Skye
Ipreferred sleeping with my pack, but I was usually okay going to bed alone. I got tired earlier than everyone else, and the alphas and Benji came to bed later. Violet wasn’t allowed in the nest because Vinny thought she’d cave and let him mark her.
It was stupid.
Protective, maybe. Well-intentioned, even. But still stupid.
And it didn’t change the fact that most nights, Violet got so horny that it would wake me up, and we’d fuck, eat a snack, and fall asleep in her nest. She was a little weird, but I liked Violet well enough.
What I didn’t like was waking up in the middle of the night to see her looming over the foot of our nest.
The air was heavy with the scent of vanilla and whatever herb she’d been experimenting with that night. Her hair swayed in the breeze blowing in through the window, and her nightgown swished, leaving her looking like a Victorian ghost—and it scared the absolute fuck out of me.
The second she noticed my eyes were open, she waved. That only upped the creep factor.
“Vi—what are you doing?” I hissed, crawling onto my knees.
She lifted her hands into the silver moonlight and signed:I need help.
My brow furrowed, then I remembered her doctor’s appointment today. The one she refused to talk about. The one she’d locked herself in her room over the second Vinny tried to force her to go.
“Are you hurt?”
No.
“...Sick?”
No.
“Vi, it’s—” I patted around the nest until I found my phone and checked the time. “Three a.m. Nauseatingly early. Why aren’t you asleep?”
The corners of her lips turned down. Help me.
I groaned as I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Benji or Serena. The second I stood, Violet grabbed a pair of sweatpants off the ground and tossed them at me.
You are a gentleman. Cover yourself.
I scrubbed my face and sighed into my palms. “Why are we even up?”
Benji snored louder than usual, and Violet nearly jumped out of her skin. I looked over my shoulder and saw him rolling over, snuggling closer to Vinny.
She hesitated, eyes flicking from the door to the window, then back to me. Finally, she reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a small pouch. It was soft and worn, the fabric faded from use. When she loosened the string, the smell hit me first, lavender, rosemary, salt.
Oh.
“You’re doing... that,” I whispered.
Witchcraft. Something completely fake and pointless, but Violet seemed to love it. I’d walked in on her doing different rituals before, always late, always when everyone else was asleep.
I thought she was too smart for stuff like this. But everyone needed a hobby, I guess.
She nodded. New spell. Protection.
I snorted, and Serena drew in a sharp breath behind me. That was enough to decide the bedroom was not the place for conversation.
Violet took me by the hand, and together we tiptoed into the hallway.
Once we were far enough away, she let go and turned to face me, her eyes serious now. My skin crawled at her expression. Violet may have been a teeny-tiny princess, but there was always something a little scary about her.
Once again, she signed: I need your help. I need protection against him.
I nearly choked on a laugh. “Vi, I know Vinny took your phone, but—”
She shook her head slowly.
“If not him... who?”
Her shoulders rolled inward as her hand drifted to the ring on her finger, thumb rubbing over it like it was a worry stone. I’d seen that ring a thousand times and somehow never really looked at it.
It was a thick ring. The band was wide and heavy, and the stones weren’t flashy, just big enough to sparkle a little without drawing attention. It always looked too big for someone as dainty as Violet.
She never took it off. Not to shower. Not to sleep. Never. So I’d always assumed it was sentimental, maybe from her grandma or something. But watching her fidget with it now, it didn’t seem like she particularly enjoyed whatever it reminded her of.
“Vi,” I said quietly. “What are you doing?”
She didn’t answer with her hands this time. She just slid the ring off and held up her hand.
An angry scar circled the base of her finger, puckered and uneven. I think it was a bite mark, but the edges were distorted—almost like it had either been infected or someone had tried, and failed, to claw it out.
Just the sight made me sick. Not just because it was ugly, which it was, but because that had to hurt.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. “You… that’s an alpha mark.”
She nodded and slipped the jewelry back on.
“That’s who you were running from.”
Again, she nodded.
“Oh my god—we have to tell Vinny—”
“N...o.” The word was rough and barely there, but it was spoken.
From Violet’s lips.
I froze. Was this some weird fucking fever dream?
She swallowed painfully, like it hurt just to try and make her vocal cords work.
But to her credit, she tried again.
“No,” she said, a little clearer this time.
Her voice was raspier than I thought it would be, but I figured that was due to years of not speaking.
“Vi… you just—”
She shook her head quickly, panic flashing across her face, one hand flying up like she was afraid the word had escaped without permission. Her breathing went shallow.
“No,” she whispered again, almost pleading this time.
Oh my God. She was desperate.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “Okay. We’re not telling him. Not right now.”
She sagged in relief, and I took her hands gently, careful not to touch the ring.
“You said you need my help—what are we doing?”
We’re cutting what’s left of it, she signed.
I swallowed. “The bond?”
She nodded.
Bonds were dangerous things to mess with. And no one in this house even knew Violet was bonded to anyone other than Serena.
This whole thing seemed stupid. But she wasn’t being dramatic. She just wanted something to make her feel safe.
And I would’ve been a massive asshole if I told her no.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “Tell me what to do.”
Her shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
We moved to the little nook by the window, the one Benji liked to read in during the afternoons.
Violet sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled a collection of treasures out of her pocket: a spool of red ribbon, a candle stub, a tiny glass jar no bigger than my thumb, salt, a lighter, dried rosemary, lavender, and a folded scrap of paper already covered in her neat, looping handwriting.
“This feels like the beginning of a horror movie,” I muttered.
She shot me a look.
“Sorry,” I said. “You’re right. Focus.”
She placed the red thread between us and mimed wrapping it around her finger, over the ring, then mimed setting it on fire.
“I’m not catching your hand on fire,” I deadpanned.
She gave me a look before picking up the lighter and calmly pressing it to the ribbon.
The ribbon curled and blackened, but didn’t burst into flame. She pulled it back, unharmed, and gave me an expression that said see? Like I’m the unreasonable one here.
She gestured again for me to wrap the ribbon around her finger and the candle.
“You’re lucky I love you,” I muttered.
I took the ribbon and followed her instructions, winding it carefully over the ring and looping it once around the candle’s base.
She nodded in approval, closed her eyes, and tapped the ribbon once.
I struck the lighter and held the flame beneath it. The ribbon caught, and I tensed—fully prepared to drive Violet to the hospital when she inevitably gave herself a third-degree burn. But nothing of the sort happened.
Instead, the ribbon burned closer to the candle than to her. The thread never snapped. The flame traveled outward, licking around the wax cylinder, softening it—melting it down until the candle slumped and collapsed, hot wax pooling across the hardwood floor.
I stared.
Vinny was going to beat her ass if she didn’t clean this up.
Cracking one eye open, Violet looked at the mess and a small smile tugged at her lips. The ribbon finally burned itself out, leaving nothing but a blackened line and a puddle of wax.
Violet exhaled like she could finally breathe. Whatever peace she’d earned, she wasn’t wasting it.
She wiped her hands on her nightgown, then pulled out the jar and started layering ingredients into it.
Salt first. Then dried rosemary, crumbled carefully between her fingers, then lavender. She dusted off her hands before tearing up the paper, never showing me what it said, and shoved it into the jar.
When it was nearly full, she paused—then slid her ring off, just long enough to press it against the mouth of the bottle. Not inside, but like she wanted the energy of the ring to pour into the glass.
Once she was done, the ring went back on. She replaced the lid, dipped the base of the jar in the still-warm wax, then tied the unburned length of ribbon around its neck in a neat little bow.
She held it up, inspected her work, and nodded once before pressing it into my hands.
I stared down at it like she’d handed me a voodoo doll—and knowing Violet, one day she might.
“What is this?” I asked.
Keep it tonight. Give it back tomorrow, she signed.
I closed my fingers around the jar, feeling its weight settle in my palm.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ve got it.”
And judging by the way Violet finally sagged as exhaustion crashed over her now that everything was finished, she truly believed her glorified seasoning salt would keep her safe.
For her sake, I hoped she was right.