Chapter 27 #2
“You are.” She touches my cheek. “You’re stronger than I ever was.”
“That’s not true. You survived worse. You lost everything. I wish you had talked to me, told me the truth.”
“I made mistakes, Violet. I was so obsessed with keeping you safe that I didn’t care if I hurt you. I just wanted you alive.”
I nod, my lips pressed together. “I get it.”
“I need time,” she admits. “I need time to figure out who I am without all that anger. But I meant what I said. I can’t stay here, not right now. Maybe not ever.”
“I understand.”
“But I don’t want to lose you, either.” Her voice breaks again. “You’re all I have left.”
“You’re not losing me,” I promise. “No matter where either of us goes, you won’t lose me.”
She nods, pulling me into another hug. This one is gentler, more careful of my injuries, but no less pure. I close my eyes and savor it, this moment with my mother, knowing that everything is about to change.
When she draws back, there’s a resignation in her eyes that wasn’t there before. Acceptance, maybe. Or at least the beginnings of it.
“He loves you,” she says quietly. “I can see that, even if I don’t want to. And you love him.”
“I do.”
“Then I won’t stand in your way.” She brushes her thumb across my cheek, catching a stray tear. “But if he ever hurts you, if he ever makes you regret this choice, you come find me. You hear me?”
A smile tugs at my lips despite everything. “I hear you.”
“Good.” She settles back in her wheelchair, looking suddenly exhausted. “I should go rest. Let you rest, too.”
“Mom?” I catch her hand one more time. “Thank you. For everything. For raising me, for protecting me, for loving me even when it was hard.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “Oh, baby. Loving you was never hard. It was the easiest thing I ever did.”
She squeezes my hand once more, then wheels herself toward the door. Before she pushes through, she pauses and looks back at me.
“Be happy, Violet. You deserve it.”
Then, she’s gone, and I’m alone in the quiet clinic room, my heart full and aching at the same time.
A week passes before they discharge me, and in that time, I learn what it means to be truly seen. Darius visits every day. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we just exist together, and that’s enough.
My shoulder still aches when I move certain ways, but the healers say I’m recovering well. Better than they expected. My hybrid blood is working in my favor.
I move back into my penthouse. The one Darius arranged for me all those months ago, the one I swore I’d never return to when I thought he’d used me. Now it feels different. Like coming home instead of hiding.
Mom leaves for Ryker’s pack three days after I’m discharged. She hugs me tightly at the car, her eyes wet with tears, and makes me promise to call her every week. I promise. We’re both trying, both learning how to be in each other’s lives without all the pain between us.
Darius is busy. So busy, I sometimes go entire days without seeing him.
He comes to the penthouse every night, slides into bed beside me, and wraps his arms around me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
But in the middle of the night, I always wake to find him sitting up, his palm on my shoulder, checking that I’m still breathing. Sometimes, he’s shaking.
The first time it happened, I woke to find him with his fingers on my pulse point, counting heartbeats as if in prayer. He didn’t apologize. Just pulled me closer and buried his face in my hair. We both know some wounds take longer to heal than others.
I don’t say anything when it happens now. Just pull him back down and hold him until he falls asleep again.
I’m not the only one suffering. Whatever happened in that arena, whatever he felt when he thought he might lose me—it left a wound deeper than any bullet’s.
Right now, I’m curled up on the couch with Cinnamon asleep in my lap. She’s gotten bigger in the past week, her puppy paws too large for her body, her ears flopping when she runs. I stroke her soft fur and stare at nothing, thinking about everything and nothing at once.
The door opens at eight o’clock. I glance up.
Darius walks in looking like he’s been through hell. His suit jacket is gone, his tie loosened, dark circles shadowing his eyes. He sees me, and his expression shifts—just for a second—before he crosses the room and drops to the floor in front of the couch.
He sits with his back against my knees, his head tilting back to rest on my thighs. His arms wrap around my calves like I’m the only thing keeping him upright.
I set Cinnamon down next to me on the couch and run my fingers through Darius’s hair. It’s longer than it used to be, curling slightly at the ends. “Tough day?”
“They’re all tough lately.” His voice is muffled, exhausted. “My father made a mess of things. He spent years letting Zion use pack finances and covering up his petty crimes. I feel like I never really knew either of them.”
Under his exhaustion is grief, raw and aching, and my chest tightens in response. “And Zion?”
“No sign of him.”
My fingers stop moving. “He’s still out there?”
“Vanished. Like smoke.” He tilts his head back further to look up at me. “Taking over an entire pack like this is hard, Violet. Are you sure you don’t want to run away?”
I laugh lightly, lean down, and kiss him. It’s an awkward angle, my lips meeting his upside down, but it’s perfect. “No.”
“No?” He sounds surprised.
“I have friends here.” I point to the half-full wine glasses on the coffee table. “I have a life here. And the pack needs you.”
His gaze follows my gesture and takes in the evidence of my afternoon. “I can see Anne and Sienna visited you again.”
“Yes.” I move Cinnamon gently aside. She grumbles in her sleep but doesn’t wake up. Then, I part my legs so Darius can sit more comfortably between them, his back against the couch now.
He takes my hand and kisses my palm, his lips warm and soft. “Are you really happy, Violet? Because if you don’t want to stay here, we can leave. I told you, I’ll go anywhere you want.”
I slide my fingers through his hair again. “Darius, I’m here because I want to be. Because I love you.”
He goes completely still. Even his breathing stops.
“What’s wrong?” I lean forward, trying to see his face.
He swivels his head and looks up at me with wide eyes. “This is the first time you’ve said that to me.”
Oh. Oh, I guess it is.
My cheeks burn.
He turns all the way around and sits up on his knees so our faces are almost level. His palms cup my cheeks. “Say it again.”
“What?”
“Violet…” His voice breaks on my name.
I smile despite the sudden ache in my chest. I take his face in my hands, feel the rough stubble under my palms, see the vulnerability written plainly in his eyes. “I love you, Darius.”
Then, I kiss him.
Cinnamon wakes up with a startled yelp and scampers away, her claws clicking on the hardwood floor as she retreats to the bedroom. Darius doesn’t even notice. His fingers slide into my hair, and he nudges me back against the couch, his body coming up to cover mine.
He breaks away just enough to look at me, his pupils blown wide. He stares at me like I’ve given him something priceless, something he didn’t dare hope for. The exhaustion in his eyes transforms into something else entirely. Hunger. Need. Love so fierce, it steals my breath.
“Say it again.”
“I love you.”
His mouth crashes back to mine, demanding and desperate. He’s everywhere, sliding under my shirt, skimming up my sides. When he pulls the fabric over my head and tosses it to the floor, I’m already reaching for his tie.
“Again,” he demands against my lips, working the button of my jeans.
“I love you.” The words come out breathy, broken by kisses.
He strips me with efficient movements, his eyes never leaving mine. When I’m bare beneath him, he stares for a long moment, like he’s memorizing every inch of me.
“Tell me,” he whispers, his thumbs brushing just beneath my breasts.
“I love you.”
He lowers his mouth to my collarbone, kissing along the ridge before moving lower. His lips close around my nipple, and I gasp, my back arching off the couch. He takes his time, lavishing attention on one breast and then the other, his tongue circling and teasing until I’m squirming beneath him.
“Darius,” I breathe, my fingers tangling in his hair.
“Say it,” he demands against my skin, his teeth grazing gently.
“I love you.” The words dissolve into a moan as his mouth moves lower, kissing down my stomach, my hips, the inside of my thighs.
He settles between my legs, gripping my thighs and spreading them wider. When his mouth finds me, I cry out, my head falling back against the couch cushions.
He’s relentless, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes that have me trembling. Every time I try to move, to rush him, he holds me exactly where he wants me.
“Darius, please,” I whimper, my hands fisting in his hair.
He looks up at me, desire dark in his eyes. “Tell me.”
“I love you,” I gasp. “I love you, I love you.”
His mouth returns to me with renewed intensity, and I feel the pleasure building, coiling tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe. When I shatter, his name is the only coherent thing that leaves my lips, but the sound is broken and desperate.
He moves up my body, kissing his way back to my mouth. I taste myself on his lips; it should embarrass me, but instead, it makes me want him more.
“I need you,” I whisper in his ear. “Please, Darius.”
He lifts me from the couch and lowers us both to the floor, the soft rug beneath us. His clothes come off quickly, and then his body engulfs mine, warm and solid and perfect.
When he enters me, I let out a small moan. This is the first time we’ve been together since everything happened. He moves inside me slowly, and my eyes flutter shut. I can feel him watching me, watching my expressions. My legs wrap around him and pull him even closer.