Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Darius
The sun shines on the estate as I pull up to the main house, its white columns stark against manicured lawns that extend like a challenge. Eighteen hours since I got back to Moonvale, and still nothing. No scent trail, no sightings, no whisper of where Violet has gone.
The beast inside me claws and snarls, desperate and half-feral.
I push through the front doors without knocking. The foyer smells like lilies and furniture polish, sterile and unwelcoming.
“Well, well.” The voice drifts from the living room. “Look what wandered in.”
Zion sprawls across the leather sofa like he owns it, with one leg hooked over the armrest and a glass of something amber in his hand. Even at two in the afternoon.
The scent of sex clings to him. Recent. Still fresh. And there’s a flash of lace peeking from his pocket, red silk that catches the light.
“What are you doing here?” I frown. “Shouldn’t you be at the office?”
He raises the glass in mock salute. “It’s my home.”
My gaze drops to the panties again. A trophy. Like he’s some kind of conquering hero instead of a predator who can’t keep his dick in his pants.
He catches me looking and grins, slowly and smugly. “Got a problem, little brother?”
The emphasis on “little” grates my nerves. It always does. Never mind that I’m taller and broader than him now or that I’ve actually accomplished something while he continues to coast on our father’s name.
I move further into the room, scanning for any sign that Violet has been here. Her scent should linger if she has, but there’s no sign of her. Just Zion’s cologne and his alcohol and the faint trace of our father’s dominance saturating the walls.
Zion watches me over the rim of his glass. “Looking for something?”
“Have you seen Violet?”
The grin spreads across his face. “Our baby sister?” He draws out the words like they’re taffy. “She hasn’t been here. Why? Did you lose her?”
My hands curl into fists. He’s lucky I don’t cross the room, grab him by the throat, make him tell me everything he knows. But Zion doesn’t know anything; he’s just baiting me. Because that’s what he does.
I force my hands to relax. “Where’s Father?”
“Talking to Lillian.” He swirls his drink, ice clinking against crystal. “They’re probably holed up discussing mating terms and conditions with the Ravenhood Pack. Apparently Violet’s mother is not the only one who knows how to trap a man. Violet is going to get her claws in Ryker after all.”
My jaw tightens. “Violet isn’t going to mate with that bastard. And don’t speak of her like that.” The words come out sharper than I thought they would.
Zion’s eyebrows climb. “Why do you care?”
I open my mouth. Snap it shut. Because there’s no answer I can give that won’t make everything worse.
My older brother wasn’t always like this.
When I was young, I idolized him. But when my mother—the woman who had protected him from the pack’s whispers about his illegitimate birth—died, something in Zion broke.
Now, he’s bitter where he used to be bold.
Cruel where he used to be kind. He handles tasks for Father when it suits him, but mostly he chases women and bottles, leaving messes for others to clean up.
His reputation is notorious. The way he pushes boundaries, doesn’t ask permission, uses his status to take what he wants. Father turns a blind eye. He always has.
It’s one of the reasons I know Zion would never make a good alpha. A good alpha protects. Controls himself first before he controls anything else. Zion can’t even manage that.
“Forget it.” I turn toward the stairs.
“Good luck with that.”
I ignore him and head for Violet’s room.
The third-floor hallway stretches before me, quiet and still. I’m halfway to her door when James appears, clipboard in hand, giving instructions to a young maid carrying fresh towels.
“Mr. Darius.” He dismisses the maid with a nod and turns to me. “Is the Alpha expecting you?”
“Has Violet been here? At all in the last two days?”
Concern flashes across his face. “No, sir. I have not seen Miss Violet for some time. Is everything alright?”
The words settle in my chest like stones. “I’ll ask Lillian, then.”
“Sir.” James steps forward, his voice dropping low. “Perhaps that’s not wise.”
I study him. “Why?”
He glances down the hallway, checking for eavesdroppers. “The Alpha did not tell the Madam that he sent Miss Violet with you to the gala in Miami.”
My blood goes cold. “What?”
“The Madam has been quite vocal about her disapproval of you spending time with her daughter.” Genuine worry darkens his eyes. “I’m afraid the Madam will take it out on Miss Violet when she discovers the Alpha mandated she accompany you.”
Of course she will.
I want to confront her anyway. But James is right. If Lillian finds out now, before I’ve even located Violet, it’ll only make things worse for her.
“Fine.” I sigh heavily. “Call me if she comes to the house.”
“Of course, sir.”
I leave the estate feeling more lost than when I arrived.
The drive back to my place passes in a blur. I have to find her, protect her, bring her home.
My phone buzzes just as I pull into the garage. Ethan’s name flashes on the screen.
I don’t bother with pleasantries. “Tell me you found her.”
“No luck.” His frustration bleeds through the line. “But I’ve got her name and picture at every transport hub. Planes, trains, buses. If she tries to leave the territory, we’ll know within minutes.”
It’s better than nothing.
“I’m heading to the massacre site tomorrow,” I say. “Meeting with the other pack alphas and their investigative teams.”
“You sure that’s a good idea? With Violet missing?”
“I need to wrap up the hybrid issue before I leave the pack.” Before everything falls apart completely. “Tell me the minute you locate her.”
“You know I will.”
The line goes dead.
I sit in my car, the engine ticking as it cools, and let my head fall back against the seat. My hands find my face, fingers digging into my temples.
“Where are you, Violet?” The words come out broken, barely more than a whisper.
The beast inside me howls, a sound of pure anguish. We’ve lost her. Lost our mate before we even had a chance to explain.
The bond we’ve been denying throbs in my chest, an open wound that won’t close. Every hour she’s gone, it gets worse. The need to find her, to know she’s safe, consumes everything else.
I should have told her. Should have explained everything instead of letting her walk away that night at the gala. Should have forced her to listen. Should have fucking groveled for her forgiveness.
But I didn’t. I let her go with nothing but confusion and hurt between us, and now she’s out there somewhere, alone and unprotected, and I have no idea how to find her.
My phone remains dark and silent. No miraculous breakthrough from Ethan.
Just me and this aching emptiness, drowning in the terrible certainty that we’ve destroyed the one good thing we’ve ever had.
The massacre site sits like a wound on the edge of my pack’s territory.
Eleven years haven’t softened the desolation.
Houses still stand, most of them anyway, their walls scarred with claw marks and burn patterns.
Magic and violence tore through here, leaving destruction that time can’t fully erase.
I stand at the center of what used to be a small hybrid settlement, watching investigators from three different packs move through the rubble.
It’s our second day here, and I’m losing my mind.
All I want to do is abandon this investigation, track down my mate, and fix what I’ve broken. But I need to close this chapter first.
I check my phone again. Still nothing. No calls, no texts.
“You need to see this,” one of the investigators calls out.
I pocket my phone and follow the voice. Soren, a tracker from Calloway’s Blue River Pack, stands at the entrance of a two-story house. What’s left of it, that is. He is exiting as I approach, his expression troubled.
I squint at the structure, trying to place it. The paint has long since peeled away, and the windows are shattered, but the bones of it are familiar.
“Whose house was this?” Soren asks.
“A prominent hybrid lived here,” I say slowly, the memory coming back. “He was a soldier of sorts. If there was a disagreement among the hybrids or with shifters, he mediated the dispute.”
Soren exchanges a glance with his partner. “This seems to be the point of origin.”
My stomach tightens. “How can you determine that?”
“The daughter’s room. There should have been no reason for violence to start there.” He jerks his head toward the house. “Come see.”
I follow him inside. The stairs creak under our weight, protesting after years of neglect. Upstairs, the hallway opens to three rooms. Soren leads me to the one at the end.
It’s clearly a teenager’s room. Or it was.
Posters hang torn on the walls, their images faded beyond recognition.
A lamp lies broken on the ground. The bed is undone, sheets twisted and half-dragged onto the floor.
Deep gouges scar the wooden bed frame. Picture frames lie scattered on the floor, the glass shattered into glittering fragments.
I crouch and pick up the nearest photograph. It shows a girl, maybe sixteen, her smile bright and unguarded. She’s hugging a man, likely her father, both of them laughing at something beyond the camera’s frame.
My chest constricts.
“Which bodies were recovered from here?” Alpha Calloway appears in the doorway, his presence filling the small space.
I pull the official file, the one Father compiled eleven years ago, from my bag. My fingers flip through pages of documented deaths, locations, and recovered remains.
I frown. “None.”
“None?” Calloway’s eyebrows rise.
I check again, scanning every entry. Nothing about this house. Nothing about the man in the photograph or his daughter. And my father’s documentation is thorough to the point of obsession, every detail catalogued and cross-referenced.