“Darius?” Her voice is confused, still heavy with sleep.
“I’m here.” I don’t let her go. “Goback to sleep.”
“The towels…”
“Are on the floor where they belong.” I pull her closer, daring her to protest.
She studies my face for a moment, and I wonder what she sees there. Whatever it is, it makes her frown slightly.
“You’re tense.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.” But she doesn’t push, and she doesn’t try to rebuild the barrier. Instead, she nestles closer against my chest. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”
The simple faith in her statement nearly breaks me.
If only it were that easy. If only I could believe her.
Instead, I hold her close and stare at the ceiling, watching shadows shift across the plaster. The gala is tomorrow night. I’ll have to watch Ryker circle her, have to see other males look at her with interest.
The time is drawing closer. Sooner or later, I’ll have to make a choice. The pack or Violet. Duty or desire. Everything I’ve been raised to be, or everything I actually want.
My wolf growls low in my chest, a possessive sound that Violet probably interprets as contentment. She relaxes against me, her breaths becoming even again as she slips back into her dreams.
I close my eyes and breathe her in, memorizing this moment. The weight of her against me, the trust in how she curves into my body, the way her heartbeat syncs with mine.
Whatever happens, whatever decisions loom on the horizon, I know one thing with absolute certainty.
I’m not giving her up without a fight.
The dress hangsagainst the closet door. The wine-red silk from the boutique that made my wolf go mad. The one where she turned in that small circle and I had to grip the arms of my chair to keep from crossing the room and putting my hands on her.
I’m already on edge. Have been since the call with Ethan when he told me about Ryker.
My wolf prowls beneath my skin, restless and aggressive. The thought of Ryker looking at Violet, wanting her, makes me unable to think about anything else. I barely slept last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him touching her, claiming her.
I adjust my cufflinks with more force than necessary. Black suit, white shirt. Simple. Professional. Nothing that betrays the chaos raging beneath my skin.
Violet emerges from the bathroom in a robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. She glances at the dress, then at me.
“That one?”
“That one.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. I can already picture how the silk will cling to her curves, how every male at the gala will stare.
Let them look. Let them want her. She’s mine.
She touches the fabric, fingers trailing over the silk. “I could wear the emerald instead.”
“No.” My reply is immediate, possessive. I move closer, unable to stop myself. “This one.”
Her pulse jumps in her throat. I want to put my mouth there, feel her heartbeat against my tongue.
She nods and disappears back into the bathroom, the dress clutched against her chest.
I force myself to breathe. My hands flex, claws threatening to emerge. The need to touch her, claim her, mark her is overwhelming.
Ethan’s words from last night replay in my mind: “Ryker’s only going to the gala because he heard Violet will be there.”
