“Wow, you really do care about her.” She studies me, swaying slightly. “That’s actually really nice. She needs people looking out for her.”
If she only knew how much I care. How I have to restrain myself from pushing past her and going to Violet. How the thought of my mate drunk and vulnerable makes ferocity surge through me.
Anne appears behind Sienna, equally flushed, equally tipsy. “Is that Darius? What’s he doing here? Party’s over!”
“Checking on Violet,” Sienna says, still grinning.
“You two can go home,” I say, my voice taking on that alpha edge. “I’ll take it from here.”
“You sure?” Anne asks, her words slightly slurred. “We don’t mind staying…”
“Order a taxi. Put it on the company account.” I pull out my phone and show them the number in the app. “I’ll handle things here.”
They exchange glances, then burst into giggles.
“Okay, okay.” Sienna holds up her hands. “We’re going. But you better take good care of her.”
“Always.” The word comes out before I can stop it.
They gather their things, still giggling and whispering to each other as they head for the door. I hear Anne say the words “protective big brother,” and they both laugh harder.
If they only knew.
I close the door behind them and lean against it, taking in the apartment.
Cups everywhere. Empty bottles on the counter. Plates with half-eaten snacks scattered across the coffee table. The remnants of asuccessful party.
And there, asleep on the couch, is Violet.
My breath catches.
She is curled on her side, one arm tucked under her head. Her hair fans across her face in messy waves; I can see individual strands catching the light of the moon through the window. The dress she is now wearing is wrinkled, twisted around her thighs. She smells like wine and her own scent, the unnatural perfume finally faded. When I move closer, she makes a small, sleepy sound that goes straight to my chest.
I crouch beside her and just look.
Beautiful.
But even in sleep, there’s tension in her shoulders. Worry creasing her forehead. Like she can’t fully relax, even now.
Carefully, so carefully, I slide onto the couch, lifting her head and settling it in my lap.
She makes an almost inaudible sound of protest, then nestles closer to my warmth. Her cheek, soft and warm, presses against my thigh. A possessive need settles into my bones like it belongs there. Like it’s been waiting six years to find its home.
My hand moves to her hair, fingers threading through the soft strands. “Did you have a good time?”
I don’t expect an answer. She’s completely out, her breathing deep and even.
But then, she smiles.
Just a little curve of her lips in her sleep. She presses closer to me, like she knows I’m safe. Like I’m soothing her.
The ache in my heart is so intense, I have to close my eyes against it.
This. This, right here. This is what I want.
Violet, relaxed and happy and safe. Seeking comfort from me without walls or fear or anger between us.
I trace her features with my free hand. The curve of her cheek. The slope of her nose. The bow of her upper lip that I can still feel against mine.
