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“I wasn’t about to lose you while I was gone.” I slide my hand over her shoulder and caress her neck, rubbing my thumb up and down along her pulse point.

“I asked you to marry me, and you said no!” She yells, keeping her voice low.

“It’s not safe for you to be with me if I’m not around to keep you safe.”

“I wasn’t safe not being with you!” Her fingers tremble against my chest, and she stifles a cry. “Take me to Dean.”

“No,” I grit out. I’m finally holding her again; the last thing I want is to hear his name on her lips. It doesn’t matter how much I love and appreciate everything he’s done for her. It boils my blood every time she turns to him instead of me. She’s all mine; I’m not hiding her anymore. She doesn’t need to go to him.

“Cain, take me to Dean. Now.” Her voice is strained, calm, and final. I wrap my arm around her shoulder, gluing her to my side as I guide her through the passage and out of the manor. She pulls away when we reach the public sidewalk, but I tug her back and tuck her right under my shoulder.

I wish it weren’t the middle of the night. Then I could kiss her and show everyone who Violet belongs to.

We reach Dean’s and open the door to find him smiling in the kitchen, holding a non-alcoholic beer, and Dahlia sitting at the bar with a glass of water. We take off our shoes, and Violet practically runs to Dean, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. My jaw clenches, and my hands grip into fists at my sides. She’s crying to him. Seeking comfort from him, again…

Violet looks up at him and whispers. I only make out the end. “I can’t, not about this.” Dean’s gaze shoots in my direction, glaring. He kisses the top of her head while looking straight at me.

I snap.

Striding forward, I grab onto Violet, spin her around, and glue her to my side.

“Don’t touch—” I start when Dean’s fist comes flying and nails me right in the jaw.

“Dean!” Violet yells, placing herself between us against my chest, her soft fingers touching my assaulted skin.

“What the fuck, druzhishche?! You won’t have her, so no one else can?!” Dean roars, his fist balling and twitching at his side, ready to go again. Dahlia jumps down from her stool, grabs Violet’s arm, and they leave for the guest room.

“Violet—”

“She jumped off a fucking cliff!” Dean’s eyes are wide and wild. His feral nature is coming through.

And I think my heart’s stopped beating. My hands turn clammy and sweat beads at my brow.

“Hey,” Dean says, slapping my cheek twice. I meet his gaze, my body moving through clay. Everything is murky around me. Did he really say what I think he said?

“She… She jumped off a cliff?” I don’t recognize my voice.

Because nothing that I have ever been through, nothing I will ever go through, compares to what losing Violet would mean.

For the first time in my life, I’m scared.

“Yeah.” Dean swallows and leans back against the bar. His expression and stance softening. “She got notice that because no one accepted her, she was going to be placed with Richard. She felt like she had nowhere to go.” Fucking Yelena went back on our deal… “If I hadn’t seen her dropping off her fucking letters in the mailbox, if I hadn’t followed her… If I had been one second later, she’d be gone.” I sniffle and wipe my eyes. For the first time in years, ever since my mom died, I’m crying. “Look… I know you’ve been through some bad shit. You know, just by how you are… You can live your life in fear if you have to, but you can’t live your life acting on it. Otherwise, you might just end up losing everything.”

Taking a deep breath, I swallow it down. I can deal with these emotions later. I pull Dean in, wrapping my arms around him in what’s probably too tight a hug. I wipe my eyes again, then I walk over and tap the bedroom door before opening it and stepping inside. Glancing around the room, a few things stand out. Violet’s personal items on the vanity and dresser, her personal bedspread from when she lived across the hall from me, and a painting hung on the wall that I did for her sixteenth birthday. This isn’t the guest room; it’s personalized to Violet’s tastes and holds her keepsakes.

She’s spent more nights here than anywhere else over the past several years. This is her space.

Violet stands in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped tight around her middle, while Dahlia hugs her from behind.

I look at Dahlia, then nod to the door, “Out.”

“It’s okay,” Violet whispers to Dahlia when she hesitates. Dahlia gives her a gentle squeeze, then leaves, and I close the door behind her. Looking at Violet, I swallow and fight the urge to smoke by rubbing my finger back and forth along the rough side of my matchbox. My fingertips are permanently roughened from this self-destructive tic. She frowns and tilts her head to the side, “It’s a constant push and pull with you… I keep trying to leave, and I continue to fall back into your arms. Into the skeleton of what we are.” She sniffles and wipes the tears from her eyes before they drop onto her cheeks. “I can’t keep doing this… Not anymore.” She wraps her arms right around her middle. “I release myself.”

Fuck that.

“No.” I stalk forward, one slow step at a time.

“This isn’t your decision, Cain. I can’t do this.” She wipes her eyes again, and I continue my advance like a shepherd approaching a wounded lamb.