Chapter 7 #2
The copy machine whirs to life when I hit the button. I set up the first document and watch the green light scan across the page.
Footsteps approach from behind. I glance over my shoulder.
Marcus.
The colleague I’ve heard whispers about. The one with a reputation for inappropriate behavior that HR never seems to address properly.
He leans against the doorframe, blocking the only way in or out. Wearing that same smug expression I’ve seen him direct at other women in the office.
My stomach tightens.
“Hey there, Violet.” His voice is a little too casual. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Marcus.” I turn my attention back to the copier, keeping my tone neutral. Professional. “Excuse me, I’m working.”
“Oh, I can see that.” He pushes off the doorframe and moves closer to me. “You know, I’ve been watching you. You’re pretty good at this job. Smart. Capable.”
I don’t respond. Just focus on the copies sliding out of the machine.
He steps even closer, and I can smell his cologne. Overpowering and cheap. “It’s too bad about, you know, your situation.”
“My situation?”
“Being weak. Unable to shift.” He says it like he’s discussing the weather. “Must be hard, working in a division full of strong wolves.”
My hands go still on the papers.
“But you make up for it in other ways, don’t you?” His voice drops lower, taking on a tone that makes my skin crawl. “I bet you’re real accommodating when you need to be.”
I turn slowly to face him. He’s standing close enough that I’d have to press against him to get past. His eyes rake over my body with obvious intent.
“I mean, look at you.” He gestures at me with one hand. “That dress is pretty tight. Shows off all your…assets. You must know what you’re doing, dressing like that.”
Heat floods my face. Not from embarrassment, though. Rage.
“This dress is professional and appropriate.”
“Is it?” He takes another step closer, and I back into the copier. “Or are you trying to get attention? Because it’s working. I’ve noticed. So has every other guy in this office.”
Through the glass wall of the copy room, I can see Darius all the way across the office. He stands up, his body rigid, his eyes locked on me.
He starts moving toward us, but he’s so far away.
And I don’t need him.
“You want to know what I think?” Marcus leans in, his hand reaching out to touch my hip. “I think under all that ice queen bullshit, you’re just desperate for someone to—”
I grab his wrist. He blinks, surprise flickering across his face.
Then, I twist. Hard.
He gasps as I use his own weight against him, stepping into his space and using the leverage to send him off balance. His back hits the floor with a satisfying thud.
Pure technique. No wolf strength needed. Just six years of training and muscle memory.
Before he can recover, I place my heel on his chest. Right over his heart. Pressing down just enough to make it hard for him to breathe.
The shock on his face is almost comical.
“Let me make something very clear,” I say, my voice cold and precise. “If you ever speak to me or any other woman in this office that way again, I will ensure you regret it. Do you understand?”
He sputters, his hands coming up to grab at my foot. “You bitch! I’ll report you! You can’t—”
I press down harder. “Pack law, Section 12, Article 4 covers workplace harassment in detail. Specifically, it states that any pack member who creates a hostile work environment through sexual harassment can be immediately suspended pending investigation.”
His eyes widen.
“Section 12, Article 7 addresses physical contact without consent. That includes touching or attempting to touch a coworker in any manner that could be construed as sexual in nature.” I lean forward slightly, my heel digging in. “You reached for my hip, Marcus. In front of witnesses.”
“There aren’t any—”
“The security cameras in this room say otherwise.” I gesture upward with my free hand. “Every word you said. Every movement you made. All recorded.”
I watch his expression shift. Anger bleeds into fear as he realizes I’m not reciting random articles. I’m building a legal case against him in real time. Each citation is another nail in his coffin.
The color drains from his face.
“Furthermore, Article 9 specifically states that any pack member found guilty of harassment forfeits the right to file grievance claims against their accuser for a period of no less than six months.” I give him a smile, but there’s nothing warm in it.
“So, by all means, report me. I’ll be happy to pull up the footage for HR. ”
Silence.
Marcus stares up at me, his chest heaving under my heel.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out.
“Louder.”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? I won’t do it again.”
I hold him there for another few seconds, letting him feel the full magnitude of his mistake. Finally, I release the pressure and step back.
He scrambles to his feet, his face red with humiliation and rage. “This isn’t over—”
A blur of movement.
Darius is suddenly there, his hand wrapped around Marcus’s throat, slamming him back against the wall with enough force that the entire room shakes. The impact sends papers flying, and Marcus’s eyes go wide with terror.
“Darius…” he begins, but Darius is not listening.
A low growl rumbles from his chest. His hand tightens around Marcus’s throat, lifting him slightly so his toes barely touch the ground.
“Say that again,” Darius snarls, his voice barely recognizable. “Say one more fucking word to her.”
Marcus makes a choking sound, his hands clawing at Darius’s wrist.
“Darius, stop.” I move toward them. “Let him go.”
He doesn’t respond. His entire body is pulsating with barely restrained violence. I can see the veins bulging in his neck, the way his jaw is locked tight, the absolute fury blazing in his eyes.
“Darius.” I reach out and place my hand on his arm.
He flinches at the contact but doesn’t release Marcus.
“Let him go,” I say again, quieter this time. “He’s not worth it.”
“He touched you.” The words come out strangled, like they’re being ripped from somewhere deep inside him.
“He tried. He didn’t succeed.”
“He—”
“I handled it.” I step closer, feeling the tremor running through him, the tension coiled in every muscle. “I handled it, Darius. Let him go.”
For a long moment, nothing happens. Marcus’s face is turning purple, his struggles getting weaker.
Finally, slowly, Darius’s fingers loosen. Marcus drops to the floor, gasping and coughing, his hand clutching his throat.
Darius doesn’t look at him. Still blazing gold, his eyes are locked on mine, and his chest is heaving.
I hear footsteps in the corridor.
Darius’s old friend Ethan appears in the doorway, taking in the scene with one quick glance. Marcus on the floor. Darius trying to control himself. Me standing between them.
“I’ll take care of this,” Ethan says calmly, moving toward Marcus. “You two should go.”
I hesitate. “I need to—”
“I’ll get his statement and the security footage.” Ethan hauls Marcus to his feet with zero gentleness. “HR will have everything they need. Go.”
Darius’s hand wraps around my wrist gently despite the fury still running through him. “Come on.”
He pulls me out of the copy room, down the hall, and into an empty conference room. The door closes behind us with a soft click.
Then, he just stands there, breathing hard, the fingers of his free hand flexing at his side like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“I’m fine,” I say, pulling my wrist free. “I don’t need—”
“Show me your hands.”
“What?”
“Your hands.” His voice is rough. Controlled, but only barely. “Show me.”
“They’re fine.”
“Violet.” The urgency with which he says my name makes my breath catch. “Show me your hands. Now.”
I hold them out with a huff of annoyance. “See? I’m—”
He grabs them before I can finish, his grip light but firm. His eyes lock on the red marks on my palms where my nails dug in during the confrontation. Small crescents that are already starting to bruise.
His jaw clenches so hard, I hear his teeth grind.
“It’s nothing,” I say, trying to pull away. “They’ll heal in a few hours.”
He doesn’t let go. Just stares at the marks as if they’re burns instead of minor scrapes.
“Darius, I need to get back to work.”
“Sit.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sit down.” His eyes flash gold again. “On the table. Now.”
“I don’t take orders from—”
His hands fly to my waist, and before I can process what’s happening, he lifts me and sets me on the edge of the conference table.
My thighs part automatically as he steps between them, and heat floods through me at the contact. The scent of him intoxicates me like a drug. No cigarettes. Just him.
“Stay.” His voice drops to that alpha command tone that makes my spine straighten automatically.
Then, he’s gone.
I sit there, torn between anger and arousal and…something else I don’t understand. My body is betraying me, responding to his proximity, the dominance in his voice, the way he touches me.
The door opens again less than a minute later, and Darius returns with a first aid kit and a bottle of water.
“I can do this myself.”
He ignores me, opening the kit and pulling out antiseptic wipes. His hands are unsteady now.
“Darius—”
“Be quiet.”
My mouth snaps shut at the leashed violence in his tone.
He tears open a packet and takes my hand. His touch is impossibly tender despite the tremor running through his fingers. I can feel his pulse hammering where his thumb rests against my wrist.
The antiseptic wipe stings when it touches my broken skin. I don’t flinch.
He does. The wipe tears slightly in his grip.
“You’re shaking,” I say quietly.
His hands still for just a moment. Then, he continues without responding.
I contemplate his face as he works. The hard set of his jaw. The slight furrow of his brow. The way his eyes are fixed on my palm as if it’s the most important thing in the world.
He cleans away the small traces of blood and reaches for the antibacterial cream. As he carefully applies it to each mark, his hands finally begin to steady.
“Darius…”
“Don’t.” The word comes out harshly. “Just…don’t.”
I fall silent, watching as he finishes with one of my hands and moves to the other. The same careful movements. The same impossible gentleness from someone who just had another man by the throat.
When he’s done, he sets the supplies aside and takes hold of my hands. His thumbs trace over the bandages he has applied, so lightly that I barely feel it. But I do feel the warmth of his skin, the calluses on his palms, the way he can’t seem to let go.
“You need to be more careful,” he says finally, his voice tight.
“I was handling it.”
“I know.” His grip tightens slightly. “I know you were. But—” He cuts himself off, his jaw clenching again.
We stay there in silence. His hands holding mine.
Both of us breathing too hard. His body between my thighs, close enough that I can feel his heat, smell the change in his scent.
I notice everything. The way his chest rises and falls.
The pulse pounding in his throat. The gold still flickering in his eyes.
The evidence of how much he’s struggling to hold on.
He releases me abruptly and steps back, putting distance between us as if he can’t trust himself to stay close.
“Go back to your desk.” He won’t look at me. “I’ll handle HR.”
“I can—”
“Go, Violet.”
The dismissal stings more than it should.
I slide off the table and head for the door. My hands still tingle where he touched them, even through the bandages.
I pause in the doorway and glance at him one more time.
He’s standing with his back to me, his head bowed, his hands braced on the table. Fingers gripping the edge so hard, I’m surprised the wood doesn’t splinter.
I should say something. Thank you, maybe. Or ask if he’s okay.
But the words won’t come.
So, I leave.
Back at my desk, I try to focus on work. But all I can think about is the way Darius’s hands shook as he tended to mine. The way he couldn’t seem to stop touching me, even when he was clearly trying to maintain control.
And the way he smelled. It became different. Like he changed something fundamental about himself. For me.
My watch beeps: MEDICATION TIME. I dig the bottle out of my bag and swallow the pills dry. The familiar wave of sickness washes over me, but I barely register it this time.
When I look up, Darius is back in his office. Standing at his glass wall. His jaw is hard, but there’s a tension in his eyes when he looks away from me.