Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Violet
“Violet, we’ve landed.”
The distant, muffled voice pulls me from sleep. I’m groggy, my mind thick with confusion. Where am I?
The surface beneath me is soft but unfamiliar. Not my bed. The air smells different. Clean, expensive.
Right. Darius picked me up. We went to the airport. Have we landed in Miami already?
I force my eyelids open and freeze.
Familiar eyes are staring into mine, only inches away. Darius’s face is so close, I can see the faint stubble along his jaw, the flecks of gold in his irises. His breath mingles with mine.
My face burns hot, and I jerk back.
Before my head connects with the window, his hand shoots out, cupping the back of my skull and absorbing the impact.
“Careful,” he murmurs.
I scramble to sit upright, trying to compose myself. “I’m fine.”
He pulls away slowly, and I can still feel the warmth of his palm against my hair as we stand up and gather our things.
The warm Florida air hits us when we step off the plane. I blink against the humidity, so different from home. Darius guides me through the terminal with a hand at the small of my back, and even through my shirt, I feel the heat of his touch.
We collect our luggage at baggage claim. I have my carry-on and a small suitcase. Darius retrieves his expensive-looking black bag and wheels it alongside mine. Yawning, I ask, “Should we get a taxi?”
“No. There should be a car waiting for us.” Darius scans the arrivals area, and I nudge him.
“Over there.”
A man in a chauffeur’s uniform is holding a sign with the name Darius Moonvale printed on it.
He greets both of us when we approach him and leads us to a shiny, black sedan waiting outside.
The driver takes our bags, and within minutes, we’re gliding through the streets of Miami.
Palm trees line the roads, the city bright with Florida sunshine.
I yawn again, covering my mouth with my hand.
“Have you been to Miami before?” Darius asks.
“No. It’s my first time.” I glance at him. “Miami is a majority human city. Why hold the gala here?”
“Since different packs are participating, it’s a diplomatic setting. No one pack has a stronghold here. Neutral territory.”
That makes sense.
“I’ve been here a couple of times,” he says. “I’ll show you around while we’re here. Miami has a lot to offer. Humans are surprisingly creative when it comes to entertainment spaces.”
I know I should limit the time I spend with him, but his hand curls around mine, and all the fight leaves me. I don’t pull my hand away, muttering, “Fine. Do what you want.”
If I expected him to be put off by my tone, I’m sadly mistaken. He brushes his thumb against my knuckles, his voice quiet. “I intend to.”
The hotel looms into view, a tower of gleaming glass and art deco architecture. I step out of the car and crane my neck to take it all in.
“Fancy,” I say dryly.
Darius’s lips twitch. “I would hardly have you stay at some hole in the wall.”
He retrieves our bags, and we walk into a lobby full of marble floors and crystal chandeliers. The receptionist, a young woman with a professional smile, greets us.
“Good afternoon. Welcome to the Fontaine. How may I help you?”
“Reservation for Moonvale,” Darius says.
She types at her computer, and her smile falters slightly. “Ah, yes. Mr. Moonvale. I see the reservation here.” She pauses, glancing between us. “I’m terribly sorry, but there’s been an issue with your suite.”
My stomach drops.
“What kind of issue?” Darius asks, his tone cool.
“The air conditioning unit malfunctioned this morning. Maintenance is working on it, but that suite won’t be habitable for several days.” She types quickly. “However, we can move you to another one. I do apologize, but it only has one bed.”
“We need two beds or two rooms,” I say quickly.
“I’m sorry,” the woman says regretfully. “We don’t have anything else available. There are a few events happening in the city, and most of the hotels are fully booked.” Before I can say anything further, she picks up the phone. “Let me get the manager for you.”
A man in an immaculate suit appears within seconds, his smile apologetic. “I’m David Chen, the hotel manager. I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience. We’d be happy to comp your entire stay and provide complimentary room service.”
“We’ll take the available suite,” Darius says.
I whip my head toward him. “Wait—”
He gives me a look that makes the protest die in my throat. Later, his eyes say. We’ll discuss this later.
“Wonderful.” The manager’s relief is palpable. “I’ll have a bellhop bring up your bags immediately.”
I follow Darius to the elevator in silence, my mind racing. This can’t be happening. One bed. With Darius. For three nights.
“We have to find another hotel,” I say as soon as the elevator doors close.
“Everything good will be booked. Didn’t you hear her? It’d be a waste of time.”
“Then you can sleep on the couch. Or the floor.”
He looks at me, amused. “I’m not sleeping on the floor, Violet.”
“Okay, I will.”
“You’re not sleeping on the floor, either.” His tone leaves no room for discussion.
I want to argue, but I know it’s pointless. He’s not going to budge, and honestly? The suite probably has a couch big enough that it won’t be an issue.
Except, I know it will be an issue. Because even if we’re not sleeping in the same bed, I’ll still feel him there.
“This is altogether too convenient,” I mutter.
“Do you think I somehow orchestrated this whole thing?” Amusement colors his tone as he swipes the key card and opens the door. “Broke the air conditioner myself?”
I storm into the suite. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Soft, genuine laughter follows behind me. The sound makes my stomach flip and sends warmth throughout my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut against it.
When I open them, I see that there is no couch. Nothing else to sleep on at all. I head straight for the bathroom, grabbing every towel I can find. The bed is huge, covered in pristine white linens, and I start rolling the towels into thick logs.
“What are you doing?” Darius asks.
“Creating boundaries.” I place the rolled towels down the center of the bed in a neat line. “That’s your side. This is mine.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, and I try not to notice the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders. “This is childish.”
I glare at him. “Nothing is going to happen between us, Darius. We’ve already crossed too many lines.”
He moves so fast I barely have time to gasp. His strong hands grip my shoulders and push me down onto the bed, and then he’s over me, trapping me there. His face hovers inches from mine.
“Which lines?” he murmurs. Lips brush my neck, the touch feather light. “This one?”
I shiver, my hands gripping the duvet beneath me.
He trails kisses along my jaw. “This one?”
“Darius…” My voice comes out breathy, desperate.
Fingers slide down my side, tracing the curve of my waist, my hip. “Or this one?”
I moan, arching into his touch before I can stop myself. Heat pools low in my belly, my body betraying every rational thought in my head.
No. This is exactly what I said would not happen.
In a burst of clarity, I grab one of the pillows and swing it at his head.
He stops, surprise flickering across his face as I shove him in the chest. He’s much stronger than me, but he lets me roll him over, lets me pin him down against the mattress.
He looks up at me, amused. Indulgent.
“You are going to behave yourself,” I say, breathing hard. “Keep your hands off me. This is getting dangerous.”
I’m straddling him, and I can feel him hard beneath me, pressing against my core. I jump off the bed, putting distance between us.
“I mean it,” I say, but my voice wavers.
Slowly, he sits up, watching me. Then, he reaches out, takes my hand, and pulls me toward him, circling my waist with both arms. Resting his chin against my stomach, he looks up at me.
“Nobody knows who we are here,” he says quietly. “And the gala is a masquerade ball.”
My fingers thread through his hair of their own accord. “This can’t go on, Darius.”
But even as I say it, I’m touching him. Even as I say it, my body is leaning into his.
He doesn’t reply, just buries his face against my stomach. I feel something twist painfully in my chest. Something that feels dangerously like longing.
A sharp knock on the door jerks me back to the present. I pull away from Darius, my heart hammering. “I’ll get it.”
He releases me slowly, fingers trailing across my side. The loss of his touch makes me ache.
My whole body feels electric, alive in a way that terrifies me. I smooth down my clothes and try to steady my breathing as I cross to the door.
When I open it, a hotel attendant stands in the hallway with a luggage cart holding our bags.
“Your bags, miss.”
“Thank you.” I step aside to let him wheel it in.
Darius stands by the window now, hands in his pockets, looking out at the beach. He doesn’t turn around.
The attendant leaves, and silence fills the room.
“I’m going to shower,” I say.
“Alright.”
I grab my suitcase and flee to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I lean back against it, closing my eyes.
What am I doing?
Every time I’m near him, I lose myself. Every time I say it has to stop, I find myself pulled back in. The way he looks at me, touches me, speaks to me when we’re alone—it’s addictive.
I turn on the shower, letting the water heat up while I undress. My skin still tingles where he touched me. Where his lips brushed my neck.
The steam fills the bathroom as I step under the spray. The hot water cascades over me, but it doesn’t wash away the confusion, the desire, or the fear tangled up inside me.
Darius is breaking down every wall I’ve built, and I don’t know how to stop him. I don’t know if I want to stop him.
That’s what scares me most.
When I finally emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy hotel robe with my hair damp, Darius is lounging on his side of the bed. The towel barrier is still in place.
He glances up at me. “Better?”