Chapter 1 #3
The dining room looks just like I remember it: crystal chandelier overhead, paintings of past alphas lining the walls, and a long table that could seat twenty.
But right now, there are only two people present: my mother, looking elegant and composed, and next to her, at the head of the table, Alpha Alaric.
He hasn’t changed. Still handsome in that distinguished way older men can be, with silver threading through his dark hair and sharp, intelligent eyes that miss nothing.
His suit is perfectly tailored, his posture radiating authority even while he is seated.
Alaric is the kind of man who commands a room simply by existing in it.
Those stern eyes land on me as I enter, and I feel the weight of his assessment. His expression changes as he takes me in. A look of concern, maybe. His brow furrows slightly.
“Alpha Alaric,” I say, keeping my voice steady. I don’t bow—I’m family, technically, even if it doesn’t feel that way—but I incline my head respectfully.
His features soften slightly. “Violet. It’s good to see you. Please, call me Father.”
The word hangs in the air between the three of us.
My mother speaks before I can respond, her voice quick and sharp. “She may not be comfortable with that yet, Alaric.”
I remember being fourteen the first time he asked me to call him that. I did so without hesitation, desperate to please, to show gratitude. My mother smiled at the dinner table. Then, she dragged me back to our quarters and beat me into silence. The bruises lasted weeks. The lesson, even longer.
I meet my mother’s eyes now and watch her expression tighten in warning. The same look she gave me all those years ago.
A cold fury settles in my chest.
“I have no problem calling you Father,” I say, turning back to the Alpha. The word tastes strange on my tongue after all these years, but I force it out clearly. Deliberately.
My mother’s glare could cut glass.
Good.
I’m not a child anymore. She can’t touch me now. Not here, not in front of him. And if she tries when we’re alone? I’ll fight back this time. I’ve spent six years learning how.
Alaric looks pleased, and he gestures to a chair near him. “Please, sit. Tell me about your studies. Your mother mentioned you completed your master’s degree?”
“Yes, Father.” I slide into the chair. The table is too large, the space between us too formal. “In business administration.”
“Excellent.” He nods approvingly. “That will serve you well. Once Darius arrives, I have an announcement to make that concerns you both.”
My head snaps up. “Darius is joining us?”
A warmth flickers in my chest—not quite happiness, but close. The nervous anticipation from earlier returns, stronger now.
But then, I catch my mother’s expression: lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowed. That familiar disapproval.
I don’t let it dim my mood this time. I’m done letting her steal even the smallest moments of happiness from me.
“You seem pleased,” Alaric observes, studying me with his sharp eyes.
“Darius was always kind to me,” I say carefully. “Before I left.”
“He’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure.” Alaric leans back in his chair. “Tell me, did you meet anyone during your time away? Any romantic prospects?”
The question catches me off guard. “No. I was focused on my education.”
My mother’s voice cuts through the air like a blade. “Well, that needs to change. You should be thinking about settling down. Starting a family.”
“There’s no rush,” Alaric says mildly, but there’s a calculating gleam in his expression. “Violet has only just returned—”
The sound of someone in the hallway cuts him off.
I straighten in my chair, turning toward the door. My pulse quickens.
The door opens, and Darius walks in.
He’s…different. Taller than I remember, broader in the shoulders.
He must be close to six-three now, his frame filling out the dark suit he wears like it was made for him.
Probably was. His hair is darker than his father’s, almost black, styled back from his face.
Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, the kind of devastating good looks that shifters are known for, yet somehow more refined. More dangerous.
He looks at his father first, nodding in greeting. Then, his gaze sweeps the table—and lands on me. Dark brown orbs, almost black in the chandelier light. And intense. So intense, it feels like they’re pinning me in place.
Everything stops.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. My heart slams against my ribs so hard, I’m sure everyone can hear it. Every nerve in my body suddenly ignites, white-hot and overwhelming. It’s like being struck by lightning and set on fire at the same time.
His scent hits me: rich and dark, like cedar and smoke and winter nights and something wild I can’t put my finger on. It wraps around me, sinking into my skin, my lungs, my bones. I want to drown in it. I want to breathe nothing else for the rest of my life.
Heat floods through me, pooling low in my stomach, between my thighs. My skin feels too tight, too hot, like I might combust if he doesn’t touch me. My dress is too restrictive all of a sudden. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time.
I can’t stop staring at him. At the strong column of his throat where I can see his pulse pounding. At the sharp line of his jaw. At his hands, elegant and powerful, and I imagine them on my skin. At his lips, and I wonder what they’d feel like against mine.
My fingers are white knuckled where they grip the edge of the table. The room fades away. My mother, Alpha Alaric, the chandelier, the paintings—everything disappears until there’s only him. Only us. Only this impossible, inexplicable pull that’s threatening to tear me apart.
What is this? What is happening to me?
Darius goes completely rigid.
His eyes—dark brown a second ago—flash bright gold, his wolf rising to the surface. I watch his pupils blow wide, his shoulders tense like a bowstring pulled taut. His hands curl into fists at his sides as his chest rises and falls rapidly, like he can’t get enough air.
A low sound rumbles from deep in his chest, so quiet I almost miss it. But I feel it. God, I feel it everywhere.
He’s staring at me like I’m the sun and he’s been living in darkness. Like I’m water and he’s been dying of thirst. Like I’m everything he’s ever wanted and the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen, all at once.
His scent intensifies, wrapping around me tighter, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
“Darius?” Alaric’s voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. Far away and muffled. “Son?”
But Darius doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even seem to hear his father. He is locked on me, that gold still blazing in his eyes, his entire body trembling with the effort of staying still.
For one breathless moment, I think he’s going to come to me. I can see the war raging behind his eyes, the way his body leans forward infinitesimally, drawn by the same invisible force that’s pulling at me.
Then, his expression shutters. From terror, maybe. Or realization.
He turns and walks out. No, he flees.
The door slams shut behind him, and the sound echoes through the dining room like a gunshot. Then, silence.
“Well,” my mother says after a long moment, her voice tense. “That was rude.”
But I barely hear her. My chest is heaving like I just ran a marathon. My hands are shaking where they still grip the table.
His scent still clings to me, gripping my throat like a collar. I feel the ghost of that impact in my chest, like something fundamental just shifted in my world. Like a door I didn’t know existed just opened, and I can never close it again.
The room spins slightly. My skin is too hot, my body still humming with that impossible need.
“Violet?” Alaric’s voice cuts through the chaos in my head, sharp with concern. “I apologize for Darius. That must have startled you. Are you alright?”
I force myself to nod, even though nothing about this is alright. “I’m fine.”
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
I’m not fine.
What the hell just happened?