I took a sip of beer. “Defineactualdanger.”
Levi’s nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling as if each breath was a hidden battle before grinding out, “Life or death.”
I asked, “What if there is something between normal and life or death? What if she is being groomed and does not know it?”
Charlie made a sound of disgust. “Christ, Rowan.”
“I am not being dramatic. I am being realistic. These things? They do not take by force. They seduce. They make you want it. They make you think it isyouridea to be indebted to them, to be owned by them.” I remembered the stories whispered in the ruins of my world. Women who’d fallen in love with their captors. Men who’d begged to be turned. “By the time you realize what is happening, you are already theirs.”
“And you think that’s going on? At Shademore, where Violet’s attending?” Levi’s skepticism was still there, his temper tampered down, but underneath it, I heard something else. Fear. He was starting to believe me, even if he did not want to.
I nodded. “I do.”
Levi was quiet for a long moment, staring down at his plate. I could see him weighing his options, his protectiveness of Violet warring with his deep-seated distrust of me.
“You watch her,” he said to me finally. “You don’t approach her unless she approaches you first. You don’t interfere with her life unless she is in danger. And you report back to Charlie weekly.”
I didn’t bother hiding my smirk, though my chest loosened just a fraction at the concession. “Da,” I agreed. “Those terms are acceptable.”
“And if you cross any lines—"
“You will kill me slowly and creatively,” I said. “Yes, Levi. We have established this.”
“Rowan,” Levi whispered, “I’ve done it once. For my daughter. Iwilldo it again if necessary.”
Charlie hissed, “Levi!” His entire body tensed as he glanced at me in a panic.
Well, that’s one confession I wasn’t expecting. However, hearing that Levi had killed someone before actually made memorecomfortable in his presence, not less.
“I will not touch her,” I said delicately. I respected a man willing to kill to protect his family. “She is myward, Levi.”
That seemed to satisfy him, at least enough to stop arguing. We moved inside to help Sloane with dinner, and our conversation shifted to safer topics. . . but I could not stop thinking about that sound in Violet’s voice. That particular frequency of fear I had heard too many times in my first life.
She was in danger. Maybe not the immediate, claws-and-teeth kind. Butsomethingwas causing her stress and forcing her to come home this weekend—and I was determined to find out what it was.
Even if she told me to go fuck myself for trying.
Chapter 3
Violet
Wednesday’s Sociology lecture droned on about social stratification while I counted beige ceiling tiles and contemplated whether a lobotomy might finally grant me some peace. My professor’s voice blurred into white noise as exhaustion clawed at the edges of my vision. Night after night of broken sleep had left me raw, caffeinated beyond reason, and ready to crawl out of my own skin.
My roommate had tried to cheer me up that morning with her usual sunshine and small talk, bless her heart, but I’d barely managed civility before escaping to class.You don’t have to be everyone’s cup of tea, I reassured myself.Sometimes you just need to be gasoline and set that shit on fire. I had to remind myself she was only trying to be kind. Now, even the thought of returning to our shared space made my chest tight.
I’d given up by Thursday when I’d tossed and turned through another failed attempt at sleep. I needed to feel like myself again, even if it meant breaking a few rules. I needed Hyacinth.
The bus carried me across town to the Equestrian Facility as the sun began its descent. Atlanta’s August heat still pressed down like a living thing, the kind of suffocating weight that made even breathing feel like work. But as we passed the grove of Virginia Pine before the gate, I felt something in my chest loosen for the first time all week.
The stables greeted me with their familiar symphony: the earthy perfume of hay and manure, the creak of settling wood, the soft whicker of horses preparing for the evening. Students and staff moved through theirroutines, voices carrying across the barn as shadows lengthened through the slats.
And there he was.
Hyacinth was a Cleveland Bay—sixteen-hands high, with a shiny coat like polished copper and a black mane. His ears flicked forward the moment he spotted me, nostrils flaring as if to scold me for taking so long to visit him. His proud head arched, muscles shifting beneath his burnished coat, and warmth spread through my chest in a way I hadn’t felt all week.
“Hey, baby,” I whispered, stepping into his stall. His familiar scent wrapped around me like a memory: warm hide, sweat, leather, and hay. My fingers threaded into his thick mane, and for the first time in days, my pulse slowed.
I can finally breathe.
