Chapter 6 #3
I glance down. Black ink is leaking across my palm and dripping onto the papers. Onto the polished table.
“Unfortunately,” I say, my voice cold despite the rage burning through my veins, “Violet has a very full schedule tomorrow. And for the foreseeable future.”
Ryker lifts one eyebrow. “I’m sure she can speak for herself—”
“She’s working on the Silverwood project.” I set down the broken pen with deliberate care, ignoring my stained fingers. “Under my direct supervision. It requires her full attention.”
Violet’s eyes flash at me, but I keep my gaze locked on Ryker.
“In fact,” I continue, my voice dropping lower, “I need her to stay behind. We have urgent matters to discuss regarding the alliance protocols.”
Ryker’s expression hardens. His eyes flick between us, and I can see him putting pieces together.
“Of course.” He straightens, tension now visible in his shoulders. Challenge evident in his tone. “Violet, perhaps another time, then.”
He doesn’t wait for her response. Just gives her one last smile—warm, interested, everything I want to tear off his face—before heading toward the door.
He pauses at the threshold. Looks back.
“Darius.” His voice is mild now. Cloyingly kind. “You might want to get that hand looked at. Ink stains can be difficult to remove.”
The door swings shut.
The silence that follows is deafening.
I count to five. Make sure his footsteps have faded. Make sure we’re truly alone.
Then, I turn to face Violet.
She’s already on her feet, her eyes blazing. “What the hell was that?”
“Sit down.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, sit down.”
“I’m not a dog you can order around.” She slings her bag over her shoulder. “And I’m leaving.”
She takes two steps toward the door, but I move faster. My hand catches her wrist, spinning her around. Her bag drops as I back her against the conference table, my body caging her in.
“Let go of me,” she hisses.
“No.”
“Darius—”
“Stay away from Ryker.” The words come out as a growl.
Her eyes go wide. Then narrow. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
She tries to yank her wrist free. I don’t let go.
“You have no right to tell me who I can or can’t talk to.”
“He’s a playboy.” I lean closer, breathing in her scent. “The Ravenhood heir has a reputation. He goes through women like they’re disposable.”
“So?” Her chin lifts in defiance. “Maybe I want to be used.”
These words hit harder than any physical blow. My free hand slams down on the table beside her hip, trapping her completely. Black ink smears across the polished wood. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” She’s breathing hard now, her chest heaving. “It’s my life. My choice. What I do with my body is none of your business.”
“Everything about you is my business.”
“Why?” she asks sharply. “Why do you care? You made it perfectly clear what you think of me. That I’m weak. That I don’t belong here. That I can barely function—”
“I was wrong.” The words rip from my throat before I can stop them.
She goes still. Stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “What?”
“I was wrong.” I release her wrist but don’t step back. Can’t step back. “Everything I said to my father that night. I was wrong.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why—” Her voice cracks. “Why did you say those things?”
Because I was trying to protect you. Because having you work near me is torture. Because every moment I spend around you makes it harder to deny what you are to me.
But I can’t say any of that.
“It doesn’t matter why.” I cup her face with my ink-stained hand, leaving black smears on her cheek. She doesn’t pull away. “What matters is, you’re not going anywhere near Ryker Laurent.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Watch me.”
She shoves me in the chest. Hard.
I don’t budge.
Then, she shifts her weight. I see it coming. The same setup as before. The same technique.
Her foot hooks behind my ankle. Her hands push me at a specific angle.
I let her do it. Let her spin me so my back hits the table. Let her think she has the upper hand.
Then, I grab her hips, lift, and pivot. She gasps as I set her on the table, stepping between her legs before she can close them. My hands press down on either side of her thighs, caging her in again.
“Getting predictable,” I murmur.
She glares at me. “Let me go.”
“Not until you promise.”
“I’m not promising you anything.”
She jerks her knee, aiming for my groin. I catch her thigh, my hand wrapping around the soft flesh, and hold it in place against my hip.
“You keep trying that,” I murmur near her ear. “Maybe you should learn some new moves.”
“Maybe you should learn to take a hint.” But her voice is breathless now, her pupils dilated.
I can feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress. Can smell the desire she’s trying to hide beneath that flowery perfume. I move closer, unable to resist.
She jabs me in the throat, catching me off guard.
I stumble back, and she slides to her feet, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t ever presume to tell me what I can or cannot do, Darius. You and I are nothing to each other. Let’s keep it that way.”
She grabs her bag and storms out, the door slamming behind her.
I stand there, breathing hard, my hand pressed to my throat. The sting from her strike is already fading, but not the one from the words she uttered.
“You and I are nothing to each other.”
The mate bond convulses in my chest, a physical pain that steals my breath. My wolf howls inside me, the sound primal and raw. It tears through me, and I feel my control shatter.
I grab the closest chair and hurl it across the room. Metal screeches against metal as it hits the wall, the impact denting the pristine surface. The leather seat rips. One of the wheels snaps off and rolls across the floor.
It’s not enough.
I sweep my arm across the conference table. Papers go flying. The projector smashes to the ground, glass and plastic shattering. Pens and folders scatter across the carpet like debris from an explosion.
My chest is heaving.
“Nothing to each other.”
I grab another chair and slam it down to the floor. The metal frame bends. All this destruction should satisfy me. Should release the pressure built up behind my sternum.
But it doesn’t. Because she’s already gone.
And I’m here, surrounded by wreckage, with ink-stained hands and a mate who thinks I’m her enemy.
I sink against the table, my head falling back. The ceiling blurs above me.
Six years of control, shattered in a matter of weeks.
And I still can’t have her.