Chapter 35 Violet
Violet
Morning at the lake house looks deceptively normal.
Sunlight spills through the windows, painting everything gold while I perch on a stool at the kitchen island, shoveling Lucky Charms into my mouth like it’s my goddamn job.
Kane leans against the opposite counter, sipping his coffee and watching me over the rim of his mug with thinly-veiled judgment, like my choice of breakfast is a personal affront.
We’re both acting like this is any other day.
Like nothing shifted between us last night after that brawl.
But it did.
I feel it in every lingering glance, in the quiet stretches between words, in everything we’re deliberately not saying.
My phone vibrates against the quartz countertop. I glance down, see my mom’s name on the screen, and immediately look away, shoving another spoonful of cereal into my mouth.
Kane’s gaze lingers on the phone for a beat before lifting to meet mine, one brow lifting. “Aren’t you gonna get that?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Could be important.”
“It’s never important,” I snort. “She probably just wants to check if I’ve chased you off yet. Or judge me about something I’ve done that she’s heard about through the grapevine. Dealer’s choice.”
His eyes flick between me and the phone again, something shifting in his expression. “You’ll miss it when it’s gone,” he murmurs, voice low.
The air in the room thickens instantly.
For a second, I have no idea how to respond– so I just stare down into my bowl, watching a soggy horseshoe marshmallow spin in slow circles through the milk. My stomach twists, and I set my spoon down, stiffening in my seat and forcing myself to look at him.
“Were you close with your parents?” I ask, part curiosity and part desperation to steer the conversation away from my own mess. Also partly because I realize that I don’t actually know. Beyond him mentioning that they died, he hasn’t talked about them.
Kane jerks a nod, eyes going distant for a moment before snapping back into that default, controlled intensity. “Yeah.”
I wait.
He’s not exactly big on volunteering information, but he should know by now that the more he dodges, the more I’ll keep coming at him until he caves. It’s a fun little game we’ve played before, and one I’ve gotten pretty good at winning.
“Tell me about them,” I say, tilting my head. “I mean, if you want.”
He stares into his coffee for a beat, then sets the mug down on the counter beside him, folding his arms like he’s bracing himself. “My dad was quiet,” he starts, lips pressing into a thin line. “Responsible. By the book.”
I snort a laugh. “Sounds like someone I know.”
He considers that, then gives a small nod.
“Yeah. I guess so. He liked rules, liked everything a certain way.” His expression shifts, the corners of his mouth lifting in the ghost of a smile.
“Unlike my mom. She was the fun one. Same kind of free spirit Whit has, just less intense. She used to let us play hooky from school, spend the whole day doing whatever the hell we wanted, then bribe us with ice cream on the way home so we wouldn’t tell our dad.
” A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “She was easy with us, but when it came to pack business, it was a different story. From what I’ve heard, the enforcers got a completely different version of her than we did at home. ”
“Really?” I ask, trying to imagine someone like him being raised by a woman who loved breaking the rules.
He nods, picking up his coffee mug again. He takes a long sip, going somewhere else in his mind for a moment as my eyes trace the bulging veins in his forearms.
“What happened to them?” I ask quietly. “I mean, I know they were killed. But how?”
He lowers the mug slowly, his gaze settling on me. He doesn’t answer right away, and the silence stretches so long that I start to think he’s going to shut it down– deflect, tell me to drop it, redirect like he usually does when things get too raw.
Instead, he exhales, like he’s used up all his resistance and is finally willing to roll over and show me his soft underbelly.
“Protection detail gone bad,” he replies flatly.
“They rarely took assignments together, but it was a last-minute call. Some weapons exchange with a new associate who wasn’t properly vetted.
” He pauses, jaw tightening. “Definitely not something worth dying for,” he adds.
“But guns were pulled, and nobody walked out alive.”
My gut twists, my throat going dry and scratchy. “I’m sorry,” I say softly.
He shrugs. “It was a long time ago.”
“That doesn’t make it any less awful.”
He glances at me over the rim of his mug. “No,” he agrees quietly. “It doesn’t.”
He looks away first, and I drop my gaze back to my bowl, picking up my spoon again and dunking it into the milk just to busy my hands.
I used to think Kane’s obsessive need to control everything came from ego or arrogance, but now…
it seems more like armor. Something built out of loss and sharpened over time, designed to keep everything that matters from slipping through his fingers again.
To protect the people he cares about so he doesn’t lose them.
I, on the other hand, haven’t ever had anyone to protect… except myself, from my mother’s constant disapproval.
“So you think I’m being cruel to my mom by shutting her out,” I murmur, swirling the marshmallows through the milk.
“I don’t think you’re cruel,” he says. “But you seem… angry.”
I bark a hollow laugh. “You’ve seen me angry, Commander. That’s not it.” I look up at him. “Like I’ve told you before, my relationship with my mom is complicated.”
He arches a brow, a silent signal to go on.
“She’s never been the loving, maternal type,” I continue, sighing. “For her, everything’s about optics– how things look, how people perceive her. She only calls to tell me I’ve done something wrong, or to remind me how I still haven’t turned into the daughter she wanted.”
“Does she actually say that?” he asks, his grip tightening around the coffee mug, voice dropping dangerously low.
“It’s implied,” I mutter, my spoon clanking softly against the ceramic.
“She’s got a million ways to dress it up.
Talking about how I had so much ‘potential’ and I’m wasting it.
Or how maybe if I’d been a little less hard to handle, my dad wouldn’t have run out on us.
” I force a smile like it’s funny rather than a wound I’ve carried my whole life. “Classic narcissist stuff.”
Kane’s expression darkens. He sets his mug down and folds his arms, tension settling into his frame. “I hope you know she’s full of shit.”
I shrug, even as my chest tightens. “I mean… she’s not entirely wrong. I was a handful as a kid, and I’m still one now. That’s why nobody ever sticks around.” I swallow past the lump in my throat, adding, “Until you, but that’s not by choice. It was all Alpha. This stupid Pairing.”
He pushes off from the counter, prowling around the kitchen island toward me. My body registers the move before my brain does– my pulse skips, skin prickling with anticipation. I turn on the stool just as he steps in close, bracketing me with both hands planted on the counter behind me.
If it were anyone else, the way he’s looming would feel like a threat. Instead, it feels like gravity– inevitable, inescapable– my head tipping back, palms coming up to brace against the solid planes of his chest automatically.
“Alpha might’ve thrown us together, but I refuse to give him the credit for what this has turned into,” he growls, liquid gold bleeding into his dark irises. “I didn’t choose it in the beginning, but I am now, Violet. And not because of Alpha, but in spite of him.”
My pulse stutters.
“I was the last one who wanted this to work,” he continues, eyes locked on mine. “But you…”
I look away before he can finish that thought, the weight of it pressing in too fast, too much.
His hand comes up, catching my chin and turning my face back toward his. “Fuck your mom for ever making you think you weren’t good enough,” he bites out. “And fuck your dad for walking away like you weren’t worth staying for.”
The conviction in his voice makes something crack open in my chest, a wound I’d thought long scarred over suddenly ripped open and bleeding.
“You deserve better,” he continues firmly. “You deserve someone who sees you, all of you, and loves you for exactly who you are.”
My belly flips, pulse taking off at a gallop.
Kane holds my gaze, the pad of his thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip. “I do.”
My heart trips over its valves.
“You… what?” I breathe, staring up at him while hope and fear collide hard enough to make me dizzy.
I shouldn’t want this.
I never planned for it, always said I didn’t need it, didn’t want it…
But the ferocity behind his words– the way he says them as if he’d go to war for me without hesitation– hits something deep, something I’ve spent years shoving down and pretending doesn’t exist.
The need to be chosen.
To be enough.
For someone to stay.
“You heard me,” Kane murmurs. “I don’t bullshit, not about things that matter. And I’m too old for games.”
I huff out a quiet breath, defaulting to humor because it’s easier than letting him see how hard that just hit. “Well, you are pretty old…”
“Hey.” His eyes narrow, his hand sliding down to wrap loosely around my throat, fingers flexing. “Don’t make me put you over my knee.”
“Don’t act like you wouldn’t love that,” I fire back, a smirk tugging at my mouth.
“I love you.”
I blink at him, caught off guard by how easy he makes it sound. Like it’s not a risk. Like it’s not the kind of thing that can ruin you if it goes wrong.
And worse… how badly I want to say it back.
“I…” I start, then stall, my throat tightening.
Because this is the part where I’m supposed to make a joke. Deflect. Turn it into something else so it doesn't matter so much.
But it does.
It matters too much.
Kane doesn’t rush me or try to fill the silence. He just watches, steady and unflinching, like he’s already decided I’m worth waiting for.
That’s what breaks me.
“I love you too,” I finally say, my voice rough, like the words had to fight their way out.
For a second, he goes completely still, and I hate the sharp spike of panic that follows. Like maybe I said it wrong, maybe it wasn’t enough, maybe…
His hands come up, framing my face, thumbs brushing slowly over my cheekbones.
“Say it again,” he murmurs.
I huff out a shaky breath, rolling my eyes on instinct, even as my chest feels like it’s been cleaved open. “God, you’re needy,” I mutter.
His grip tightens slightly. Not a threat, just… there. Waiting.
I swallow, my pulse thundering in my ears. For a second, it feels like I’m standing on the edge of something too big to come back from. And still, I take the leap, trusting he’ll catch me.
“I love you, Derek Kane.”
This time, it lands different. Heavier, more real, more honest than any words we’ve ever exchanged.
Something shifts in his expression– something raw slipping through the cracks of that controlled exterior– and then he’s kissing me.
His mouth crashes onto mine, hard and possessive in a way that feels earned now.
His tongue pushes into my mouth, and I meet him just as hard, hands fisting in his shirt, legs bracketing his hips.
I can feel every inch of him pressed against me, the heat and the tension and the wild, hungry edge of his wolf prowling just beneath the surface.
But there’s something else there now– something new.
Something that feels a lot like it could wreck me if I let it.
When he pulls back, we’re both breathing hard, and his eyes have gone nearly full gold.
“Your wolf looks like he wants to eat me,” I tease, a lazy grin tugging at my lips.
He stabs his fingers through his hair, frowning. “He does. Fucker can’t seem to get it through his head that we’re already bonded.”
The insinuation makes my own wolf surge forward sharply, peeking back at his, the bond humming between us like a live wire.
“You still wanna mark me the old-fashioned way, don’t you?” I ask, looping my arms around his neck.
His jaw clenches, hands settling at my waist. “Yeah. Instinct’s a bitch.”
I consider that for a second, letting the tension stretch. “Maybe I’ll let you someday.”
His grip tightens on my waist, heat flaring low in my belly at the reaction it pulls from him. “Don’t say shit like that unless you mean it,” he warns, voice rough.
I drag my fingernails down the back of his neck, feeling his muscles tense and release beneath my hands. “Whatcha gonna do, Commander?” I murmur. “Make me pay for it if I’m lying?”
“No,” he growls. “I’m gonna make you beg for it, mate.”
There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes, his wolf still pressing forward, and I have no doubt he’ll follow through. He knows exactly which buttons to push to make me give in.
“Are you done with breakfast?” he asks, voice all dark promise.
I nod, my heart jackhammering in my chest.
“Good.”
His hands tighten on my waist, lifting me off the stool like I weigh nothing. I squeal, half laughing, half protesting, but he just sets me on the edge of the counter, the quartz cool against my legs, the heat of him closing in.
“Because I’m starving.”
His mouth crashes down on mine with a violence that feels a lot like love, and I meet him just as hard, giving it right back.
Because this is us. Not the fairytale Alpha’s been trying to sell to the pack, but our own chaotic, messy version– the kind where we push and pull, fight and fuck. The kind of love that somehow manages to feel dangerous, but safe at the same time.
It’s all I’ve ever wanted, deep down.
And though it took a hell of a journey for us to get here, I wouldn’t change a thing.