Chapter Twelve
Violet glared at the unconscious man at her feet.
How many hours had passed? She’d stitched him up, doused the wound with expensive brandy, and wrapped him up, and still he didn’t wake.
She took a slow swig from the bottle, settling deeper into the sofa, her gaze never leaving him.
There was a glass for the cognac on the desk, but she couldn’t be bothered.
She’d known he’d been lying about being fine, but she hadn’t grasped the depth of his stupidity.
The man hadn’t come close to sharing the extent of his injury!
Blazes, she’d never forget the horror of him crumbling in all her life.
Had he died on her? That had been her first thought.
Her hands had trembled searching for a pulse.
When she found one, the relief had been unimaginable.
She’d scurried to get the wound sutured and cleaned, all the while he lay blissfully unaware.
Like the deuced fool he was!
Of course, fainting from blood loss could probably not be considered bliss, but he’d left her in complete scrambling misery!
She narrowed her gaze on him.
Not so strong at the moment, heh?
How could he hide such a thing from her? Was it that hard to admit? Then again, her anger wasn’t directed at him alone. She could slap herself as well. How had she not realized the male with her was being insufferably male? Her foot itched to lash out at him.
She ought to let him fend for himself.
This man was dark. King of the underworld. Hades.
Hah!
If he’s the dark, what does that make you for lingering?
Good question.
She could have left ages ago. She could have borrowed his horse and returned home.
The beast would most likely find its way home if she let it loose after that.
Yet she stayed, as if she couldn’t leave.
As though it were impossible. If he hadn’t been injured, she might have attempted to slap him awake. The man deserved some form of lesson!
Violet stilled, her fingers tightening on the bottle.
This was not the first time the thought, or the desire, had crossed her mind, but it was the first time it disturbed her.
Punishment. The word provoked memories she preferred buried.
Much more than usual. Her brother had wielded punishment like a weapon, indiscriminate and cruel, meant to diminish any defiance until there was nothing left but obedience in the world he had created for her.
Had she mistaken herself entirely? Was there more of her brother in her than she cared to acknowledge?
No, Vi. You’re nothing like him.
This was not that.
If she bore any resemblance to her brother, she would already have turned her back and walked away without so much as a hint of guilt. Perhaps punishment was too crude a word, she decided. One mired in cruelty.
What stirred in her now was something else entirely. Something brazen, altogether sinful, and very much impertinent in nature. Also entirely against her better judgment. However, the more she stared at him, the more the desire strengthened. Should she attempt to wake him by pinching his arm again?
Violet suddenly laughed.
How remarkable, really, that a word might be damnable to one man and merely tease another. And Drake would find a pinch teasing. Of that, she had no doubt. He might even enjoy it.
What was a woman to do with this man?
She thought of his bond with his brothers.
They probably had their own meaning for the term punishment.
A meaning soaked with brotherly affection.
Love. A bond most likely forged in loyalty rather than sentiment.
The sort of devotion that closed ranks without question and answered threats without mercy.
To stand within such a circle was to be protected utterly or crushed without apology.
And Drake stood at its center.
At least from what she’d glimpsed so far.
And that, she suspected, was the true danger of him.
Not the violence he could unleash, but the discipline with which he mastered it.
He was not ruled by his darkness; he commanded it.
Every measure of him spoke of limits chosen, not imposed.
Of a man who knew precisely where his boundaries lay and guarded them as fiercely as he guarded his own family.
Violet’s gaze softened despite herself.
That was why she stayed, she supposed. Not because he was Hades, king of some shadowed dominion, but because even their underworld had its laws. In some cases, laws much more honorable than her world. And Drake Fury, for all his rough edges and dangerous glances, was a man who abided by them.
Perhaps courage was not found in staying or fleeing at all.
Perhaps strength was knowing which was required and daring to choose it, even when the world expected the opposite.
A groan dragged itself from him, followed by a muttered curse.
Violet lurched up, relief blossoming almost instantly. “Drake?”
His lashes fluttered. One eye cracked open, then the other. “Where am I?” he asked hoarsely. “And what year is this?”
A rattled burst of laughter escaped her lips. “You are in hell,” she informed him flatly. “The year is two thousand.”
“Ah.” His mouth tipped faintly at one corner. “Then the little flame is still here.”
“You expected to leave a damsel in distress behind?”
His brows puckered as he shifted, bracing his palms against the floor. He managed to lift himself onto his elbows before the effort clearly exacted its toll. A grunt tore free of him, followed by more cursing.
“What damsel?” he muttered. “Help me to the bed, will you?”
Violet rolled her eyes but set the bottle aside at once, crossing the short distance to him.
She helped him upright inch by inch, her shoulder wedged beneath his arm.
He hissed softly when she guided him to the edge of the bed.
“Let’s remove this bloody shirt first. I couldn’t manage with you being insensible and all. ”
“I merely took a short rest.”
“Which should I rebuke first,” she asked sweetly, “the short or the rest?”
“Why don’t we just focus on the task at hand?”
She harrumphed, then ordered, “Lift your arms.”
He didn’t quibble, raising his arms just enough for her to tug the shirt upward and over his head. Once done, he settled into the cot, gaze falling on the cognac she placed aside.
“Give me some of that.”
Violet picked up the bottle, took a deliberate swallow, and only then handed it to him.
“You enjoy tormenting injured men?”
“Only when it’s you. Then, yes, immensely.”
He drank, grimaced, then sighed. “Worth it.”
She watched him for a moment before the question slipped free. “How could a powerful man like you just crumble like that?”
He glanced at her sidelong, brows darkening. “Who says I’m a powerful man? I’m merely a man.”
Had he knocked his head going down? Why did he sound so sulky? She scoffed and waved a hand, plopping on the edge of the cot. “Are you? Merely a man? Power is a matter of influence,” she said lightly, holding his gaze. “And you have a great deal of that.”
“As you can see, I don’t have absolute influence.”
Violet grinned at him. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “Vexing woman.”
“One you should thank, by the by. I saved your life. Twice.”
His dark eyes burned into hers. “Thank you, Violet.”
She inclined her head, heart fluttering ridiculously in her chest before she narrowed her eyes on the man. “You thought I was going to run away, didn’t you?”
“There was always the possibility.”
“Is that why you hid how close you were to fainting?”
He scowled again, taking a deep sip from the bottle before saying, “I didn’t want you to panic.”
“You didn’t want to show weakness,” she countered, slightly annoyed.
“It’s the same thing,” he muttered. “What was I meant to do if you panicked when your savior dropped cold to the floor?”
Blazes. “I did exactly what happened,” she shot back. “I became the savior.”
His jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“What a perfectly male thing to say.”
He suddenly rubbed the spot where she’d pinched him. “My enemies, my fault, my responsibility.”
Her gaze followed his movement before she glanced away.
Do not feel even a pinch of guilt, Violet!
In any case, he was very much to the point.
“You know that no one can go through life without accepting help.” Just ask her.
She pointed a finger at his chest. “Are you done suspecting me of whatever you were suspecting me of?” After this mad chase, the attempts on his life, she could never allow this man to discover her true identity.
“Not yet.”
Tough man.
“What brought you to settle in Brighton?” he asked.
She arched a brow at the unexpected question, answering without much thought. “The beach.”
“Have you been to the beach?”
No . . . “That’s beside the point. You do not need to go to the beach to enjoy the scent of the beach.”
“How poetic. Tell me the truth.”
How to answer? Why had she chosen Brighton?
Logic would dictate that she should break away as far as possible from her brother and from his chosen person for her, but she hadn’t wanted to venture so far as to lose sight of her former life, which included her friends.
She simply wanted to live her life on her own terms, not someone else’s, and not be ridiculed and condemned for falling short of their expectations.
She met his gaze steadily. “I wanted a life shaped by my own hands. Brighton seemed as good a town as any. You should understand, shouldn’t you? You seem to have built quite a reputation here.”
“If I do not hold the world by the throat, it will destroy everyone I love.”
Violet shivered. Perhaps this was what made him dangerous. Not the darkness he commanded, but the people he refused to lose. “I wish I had a brother like yours.”
“Brother?”
Her body went oddly light at the interest hooked in his tone. Had she revealed too much? “What?” she asked, hiding her unease beneath a smile. “Would you not want a sister like me, then?”
His eyes darkened. “Woman, I’d be many things to you, but brother is not one of them.”