Chapter 13 #2
“It’s good.” I smooth my napkin across my lap, avoiding his gaze. “I got used to my privacy overseas, so I like the silence.”
My mother sounds offended when she says, “There was nothing lacking here in the main house.”
“Lillian.” Alaric’s voice is firm, a warning.
She falls silent immediately, her jaw tight.
I focus on my empty plate, counting the seconds until this dinner is over.
“I hear you were quite outstanding at the training yesterday,” Alaric says. His tone is conversational, but there’s more underneath it. It makes my skin prickle.
My head whips up. My eyes dart toward my mother, who has gone completely rigid in her seat, her jaw clenched.
“I—” I swallow, my mind racing. “I learned a few fighting techniques to protect myself. Nothing remarkable.”
Zion leans forward, his elbows on the table now, grin widening. “I heard differently. Seems you’re really good at hand-to-hand combat.” His eyes gleam with curiosity. “Where did you learn it? I thought you went away to college. Don’t tell me human universities offer classes in unarmed fighting?”
My throat tightens. “Paris isn’t very safe. I took self-defense classes.”
The lie tastes bitter. Six years of intensive training reduced to “self-defense classes.” But what else can I say? That I learned to fight because being weak in this world gets you hurt? Gets you used?
“How was your mission, Zion?” My mother’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and desperate. “You’ve been gone for a few months now.”
Zion shrugs, leaning back again. “Boring. Diplomatic bullshit. I’m much happier to be back.”
Suddenly, every nerve in my body goes on high alert. I don’t need to turn around to know who has just entered the room. I feel him. I always feel the way the air changes when Darius is nearby, like gravity shifts and everything tilts toward him.
His footsteps are quiet as he moves to the chair beside mine.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, his voice smooth and controlled. “Had to deal with some things.”
He sits. His leg brushes mine under the table, and heat floods through me so fast that I have to grip my napkin in my lap to keep from reacting.
I can’t look at him. Can’t let anyone see what happened between us written all over my face.
Conversation flows around us. My mother asks Zion about his mission in more detail. Alaric discusses pack business with Darius. I focus on my plate when the food arrives, cutting my chicken into precise pieces and chewing mechanically.
I’m acutely aware of every breath Darius takes. Every slight movement. The heat of his body beside mine.
“So, Violet.” I look up to find Zion watching me, that mocking grin still on his face. “I heard you’ve managed to get Ryker interested in you.”
The words hang in the air like a challenge. My stomach drops.
“Interesting way to make a name for yourself,” Zion continues, his tone dripping with condescension. “So, what’s your plan? You want to be another notch on his bedpost?”
Darius’s hand lands on my leg.
I freeze.
His palm is hot against my thigh, his fingers curling around the inside of my leg, inching closer to my inner thigh. The touch isn’t gentle or seductive. It’s possessive. Claiming.
I grab his hand under the table, trying to push it away, but my strength is nothing compared to his. His grip tightens.
“Watch your mouth, Zion.” Darius’s voice is low, dangerous. A growl rumbles beneath the words.
Zion holds up his hands, feigning innocence. “What? Everybody’s talking about it. It’s the first thing I heard when I got back. That our little stepsister is working so hard to seduce the alpha heir of the Ravenhood Pack.”
“I’m not doing anything of the sort.” My voice comes out sharp. “He harassed me!”
My mother’s fork clatters against her plate. “You had no business taking part in that training competition. That was for shifters. You are anything but.”
The words hit me like one of her slaps.
I tighten my jaw, forcing myself to breathe through the anger building in my chest. “It was a company event. I was required to participate.”
“You could have said no.” Her voice is cold, clipped.
“In case you haven’t heard, I’m not exactly weak.” I lean forward, meeting her glare with one of my own. “And Ryker was groping me!”
Alaric sets down his fork with deliberate precision. “Darius still had no reason to interfere and mess with our alliance.”
Something inside me snaps. I push my chair back and stand abruptly, my hands flat on the table. Everyone goes silent.
“So, what would you have had me do?” I look my stepfather in the eye, refusing to back down. “Let him do whatever he wanted with me? At what point was I supposed to ask for help? After he had already violated me? Or was I supposed to tolerate that, as well?”
“Violet!” My mother spits out my name, horrified.
Alaric’s expression is tight with anger.
I lean forward, my voice dropping to a hiss. “Your son stepped in and protected his stepsister from being assaulted by another pack’s alpha heir. Next time, go ahead and tell Ryker’s pack that your pack’s females are fair game.”
My mother stands and strides over to me so fast, her chair almost tips over.
The slap reverberates through the dining room.
My head snaps to the side, my cheek burning. For a moment, I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
Darius is on his feet instantly, a growl ripping from his throat. But I hold up my hand, stopping him.
I turn back to my mother, feeling the sting on my cheek, tasting blood where my teeth bit into my lip.
“You can hit me again if it makes you feel better.” My voice is steady, cold.
“But the next time a man touches me against my will, I will rip off his balls. And I don’t care which pack he belongs to.
” I grab my purse from the back of my chair.
“I’m going home.” I glance at Zion, who’s watching the scene with wide eyes. “Welcome back, Zion.”
And I storm out.
Behind me, I hear chairs scraping, voices rising, but I don’t stop. I push through the front door and into the cool night air, my chest heaving.
James beats me to my car and opens the door for me. He is trying to keep his expression neutral, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes.
“Miss Violet.”
“Thank you, James.”
I slide into the driver’s seat and close the door. My hands shake as I start the engine. Through the windshield, I see the front door open. Darius steps out, and his eyes lock on mine.
I throw the car into reverse before he can reach me.
I can’t deal with him right now. Can’t deal with the way he looks at me like I’m something worth protecting when his own father thinks I should have let Ryker do whatever he wanted to me. When my own mother thinks I’m an embarrassment.
The tires crunch on the gravel as I speed down the driveway, not looking back. My chest feels tight, like I can’t get enough air. But I don’t cry. I won’t give them that.
Not anymore.
The main house has disappeared behind me, but I can still feel my mother’s slap burning on my cheek. Still hear Alaric’s cold dismissal. Still see the way they all looked at me like I was a useless thing they wished they didn’t have to deal with.
A red light forces me to stop. A neon sign across the street flickers: Moonshadow Spirits. A shifter liquor store, judging by the wolf emblem glowing above the door.
I should go home. Should be responsible. Should not make stupid decisions when I’m this angry.
But screw that.
I park haphazardly and storm into the store. The clerk, a grizzled, older wolf with silver streaking his hair, barely glances up from his magazine.
“ID,” he grunts.
I slap my license on the counter and point at the bottles behind him. The ones with the highest alcohol content. The kind made specifically for shifter metabolisms.
“Three of those.”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “Rough night?”
“You have no idea.”
He doesn’t ask any more questions. Just bags the bottles and takes my credit card. Within minutes, I’m back in my car with enough alcohol to knock out a small pack.
Perfect.
The drive home passes in a haze. I barely remember parking or taking the elevator up. The penthouse door clicks shut behind me, and Cinnamon launches herself at my legs, tail wagging frantically.
I drop to my knees and wrap my arms around her, burying my face in her soft fur. She whines and licks my face, sensing something is wrong.
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “I’m okay.”
But I’m not.
I grab a glass from the kitchen and pour until amber liquid fills it halfway. I lift it to my lips and drain it in one long swallow. Fire burns down my throat, scorching everything in its path. I gasp, eyes watering, and immediately pour another.
The second glass goes down easier. By the third, warmth spreads through my limbs, and everything starts to feel softer. Lighter. The edges of my anger blur into an almost pleasant sensation.
I stumble to the couch and collapse onto the cushions, giggling at nothing.
Cinnamon jumps up beside me, her head tilting as she studies my face. Her paws knead my stomach, and I stroke her ears, the alcohol making everything feel distant and floaty.
“I’m not going to break down,” I tell her, my words slightly slurred. “I don’t care what they think. I don’t care about any of them.”
Cinnamon whines.
“We’re going to run away.” The words tumble out. “Yeah. We’ll sell all this fancy furniture, and we’ll just go. Somewhere far away. Somewhere no one knows us. Somewhere no one can mock us or hit us or tell us we’re not good enough.”
I lift my glass again, but it’s empty. When did that happen?
I reach for the bottle and pour more, the alcohol sloshing over the rim. Some spills on my shirt, and I laugh at it.
“You know what?” I look at Cinnamon. Really look at her. “You’re cute. I bet no one mocks you. I bet everyone thinks you’re perfect just the way you are.”
I lift her up, holding her in front of my face. She wags her tail, tongue lolling.
“Do you want to come with me?” I sway slightly in my seat, grinning. “Or do you want to stay with Emma? She’s nice. She’d take good care of you. Better than I can, probably.”
Cinnamon leans forward and licks my nose.
A grin spreads across my face, wide and slightly manic. “Of course you want to come with me. We’ll go on the run together, you and me. Live in cheap motels. I can pick up side gigs to feed us. It’ll be an adventure.”
A sharp knock echoes through the penthouse. I blink at the door, confused. Who would visit at this time of night?
I set Cinnamon down and stumble to my feet, the room spinning slightly as I weave my way toward the door. I don’t bother checking the peephole. Just yank it open.
Darius stands in the hallway, still in his dinner clothes, his tie loosened.
My nose wrinkles. “Oh. It’s you. Go away.”
I try to slam the door, but his hand shoots out, stopping it.
“Are you drunk?”
“None of your damn business.”
I turn to walk away but my foot catches on nothing, and I stumble. Strong arms catch me before I hit the floor, pulling me against a solid chest.
“Violet—”
“I said, go away.” I push at him, but my hands are clumsy, uncoordinated.
He guides me backward into the apartment, kicking the door shut with his foot. “Come on. You barely ate anything at dinner. You can’t be drinking like this.”
His face goes pale when he sees the open bottles on the coffee table. The empty glass.
“This is very potent alcohol.”
“So what?” I wrench free from his grip and drop back onto the couch, picking up the glass and looking up at him with a lazy smile. “What do you want?”
He takes the glass from my hand before I can stop him, setting it back precisely where it was. “Why are you drinking?”
I tilt my head at him, my words light despite the subject. “Would you rather I cry and bemoan the fact that I am so unloved and unwanted? No, thank you.” I reach for a bottle and bring it to my lips. The alcohol burns, but I don’t care. “I’d rather get drunk.”
Darius snatches the bottle away, his jaw tight. He sits beside me, close enough that his heat seeps into my side.
“You are not unloved or unwanted.”
I laugh, the sound bitter but airy. “Oh? Who loves me, then? My mother?”
He opens his mouth.
“She can’t even tolerate me,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. “She looks at me like I’m a stain she can’t wash out. Like I’m this constant reminder of her first marriage, this weak little thing that never ceases to embarrass her.”
“There are other people,” Darius says, the words strangled.
A reckless urge races through me.
I turn toward him on the couch, trying to throw my leg over his lap.
The movement is awkward, not exactly graceful, and I nearly topple sideways.
He catches me automatically, his hands gripping my waist, and I use his hold as leverage to clamber into his lap properly.
My fingers twist his tie, pulling his face close to mine.
“Who, Darius?” I ask, annoyed and eager to get a rise out of him. “Is it you? Do you love me?”
He swallows hard and blinks at me. His hands hover at my hips, not quite touching.
“What if I say yes?”
My whole world goes still at those whispered words.