I force a smile. “Zion. Welcome back.”
I move to the far end of the table, as far from him as possible without making it obvious. The chair scrapes against the floor as I pull it out and sit.
Alpha Alaric looks up from his tablet, his pale blue eyes assessing. “Violet. How are you liking your new home?”
“It’s good.” I smooth my napkin across my lap, avoiding his gaze. “I got used to my privacy overseas, so I like the silence.”
My mother sounds offended when she says, “There was nothing lacking here in the main house.”
“Lillian.” Alaric’s voice isfirm, a warning.
She falls silent immediately, her jaw tight.
I focus on my empty plate, counting the seconds until this dinner is over.
“I hear you were quite outstanding at the training yesterday,” Alaric says. His tone is conversational, but there’s more underneath it. It makes my skin prickle.
My head whips up. My eyes dart toward my mother, who has gone completely rigid in her seat, her jaw clenched.
“I—” I swallow, my mind racing. “I learned a few fighting techniques to protect myself. Nothing remarkable.”
Zion leans forward, his elbows on the table now, grin widening. “I heard differently. Seems you’re really good at hand-to-hand combat.” His eyes gleam with curiosity. “Where did you learn it? I thought you went away to college. Don’t tell me human universities offer classes in unarmed fighting?”
My throat tightens. “Paris isn’t very safe. I took self-defense classes.”
The lie tastes bitter. Six years of intensive training reduced to “self-defense classes.” But what else can I say? That I learned to fight because being weak in this world gets you hurt? Gets you used?
“How was your mission, Zion?” My mother’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and desperate. “You’ve been gone for a few months now.”
Zion shrugs, leaning back again. “Boring. Diplomatic bullshit. I’m much happier to be back.”
Suddenly, every nerve in my body goes on high alert. I don’t need to turn around to know who has just entered the room. I feel him. I always feel the way the air changes when Darius is nearby, like gravity shifts and everything tilts toward him.
His footsteps are quiet as he moves to the chair beside mine.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, his voice smooth and controlled. “Had to deal with some things.”
He sits. His leg brushes mine under the table, and heat floods through me so fast that I have to grip my napkin in my lap to keep from reacting.
I can’t look at him. Can’t let anyone see what happened between us written all over my face.
Conversation flows around us. My mother asks Zion about his mission in more detail. Alaric discusses pack business with Darius. I focus on my plate when the food arrives, cutting my chicken into precise pieces and chewing mechanically.
I’m acutely aware of every breath Darius takes. Every slight movement. The heat of his body beside mine.
“So, Violet.” I look up to find Zion watching me, that mocking grin still on his face. “I heard you’ve managed to get Ryker interested in you.”
The words hang in the air like a challenge. My stomach drops.
“Interesting way to make a name for yourself,” Zion continues, his tone dripping with condescension. “So, what’s your plan? You want to be another notch on his bedpost?”
Darius’s hand lands on my leg.
I freeze.
His palm is hot against my thigh, his fingers curling around the inside of my leg, inching closer to my inner thigh. The touch isn’t gentle or seductive. It’s possessive. Claiming.
I grab his hand under the table, trying to push it away, but my strength is nothing compared to his. His grip tightens.
