My hands move with purpose now as I pull ingredients from the cupboards and refrigerator. Two thick ribeye steaks that I bought on sale earlier this week. I season them heavily with salt and pepper, then heat oil in a cast iron skillet until it shimmers.
The steaks sizzle when they hit the pan, the sound loud in my quiet apartment. Cinnamon wanders over, her nose twitching at the smell.
“Not for you, baby,” I murmur, flipping the first steak.
I cook them rare. Barely seared on the outside, still red and bloody in the middle. The way shifters prefer when they’re healing. The way their bodies can absorb the nutrients fastest.
While the meat rests, I roast vegetables. Not because he needs them, but because I need to do something with my hands. Need to keep moving or I’ll fall apart.
When everything is done, I pack it carefully into containers. The steaks. The vegetables. Utensils for some reason.
He probably hasn’t eaten. Probably went straight home and tried to will away the pain through sheer stubbornness.
The thought makes my chest ache.
I grab Cinnamon’s leash. “Come on, girl.”
She bounds toward the door, tail wagging. I drop her off with Emma, who is more than excited to look after my puppy tonight.
Cinnamon starts licking her face, and she laughs. “Go. We’ll be fine. Won’t we, you precious little baby? Come on. We’ll watch some tv.”
“I took her out a little while ago, so she should be good for another hour or two. Here are some snacks for her.” I hand her a small bag, which she takes.
“Go.” She shoos me gently. “She’s in safe hands.”
I drive to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy. Antiseptic. Bandages. Pain medication even though I know he won’t need it with his shifter healing. The clerk doesn’t ask questions when I pile everything on the counter.
Soon, I’m back in my car, the address from Ethan’s phone burned into my memory, containers of food on the passenger seat next to the pharmacy bag.
Darius’s apartment is a five-minute drive from where I live, and the building is exactly what I’d expect for an alpha heir: sleek and modern, all glass and steel, with a doorman sitting at a desk in the marble lobby.
I take a deep breath and walk through the entrance, arms fully laden.
The doorman looks up as I approach. His eyes are amber, distinctly shifter. He’s older, maybe late forties, with graying hair and the kind of build that says he was once a warrior.
“Can I help you, miss?” His tone is polite but firm. Professional.
“I’m here to see Darius Moonvale. Penthouse.”
His expression doesn’t change. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I’m Violet. Violet Moonvale. Alpha Alaric’s stepdaughter.”
His entire demeanor changes. Recognition flashes across his face, and he quickly gets to his feet.
“Miss Violet. I apologize. I didn’t realize—” His eyes take in the food containers, the pharmacy bag. “Of course. Please, go right up. His apartment is the only unit on the top floor.”
Relief floods through me. “Thank you.”
He nods, already moving to press the button for me. “Have a good evening, miss.”
I step into the elevator. The doorman gives me a small nod as the doors close.
The hallway on the top floor is quiet. Plush carpet muffles my footsteps as I walk to the only door, the penthouse suite.
I stand there for a full minute, unable to move.
What am I even going to say?
