Chapter 19 #2
“Everything has strings with you, Darius.” I meet his eyes, letting him see the devastation he has caused. “The touches, the words, the moments. All of it was conditional. Dependent on me not knowing the truth. On me staying in the dark where you wanted me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what? The truth? Knowledge? The ability to make my own choices?” I shake my head. “You weren’t protecting me; you were protecting yourself. Because as long as I didn’t know, you didn’t have to face what you were doing. You didn’t have to acknowledge that you were hurting your mate.”
He hangs his head.
“You thought my ignorance made it easier, didn’t you?”
His silence is answer enough.
“Say it,” I demand. “Tell me you thought it would be easier to keep lying to me because I couldn’t feel the mate bond.”
“I—” He closes his eyes briefly. “I thought it would hurt less. For both of us. If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t feel rejected when I couldn’t claim you publicly. You wouldn’t have to carry that pain.”
“So, you decided to carry it alone? How noble.” My tone drips with venom. “Except you weren’t alone, were you? You had your wolf. You had the bond singing in your veins, telling you I was yours. Meanwhile, I had nothing. Just the certainty that something was fundamentally wrong with me.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice cracks. “Violet, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“But you did.” I look down at the jewelry scattered at his feet, glinting in the moonlight like fallen stars. “And the worst part is, you were going to keep doing it. When exactly did you plan to sit me down and say ‘oh, by the way, you’re my fated mate, but I choose the pack over you’?”
He has no answer. Of course he doesn’t.
“I don’t need a mate like you. At least Ryker wants to claim me publicly. At least he’s not ashamed of being seen with me.”
The change in Darius is instantaneous. His eyes flash gold, his wolf surging to the surface. A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, low and threatening enough that the hair on my arms stands up.
“Ryker,” he snarls the name, “will never touch you again.”
“You don’t get to decide that.” I step closer to him, refusing to back down even when his wolf is right there, visible in every line of his body. “You lost that right when you kept me in the dark.”
“He doesn’t deserve you.”
“And you do?” The question leaves Darius with his mouth hanging open. “At least Ryker sees me as someone worth being with. At least he’s willing to tell people we’re together. That’s more than I can say for you.”
“Because we’re stepsiblings!” he yells.
“We’re not blood related!” I shout back. “We have no shared DNA. The only thing that makes us family is a piece of paper our parents signed. But that’s enough for you, isn’t it? Enough to keep you from claiming your mate. Enough to make you ashamed of what we are to each other.”
“I’m not ashamed.”
“You are. You’re ashamed of us. You’re ashamed of wanting me, of needing me, of being bound to me by fate.”
His gaze fixes on me, his chest heaving.
“If you had told me when I came back from Europe, if you had been honest from the start, I like to think I would have understood.” My voice breaks despite my best efforts.
“I would have understood why we couldn’t be together publicly.
I would have accepted what you told me because it would have come from a place of honesty.
But you didn’t give me the chance. You decided to lie to me, leaving me drowning in confusion and self-hatred. ”
He reaches for me. “Violet—”
“Do not touch me.” I step back, putting distance between us. “You don’t get to touch me anymore. You don’t get to hold me or kiss me or fuck me ever again. You don’t get any of it.”
“You’re my mate.”
“No.” The word is final, absolute. “I’m not. Because a mate is someone you choose, someone you claim, someone you’re willing to fight for. You chose your position over me.”
“The pack needs me.”
“I needed you, too.” The admission costs me, but I force it out anyway. “I needed honesty. I needed respect. I needed you to give me a choice. And you couldn’t even do that.”
I look over my shoulder toward the hotel, the warm lights spilling from the ballroom windows. The gala is still going on. People are still dancing, drinking, laughing. The world hasn’t stopped just because mine has shattered.
I turn and take a step toward the lights.
His hand clamps around my upper arm, stopping me. “Where are you going? We’re still talking about this.”
“There’s nothing left to talk about.” I pull against his grip, but his fingers tighten.
“Like hell there isn’t. You’re my—”
“Don’t.” I yank my arm free, stepping out of his reach. “You’re right. We’re stepsiblings. This isn’t appropriate. It never was.”
Panic flickers in his eyes.
“I’m done with you, Darius. I don’t want anything from you. Not these clothes, not the apartment.” I meet his gaze, forcing myself to hold it even though it hurts. “And certainly not you in my bed.”
“No!” Both his hands catch me this time, pulling me toward him. His grip is desperate, almost too rough. “You’re my fated mate. You can’t just—”
“Will you give me the mating mark?” I ask, my voice like ice. “Will you tell the whole pack we’re together? Will you stand in front of your father, in front of everyone, and claim me as yours?”
His mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
I’m trembling now. My whole body vibrates with both rage and heartbreak.
I take a breath. Hold it. Let it out slowly.
The mate bond pulses between us. It’s weak on my end, but I can feel it now. Like a thread connecting us, fragile and fraying.
“I reject you, Darius.” The words fall into the space between us like stones into still water. “I reject you as my mate.” There’s a snap. I feel it in my chest: a sharp pain, like a bone breaking. My knees buckle, but I lock them, refusing to fall. “So, stay the hell away from me from now on.”
I turn and walk away. Each step is agony. Something inside me is screaming to go back, but I ignore it. I won’t let myself hope anymore.
Behind me, I hear a howl. It’s raw and broken, filled with such anguish that pain lances through my chest, sharp and visceral, like someone is carving out my heart with a dull knife.
But the wounds Darius has given me hurt worse.
I keep walking. Back through the garden, across the terrace, into the hotel. People glance at me as I pass. I must look like a mess. Mask gone, makeup smudged, hands shaking, barefoot in a designer dress.
I make it to the lobby and walk straight to the concierge desk.
“I need a taxi,” I tell the woman behind the counter.
“Of course, miss. Right away.” She picks up the phone, makes the call. Her eyes take in my appearance, but she doesn’t comment. “It will be here in five minutes.”
“Thank you.”
The drive back to our hotel is short. I watch the city blur past the window, not really seeing it.
I walk inside. Take the elevator up to our floor. Walk down the hallway to the room. My key card works on the first try for once. I step inside, and the door swings shut behind me with a soft thud.
My heart sinks as I look around.
The suitcase open on the luggage rack. The garment bags hanging in the closet. The designer shoes lined up at the foot of the bed like soldiers.
Everything is dirty here. Tainted with his intentions for me.
I move through the room mechanically. The dress I’m wearing right now: his. The one draped over the chair for the dinner tomorrow: his. The shoes: his. Even the makeup bag full of expensive products from the spa that I never would have bought for myself.
I don’t want any of it.
My hands shake as I find my carry-on bag. I dump the contents out onto the bed and sort through it.
Laptop: mine. Phone charger: mine. The novel I brought to read on the plane: mine. The silk blouse and tailored pants I wore on the flight here: mine. My comfortable flats, the ones I’ve had for two years: I bought these before he started his campaign of gifts and guilt.
That’s it. That’s all that’s really mine.
I strip off the red dress, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. I pull on my blouse and pants, buttoning them with shaking fingers. Slip my feet into the flats. My own clothes feel like armor.
I zip up my carry-on and look around one more time at the disaster I’m leaving behind. The expensive dresses. The shoes. The jewelry is not here, probably still lying in the grass where I threw it Darius.
Let him deal with all of it. Let him see what I left behind and understand what it means.
I pick up the phone and dial.
“Concierge desk, how may I help you?”
“I need a taxi to the airport.” My voice sounds flat. Dead. “Violet Moonvale.”
“Of course, miss. Right away.”
I hang up. Clean up my face in the bathroom. Sling my carry-on over my shoulder and walk out.
I don’t look back. I let the door slam shut behind me.
The taxi is idling at the curb when I reach the lobby. I slide into the back seat and tell the driver to take me to the airport. On my phone, I book the first flight home. It leaves in an hour.
I see I have three missed calls from Darius. Two text messages. I delete them without reading them and turn off my phone.
When they call my section, I board the plane, find my seat by a window, buckle in, and gaze at the darkness outside.
The plane fills up around me. A businessman takes the aisle seat. The middle stays empty.
The engines roar to life. We taxi down the runway. And then, we’re airborne.
I press my forehead against the cool glass and watch Miami disappear below me, swallowed by clouds and night.
Somewhere down there, maybe Darius is still at the gala.
Or maybe he went back to our hotel. Maybe he has realized that I’ve left.
Maybe he’s standing in that room surrounded by all the things he bought me, finally understanding what I meant.
Maybe he’s relieved.
I close my eyes and try not to think about the howl I heard in the garden.
It doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore.
Because I rejected him first, and that’s the one thing I’ll never take back.