“No.”
“This is not a discussion.” She steps closer, looming over me. “You will stay away from Darius.”
The pain intensifies, spreading through my chest like fire. I don’t understand why my body is reacting this way when I don’t even like him. When he has made it clear what he thinks of me.
“Why?” The word comes out bitter. Angry. “Are you worried I’ll taint your precious stepson with my weak wolf?”
She glares at me, violence in her eyes.
I stand up straight, glaring at her despite the blood running down my face. “If you want me to quit, then you tell your husband. I never wanted to come back here in the first place. You forced me.” My voice rises, trembling with fury. “I won’t be your scapegoat.”
“Violet!” Her face contorts with rage. She raises her hand yet again, claws fully extended.
But she never gets the chance to land the blow. Fingers wrap around her wrist, stopping her mid-swing.
Darius.
He appears from the darkened hallway like a shadow given form, his grip forcing my mother’s arm down to her side. His eyes blaze gold, locked on her face.
“What the hell is going on?”
My mother goes rigid. She tries to jerk her wrist free, but he doesn’t let go. “What are you doing here?”
“I came by for some pack business.” His voice is deadly calm, but I can see the muscle ticking in his jaw. His eyes flick to me, taking in the blood, and a dark and furious look crosses his face. “I asked you, what is going on.”
“It’s none of your business.” My mother’s voice turns cold. Dismissive. “A small matter between mother and daughter.”
He twists her wrist, and I see her wince. “Doesn’t look like a small matter to me.”
They stare at each other, locked in a silent battle of will. The air crackles with tension.
Finally, Darius speaks, his voice dropping to a command that makes me obey automatically. “Violet. Go to your room.”
I don’t hesitate. I push off the wall and move toward the stairs, my legs shaking with adrenaline. I can feel both of them watching me as I climb, can hear Darius snarling at my mother, but I don’t look back. I just need to get out of there.
My door clicks shut behind me, and I lean against it, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor. My chest heaves with ragged breaths that won’t slow down. My hands are trembling. The pain in my cheek throbs in time with my heartbeat.
But it’s the strange ache in my chest that confuses me. From that spasm of pain when my mother told me to stay away from Darius. My body’s reaction made no sense. I don’t even like him. He said I don’t belong.
So, why does the thought of never seeing him again make my chest feel like it’s caving in?
After a moment, I push myself up to a standing position and move to the full-length mirror in the corner.
The reflection staring back at me looks haunted. Blood has dried in streaks down my jaw and neck. Marking my left cheek are four parallel scratches, angry and red, still seeping slightly.
I touch them gently and wince.
I head into the bathroom, flicking on the harsh overhead light. The shower calls to me. I can smell the office on my skin, feel the day’s exhaustion clinging to every inch of my body.
I strip off my clothes and step under the spray, letting the hot water wash away the blood, the tears I didn’t realize I was crying, and everything else. The water stings where it hits the scratches, but I welcome the pain. It’s grounding. Real.
Better than the hollow ache in my chest.
When I finally emerge, I wrap myself in a silkrobe that’s too expensive to be mine and dig through the cabinet under the sink until I find a first aid kit. It’s well-stocked: bandages, antiseptic, gauze, everything I might need.
I carry it back to the bedroom and sit cross-legged on the bed, angling myself toward the mirror so I can see what I’m doing.
The scratches look worse now that they’re clean. Deep enough that they’ll probably scar. My wolf should be healing this already, knitting the skin back together, fighting off infection.
