. Except, how could I proposition this man without risking rejection?
“You’re Greek?” I asked instead.
“Yes.”
I nodded. “I’m American.”
He let out a sardonic breath. “You don’t say.”
“Yeah.”
“So, Violet… what brings you to this bar?”
The innocuous question cut deeper than he could have known. Pain at the memory of my sister slashed through my chest, and I felt myself nosedive straight into fight or flight.
“If you don’t mind,” I said after some measured breaths, “I’d rather not go there.”
I forced a small smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes and tilted my glass slightly in his direction.
“Maybe you can tell me why you’re here alone instead.”
For a split second, something dark flickered across his face. Bitterness, maybe even regret. It vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, replaced by an easy, crooked smile.
“Actually,” he said, swirling the cloudy liquid until I was sure it would slosh over the edge, “I’d rather not go there either, golden one.”
Golden one.
The nickname should have sounded off coming from a stranger, but somehow it didn’t.
I nodded in quiet understanding.