Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Darius
This has to be a dream.
Violet is under me, her cries wanton as I push inside her.
I can tell she’s a virgin even though females of our kind don’t have hymens.
I push inside inch by inch, letting her get used to me.
She’s so damn wet that it’s torture to take it this slowly.
She gasps out my name, her hands gripping the armrest of the couch.
I bottom out in her, and her head falls forward, a broken groan spilling from her.
“Oh God, Darius, you’re so big.”
Her words send a bolt of possessive satisfaction through me. I am big. And she’s taking every inch.
Gradually, I begin to move, and her reaction is visceral. Small, needy sounds spill from her mouth.
I stroke her hair back. “Are you okay?”
She nods frantically, whining, “Yes. Keep going, Darius!”
My lips curve in a grin. “Like this?”
I pull out till just my tip is inside and then slam back into her.
A high-pitched cry leaves her mouth, and the sound almost pushes me over the edge.
I want more of those cries. I pound into her, and the way she begs for more, the way my name sounds on her lips—it drives me insane.
She tightens around me, but I am nowhere near done.
Her fingers dig into the couch fabric as her orgasm washes over her.
I fuck her through it, needing it, wanting it all.
My release builds, and with a guttural growl, I release into her. That triggers another one for her, and I breathe her name as she clenches my cock, milking it.
After a few seconds, I pull out slowly. She slumps forward, panting and limp, her body trembling with aftershocks.
I collapse on top of her before shifting to one side so she doesn’t have to bear my full weight.
When I turn her chin to look at her, she won’t meet my eyes.
Her face is flushed, her hair a mess, and there’s a vulnerable quality in the way she’s breathing.
“Stay here,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before easing off the couch.
She makes a small noise but doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at me.
I grab a towel from the bathroom and run it under warm water. When I return, she’s exactly where I left her—face down on the couch, naked, her torn jeans in a pile on the floor.
“Violet.” I kneel beside the couch, my hand resting lightly on her hip. “Let me clean you up.”
She tenses, her fingers clutching the cushion tighter. “I can—”
“Let me.” My voice is firm but soft.
She eases her grip slightly, and I take that as permission.
I’m gentle as I wipe between her thighs, cleaning away the evidence of what we’ve done. She flinches at first, then slowly relaxes under my touch. There’s a little blood on the towel when I pull it away, and the primal half of me roars with satisfaction.
I knew it. I was her first.
“Are you hurt?” I ask quietly.
She shakes her head but still won’t look at me.
I toss the towel aside and scoop her up into my arms before she can protest.
“Darius…” Her voice is small, uncertain.
“Bedroom,” I say simply, carrying her down the hallway.
She doesn’t fight me. Just tucks her face against my shoulder, her body still trembling slightly. Whether from cold or shock or something else, I can’t tell.
I lay her down on my bed and pull the blanket over her. She immediately curls onto her side, wrapping the blanket around herself like armor.
I climb in behind her, pressing my chest against her back. She’s rigid at first, but slowly, gradually, she melts into me.
For a few perfect minutes, the world is quiet. Peaceful.
Her breaths even out. The trembling stops. I run my fingers through her hair and press kisses to her shoulder, her neck.
She makes another soft sound—not quite one of content, but not of distress, either.
Then, I feel it: the moment reality hits her.
Her body goes stiff in my arms. Her breathing hitches, turning shallow and quick.
“Violet—”
“What did we do?” Her voice breaks as she tries to pull away. “Oh God, Darius, what have we done?”
The panic in her voice makes my chest tighten. She starts trembling again, more violently now, her hands clutching at the blanket.
“Hey.” I tighten my hold on her, refusing to let her retreat. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay! We’re siblings. Stepsiblings, but still…Your father, my mother—”
“Breathe,” I command, rolling her onto her back beside me. She’s shaking, and her face has gone pale. “Look at me and breathe.”
But she’s spiraling, her eyes wild with fear and confusion.
I should feel guilty. Should regret every second of what just happened between us.
But as I pull her into my arms and feel her heart pounding against mine, I can’t find it in myself to care that I have quite possibly ruined everything.
She’s mine. She has always been mine.
And I just claimed her in the most fundamental way possible.
“Listen to me.” I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. “We’re not blood related. You know that.”
“The pack won’t see it that way.” Her voice drops to a whisper, raw and terrified. “Your father won’t see it that way. My mother…God, my mother will kill me.”
Silence falls over the room, heavy with the weight of what we’ve done.
“You know I’m right,” she whispers eventually.
Then, gold flickers in her eyes. Just for a second. A brief spark that makes my wolf surge forward with recognition.
“Violet.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. “Your wolf.”
She blinks, and the gold vanishes. Her eyes return to their normal hazel, confusion replacing the brief glimpse of her animal.
“What?”
“Your eyes. They flashed gold.” I search her face, my heart racing. “Your wolf. I saw her.”
“I don’t have a wolf.” But her voice wavers, sounding uncertain.
She has never been uncertain about this before. In all the years I’ve known her, she has always spoken about her absent wolf with resigned acceptance. Never with any kind of hesitation.
“What’s going on?” I demand.
Her hand moves to her chest, pressing flat against her sternum before her fingers curl into the blanket again. “When we were together, I…felt something.”
I take a deep breath. “What kind of something?”
“It was inside me.” Her voice cracks. “Like something was trying to…I don’t know how to explain it.” She looks up at me, her eyes wide and perplexed. “My chest felt different. Not exactly tight, but…fuller. Like there was a living thing in there.”
My heart pounds so hard I’m sure she can hear it. “Living?”
She nods, her fist still pressed to her chest. “I’ve never felt anything like it before. Except when we first kissed.” A tremor runs through her. “Do you think—Could it be…”
She can’t even say it. Can’t let herself hope.
“Your wolf,” I finish for her, my voice rough with emotion.
She stares at me, and I see a flicker of hope so fragile, it could shatter with a breath. “But I don’t have a wolf. I’ve never had one, for as long as I can remember.”
“You do have one, Violet. She’s just been dormant.” I cup her face, forcing her to hold my gaze. “But I saw her. Just now. Your eyes—they flashed gold.”
“Gold?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“Only for a second. But she was there.” My thumb strokes her cheek. “Your wolf is inside you. And she’s waking up for the first time.”
My mind races.
Violet’s wolf has been dormant for as long as I’ve known her. It’s not unusual; some shifters are simply born with dormant wolves. And traumatic events can cause wolves to retreat so deep that they never resurface.
When my father brought Violet and her mother home all those years ago, he told me that Violet’s father and brother had died in an attack on their pack. But he never divulged which pack or what had happened, and I never tried to find out.
But now, I wonder.
Did the trauma of that attack shock her wolf into dormancy? Is that why she has never shifted? Why her scent barely hints at the presence of her wolf?
I don’t voice my concerns. Not now. Not when she’s already trembling with fear over what we just did.
Instead, I press a kiss to her forehead. “We should keep what happened tonight between us.”
She nods immediately. And vigorously.
It pisses me off more than it should.
I pinch her cheek—not hard, but enough to make her focus on me. “Why’d you agree so quickly?”
She slaps my hand away. “Because I fear the same thing as you.” She tries to sit up, pulling away from me. “Besides, this is just a one-time thing, so—”
I yank her back down, cutting off her words.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My voice drops to a growl as I roll on top of her, surrounding her with my body.
She stares up at me, her pulse jumping in her throat. “Darius…”
“One time?” I lean down until our faces are only an inch apart. “You think I’m letting you go after this?”
“We can’t—”
“I’m just getting started, Violet.”
Her eyes go wide, her breath catching.
And before she can protest again, I capture her mouth with mine.
When she sighs into the kiss, her arms winding around my neck, I know I’m headed down a road of no return.
I wake up on my back, the soft, gray light of dawn filtering through my curtains. For a moment, I’m disoriented by the weight of something next to me. Then, I smell her scent on my sheets, and I remember everything.
Violet.
I turn my head slowly, not wanting to wake her, and just…look.
She’s sprawled across the other side of my bed like she owns it, face down, one arm thrown above her head, the other tucked beneath her cheek. Her dark hair fans across my pillow, wild and tangled from my hands. The sheet has slipped down to her waist, revealing the pale expanse of her back.
And the marks. My marks.
They’re everywhere. Dark bruises on her back where I gripped her tightly. Bite marks—not deep enough to break skin, but visible enough to stake my claim. Scratches from my fingers digging into her hips. Evidence of every desperate moment we shared throughout the night.
She’s mine. All mine. But there is one mark missing.