Darius bends to retrieve his shirt, then walks toward the side door. His steps are unhurried. Controlled.
He doesn’t look in my direction. Doesn’t seem to know I’m here. But as he passes near where I’m hidden, he slows just slightly. His jaw clenches even harder.
He senses my presence.
The side door closes behind him, and I’m left standing in the shadows, unable to move.
I have to follow him. Have to see him. Have to makethis right.
A hand grips my elbow. I jump, spinning to find Ethan beside me. His expression is grim.
“Come on,” he says quietly, pulling me away from the door. “Before someone sees you.”
“I need to talk to him.”
“No.” Ethan’s grip is firm as he guides me toward the front entrance. “Darius wouldn’t want you to see him like this. And he definitely doesn’t want you chasing after him right now.”
“But I have to.”
“Let him have his pride, Violet.” We step outside into the cool evening air. “Give him space to deal with this his own way.”
My throat is too tight to argue.
Ethan walks me to my car, his hand steady on my elbow. When we reach it, he opens the driver’s door for me.
“Go home,” he says gently. “Get some rest. Tomorrow is another day.”
I slide into the seat and grip the steering wheel.
“Ethan.” My voice comes out hoarse. “Where does he live?”
He goes still. “Violet—”
“Please.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. Then, he sighs and pulls out his phone, tapping on it before showing me the screen.
An address. Not far from my place.
“Don’t go tonight,” he says quietly. “Let him heal first.”
I nod, but we both know I may not be able to stop myself.
He closes my door and steps back, watching as I start the engine and drive away.
The penthouse isdark when I get home. Cinnamon greets me with her usual enthusiasm, and I pick her up, holding her close as I sink onto the couch.
I should listen to Ethan. Should give Darius space. Should let him deal with this on his own.
But every time I close my eyes, I see his back torn open. See the blood running down his skin. See him standing there taking it without a sound.
Because of me.
I try to sleep. I really do. But every time I start to drift off, I see the whip coming down. Hear the crack echoing through the hall. See Ryker’s smirk.
At nine o’clock, I give up.
I make a quick phone call to Emma, the neighbor I met in the elevator one of my first days here, and then head to the kitchen, searching for what shifters need to heal faster. Protein. Lots of it. Red meat especially.
