Over the next four years, she followed me around like a puppy whenever I was home. At first, I found it amusing. Then, endearing. She would bring me books she thought I’d like, ask questions about pack business with genuine curiosity, laugh at my dry observations about our family’s ridiculous formality.
I protected Violet in small ways. Deflected her mother’s attention when she was in a mood. Made sure the girl had a seat at family dinners even when her mother tried to exclude her. Helped her with homework when she struggled with mathematics.
I liked being the one person who made her feel safe.
And then, on her eighteenth birthday, everything changed.
I went to wish her happy birthday that morning, a small gift tucked under my arm. Some rare book she’d mentioned wantingweeks earlier. I found her in her room, staring out the open window at the estate grounds.
The wind shifted, blew back her hair, and I knew.
The fated bond slammed into me like a tidal wave, instant and undeniable. The protective instinct I’d felt for four years suddenly made perfect sense. My wolf had recognized her from the beginning and had been trying to tell me what she was to me.
My mate. Our mate.
I dropped the gift and fled like a coward.
A week later, when I finally returned home after hiding at my apartment in the city, she was gone. Shipped off to Europe for her studies, her mother said coolly. It was time for Violet to learn independence.
I was relieved. Grateful, even. The distance would make it easier to control this impossible bond. To lock down my wolf and forget that the shy girl with the quiet smiles was destined to be mine.
But forgetting was impossible. I tried. God, I tried. Dated other women, went through the motions of normalcy, attempted to settle down with someone—anyone—who might make me forget. But I couldn’t. My body wouldn’t respond the right way. The moment I’d touch another woman, my wolf would recoil. Wrong. Not her. Not our mate. The attraction never came, no matter how beautiful they were, no matter how compatible we should have been. It was always hollow. Empty. Wrong.
Because none of them were Violet.
And now, she’s back.
I groan, the sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. My wolf snarls in response, straining against the chains I’ve wrapped around him. He doesn’t care about social taboos or pack politics or the fact that she’s technically family. He only cares that our mate is here, close enough to touch, and we’re denying ourselves.
Denying her.
The water runs cold against my heated skin, but it does nothing. Nothing can touch this burning need that is slowly consuming me.
I force myself to turn off the shower. I stand therein the sudden silence, water dripping off me and pooling at my feet. My clothes cling to my body, heavy and uncomfortable. I peel them off mechanically, dropping the ruined suit in a sodden heap on the tile floor.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My eyes flash gold in the dim light, my wolf too close to the surface.
Get it together. You’re not some teenager who can’t control his instincts.
But my wolf has been chained for six years, denied what’s rightfully ours. Now that she’s here, he wants her. Needs her. Will tear me apart from the inside if I don’t give him what he wants.
I stare at my reflection. “No,” I tell my wolf. “She’s our stepsister. This is taboo. This is wrong.”
My wolf howls in response, a mournful sound that echoes through my bones. He doesn’t care about pack law or human concepts of family. In his mind, she’s ours. Fate made her ours.
“Fate can go to hell,” I mutter.
I wrap a towel around my waist and walk back into the bedroom. The air feels too hot. My skin feels too tight, too constricting, like it doesn’t fit right anymore.
I need to leave. I need to get out of this house before I do something catastrophic.
I move to my closet and pull out some fresh clothes from the stash that I keep here. Dark jeans, a black shirt. Simple. Comfortable. Easy to move in until I finally give my wolf the run he’s demanding.
My father can postpone whatever announcement he planned. I was supposed to stay the night, but that’s not happening now. Not with Violet under the same roof, close enough that I can still catch traces of her scent drifting through the ventilation system.
I’m pulling the shirt over my head when there’s another knock at the door.
“Mr. Darius?”
