His scent wraps around me like an invisible force. Cedar and smoke and something unique that makes my head spin. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and every inhalation is filled with him. It’s taking everything I have to stay still and not lean into him like my body seems to want to do.
Heat floods through me. My skin feels too sensitive, too tight. I’m hyperaware of how close he is; his chest mere inches from mine, warmth radiating from him like a furnace. A desperate yearning spreads through my body like wildfire, an ache for something I’ve never felt before.
I notice the way his throat moves when he swallows. The sharp line of his jaw. The breadth of his shoulders blocking out the rising sun behind him.
“Stop touching me.” My voice comes out breathier than I like.
“Why?” He leans closer, and I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. His eyes flash gold. “Does it bother you?”
Yes. God, yes. But not in the way he thinks.
It bothers me because I want him to touch me more. I want those hands on my skin, in my hair, everywhere. I want to find out if his lips taste as good as they look.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. The world narrows to just him, just us, just this impossible moment where everything feels both terribly wrong and desperately right.
A whisper stirs deep in my chest, restless and demanding. A shadow of something that should be there but isn’t quite present. Suppressed. Muted. Like it’s fighting to surface but can’t quite break through.
I shove it into that locked box where I keep everything that hurts.
“Your smell makes me nauseous,” I sneer, putting as much disgust into my voice as I can manage.
Pain flashes across his face, raw and unmistakable, before his expression shutters.
Good. Let him hurt like I hurt.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I don’t give him the chance. I twist my wrist in his grip, the movement quick and precise. His hold breaks. I angle my arm just right, apply pressure to the weak point, and slip free.
Surprise flickers across his face.
I step away from the car, putting distance between us. “Stay out of my way,” I say coldly. “And I’ll do the same.”
Then, I turn and walk toward the gate.
My heart is pounding so hard, I’m dizzy. My legs start to shake, and the breakfast bag rustles in my trembling hand, but I force myself to keep my back straight and my gait even.
That ache is still there, begging me to turn around. To go back to him. Like I’ve just made a terrible mistake. Like I’ve abandoned something vital.
I ignore it.
I am no longer the weak girl who cried when people were cruel. I’ve spent six years building walls, learning to fight, becoming someone who can’t be broken. And no matter howmuch my body wants him, I refuse to let Darius Moonvale be the one to shatter those walls.
Even if walking away from him feels like I’m tearing myself in half.
I can feel his eyes on my back, burning into me like a brand. My skin feels too hot, my chest too tight. But I don’t look back.
I won’t.
Not for him.
Not for anyone.
I reach the gate. The scarred guard from yesterday looks up, surprise crossing his face when he sees me approaching on foot.
“Miss Violet,” he says, his tone far more respectful than it was when we first met. Word travels fast in a pack house. “Do you need transportation arranged?”
“Yes, please.” I keep my voice steady. “To the corporate headquarters.”
He nods quickly and reaches for his radio. “I’ll have a car brought around immediately.”
