24. Violette
VIOLETTE
Sun shines brightly through the stained-glass windows of my soulbound matchmaking storefront, casting bejewelled colors across the warm space.
My eyes briefly lift to a pair of ravens croaking and cawing across the street.
Neither is Horus. I no longer feel the weight or despair of disappointment, but some small hopeful part of me refuses to stop searching.
Even if the likelihood of him having survived this long is slim.
After all, ravens can live to forty or fifty given favorable circumstances.
And my sweet Horus is the biggest and baddest of them all.
Surely if anyone can survive the odds, it’s him?
With a sigh, I twist the open sign to face the window of the front door.
We aren’t located in the most pleasant of areas. And despite my unsavory neighbors, I adore my little shop. Plants thrive in every corner, intertwining with the decor, as a harp plays itself in one corner.
I’ve even hired a Security Moth, Arturo.
He is woefully opinionated—like most males—and I can feel his penetrative gaze from where he lounges on a decorative chaise longue that creaks beneath his hulking weight, sure to leave a layer of the intoxicating dust from his gigantic wings.
I’m thinking of firing him.
His baritone voice is a heavily accented, gravelly purr behind me.
“You smell like frustration… and unsatiated desire, female.”
Blasted noctarions—the fae-like moth beings with horns and fangs—and their over-the-top olfactory senses.
My eyeballs practically screech against the bone of their sockets with the force with which they roll into the back of my head before I turn to face him, glaring.
“Well, stop breathing then.”
A corner of his finely sculpted onyx lips—a stark contrast to the pale gray of his hide—curls at one corner.
I can feel the words hovering on the tip of his tongue, ready to suggest that he satiate me.
Thankfully, he doesn’t.
It’s one of the two reasons he still works here. Scarce few males I’ve come across in any of my professions possess any modicum of self-restraint.
The second is that he doesn’t take offence to my sharp words or fiery temper.
In fact, he seems to appreciate them.
They glide off him like morning dew to a flower petal.
If said petal were seven feet of velvety muscle, gothic kaleidoscope wings, and horned antennae from a perpetually midnight realm, whose people sustain themselves almost exclusively on blood.
A kindred spirit, perhaps.
He, too, is merciless with his words.
“Why haven’t you contacted your soulbound? It’s been three weeks since I introduced you.”
The grin on his lips dies, and the membranous lids of his entirely black eyes briefly close. “Because she’s a haughty, entitled, heinous, bloodthirsty bitch.”
My throat works against an uncomfortable swallow.
Sounds vaguely familiar.
“Well… that doesn’t sound so bad.”
He gives a derisive snort. “And she wants nothing to do with a casteless thug and recluse who has no surname and no societal standing.”
A fire ignites in my chest. My veins.
Arturo is within my employ. I would be remiss if I did nothing to make her aware of her fallibilities.
He studies me as I arch a brow and examine my perfectly manicured nailbeds. My tone is neutral; detached.
“What an unfortunate revelation…”
Arturo remains silent, wariness pricking.
Feigning nonchalance, I clear my throat. “You should have told me sooner. I shall have to pay her a visit.”
Arturo gives me a bored look. “Don’t bother. Veera is a lost cause, and not one I wish to save.”
We’ll see about that.
The machinations of my mind begin to take a malevolent turn, summoning a small smile to my lips. “I see... Well, I need to use the privy. Shan’t be long.”
Arturo’s brows narrow. “Don’t…”
But I’m already striding away to my office as he growls behind me.
“Violette.”
I clear my throat, shouting my admonishment from down the hallway.
“It’s Miss Lark, you ill-mannered beast! We’ve discussed this!”
Arturo folds directly in front of my office door, but as the wards reject him, he’s shoved against the hallway’s wall by unseen hands. Excluding myself, no one is allowed to enter unless I expressly permit it.
I slam the door shut before he can vocalize any further protest.
In the next moment, I’ve opened a portal inside Veera Halthwait Peresitio’s bathing chamber, where she is currently sitting on a toilet relieving herself, just as a tiny whine of flatulence escapes her bottom.
She lets out an ear-piercing shriek at the sight of me that brings a fangy grin to my lips.