Zion crouches in front of me, fingers grabbing my jaw and forcing my head up. The smirk on his face makes me want to claw his eyes out.
“Looks like you were running away,” he says softly, holding up my bag. “Too bad. You should have been faster.”
I try to jerk away, but his grip tightens painfully.
“Take them to the prison,” he orders the soldiers.
“No!” I struggle harder, panic flooding mysystem. “Let us go!”
Zion releases my jaw, stands up, and brushes off his pants as if he has just finished some mundane task.
The warriors drag my mother’s wolf across the field. She’s trying to fight, but the silver chains are burning her, weakening her. Her muffled growls fill the air.
“Please,” I beg, hating how desperate I sound. Hating him. “Please don’t do this.”
Zion looks down at me, cold satisfaction in his eyes. “You brought this on yourself.”
Suddenly, pain explodes across the back of my head. My vision swims. The bright lights blur into streaks of white.
I try to hold on. Try to stay conscious. But darkness rushes in like a tide, pulling me under.
The last thing I hear is my mother’s howl.
Long. Mournful. Furious.
Then, nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Darius
The sun shines on the estate as I pull up to the main house, its white columns stark against manicured lawns that extend like a challenge. Eighteen hours since I got back to Moonvale, and still nothing. No scent trail, no sightings, no whisper of where Violet has gone.
The beast inside me claws and snarls, desperate and half-feral.
I push through the front doors without knocking. The foyer smells like lilies and furniture polish, sterile and unwelcoming.
“Well, well.” The voice drifts from the living room. “Look what wandered in.”
Zion sprawls across the leather sofa like he owns it, with one leg hooked over the armrest and a glass of something amber in his hand. Even at two in the afternoon.
The scent of sex clings to him. Recent. Still fresh. And there’s a flash of lace peeking from his pocket, red silk that catches the light.
“What are you doing here?” I frown. “Shouldn’t you be at the office?”
He raises the glass in mock salute. “It’s my home.”
My gaze drops to the panties again. A trophy. Like he’s some kindof conquering hero instead of a predator who can’t keep his dick in his pants.
He catches me looking and grins, slowly and smugly. “Got a problem, little brother?”
The emphasis on “little” grates my nerves. It always does. Never mind that I’m taller and broader than him now or that I’ve actually accomplished something while he continues to coast on our father’s name.
I move further into the room, scanning for any sign that Violet has been here. Her scent should linger if she has, but there’s no sign of her. Just Zion’s cologne and his alcohol and the faint trace of our father’s dominance saturating the walls.
Zion watches me over the rim of his glass. “Looking for something?”
“Have you seen Violet?”
