Chapter 12
Violet's POV:
It was the second time since our mating ceremony that Daemon and I had shared a bed, and the silence between us was heavy enough to suffocate. I lay on the very edge of the mattress, my back turned to him, staring into the darkness while memories of our wedding night clawed at the edges of my mind. He hadn’t touched me then, either.
Outside, the weather was turning. A low rumble of thunder vibrated through the floorboards, followed almost instantly by a crack of lightning that illuminated the room in a stark, ghostly white.
The sound was a trigger, a violent key turning a lock I thought I had welded shut. In an instant, I wasn't in the Blackwood Manor master suite. I was back in the mud, kneeling in the rain, my chest ripped open as the Alpha bond was severed in my past life. The phantom pain of rejection—the kind that shreds a wolf’s soul from the inside out—hit me with the force of a physical blow. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. My teeth began to chatter violently, and a tremor started in my core, radiating outward until my limbs were jerking uncontrollably beneath the silk duvet.
The movement was too violent to hide. The mattress shook with my spasms, disrupting the stillness Daemon had been maintaining.
"Stop moving," Daemon growled from the darkness, his voice thick with irritation.
I tried to clamp my jaw shut, but another peel of thunder shook the house. A whimper escaped my throat. I curled into a tight ball, my nails digging into my palms, gasping for air as the phantom suffocation of the rejection ceremony overwhelmed me.
There was a pause. The hostility in the room shifted, replaced by a heavy, confused silence. Daemon didn't move for two seconds. Then, with a curse, he threw the covers back.
"For Goddess's sake, Violet."
He ripped the spare pillow and the heavy duvet off the bed. I heard the soft thud of bedding hitting the plush carpet, followed by the rustle of him settling down on the floor.
By the time sunlight filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, the floor was empty. Daemon had left before I opened my eyes, leaving behind only a crumpled blanket as evidence of his nightly retreat.
I descended the grand staircase with practiced grace, entering the living room where Victoria was already critiquing the floral arrangements.
"Good morning, Mother," I said, my voice light and warm. I held out a small, velvet-wrapped box. "I noticed you were rubbing your temples last night. I brought this for you—it’s a concentrated herbal extraction from the southern apothecaries, specifically designed to soothe the nerves of high-ranking wolves. It does wonders for tension headaches."
Victoria looked at the box, then at me, her sharp features softening just a fraction. She accepted the gift, opening it to smell the rich, earthy aroma.
"Thoughtful," she admitted, dabbing a drop on her wrist. "You’ve developed better taste, Violet. At least someone in this house pays attention to details."
I smiled demurely. This wasn't about affection. It was about setting a benchmark. I needed to be so impeccable, so culturally refined and attentive, that when Celeste eventually entered the picture with her clumsy commoner ways and ignorance of high-society werewolf etiquette, the contrast would be unbearable.
Breakfast was a battlefield of a different sort. The dining table was laden with enough food to feed a small pack, yet the appetite of the Blackwood family seemed nonexistent. Dominic Blackwood sat at the head of the table, cutting his steak with surgical precision.
"Five years," Dominic said abruptly, not looking up from his plate. "The council is asking questions, Daemon. The pack needs stability, and stability means an heir."
Daemon, sipping his black coffee, didn't flinch. "We are young. There is time."
"There is no time when you are the Alpha," Victoria interjected, setting down her fork. Her gaze drilled into her son, clinical and unsparing. "Violet is clearly healthy, which leads me to wonder about your contribution to this problem."
Daemon’s jaw tightened. "Mother."
"Don't 'Mother' me," she snapped. "You drink like a sailor, you stay out until dawn, and God knows what kind of filth you’re picking up from those women you entertain. Have you considered that your lifestyle has degraded your sperm quality? An Alpha who cannot sire a pup is a weak link, Daemon."
Dominic grunted in agreement, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. "She has a point. You scatter your seed all over the city, yet nothing takes root. It suggests a lack of potency. Perhaps you’ve exhausted yourself on meaningless flings."
The humiliation in the air was thick enough to taste. Daemon’s grip on his coffee cup turned his knuckles white.
I reached out, placing my hand gently over Daemon’s fist. I looked at his parents with wide, earnest eyes.
"Please, don't blame Daemon," I said softly. "His health is excellent, I assure you. We are both trying very hard. And as for the... others... I’m certain he simply takes precautions. He wouldn't be so irresponsible as to leave complications outside our marriage."
An hour later, I pulled my car up to the sleek glass facade of the Pack Clinic.
I found Evan in his office, casually updating digital charts on his tablet. He looked up as I stormed in, his expression impassive.
"You told them," I accused. "You told Dominic and Victoria about the rejection conversation."
"I'm protecting the pack, Violet," he said dismissively, turning his attention back to his screen. "Marital squabbles are temporary. A broken alliance is permanent. You're being dramatic."
My hand shot out, sweeping a heavy crystal sculpture off the edge of his mahogany desk.
It hit the floor with a spectacular crash, shattering into a thousand glittering shards.
Evan jumped, finally looking at me with genuine shock.
"Oops," I said, my face devoid of emotion. "I guess I am being dramatic. Send the bill to Daemon."
I turned on my heel and walked out, leaving him staring at the wreckage of his sterile sanctuary.
Lunch back at the manor was a somber affair, but the dynamic had shifted. My performance at breakfast, combined with the "perfect daughter-in-law" act, had yielded dividends.
Victoria spent the first twenty minutes berating Daemon for a recent paparazzi photo involving him and an actress, dissecting his lack of discretion with brutal efficiency. Then, she turned to me, covering my hand with hers.
"You have the patience of a saint, Violet," she sighed. "I don't know how you put up with his immaturity. You are a credit to this family."
I lowered my eyes, feigning modesty. "He has a heavy burden, Mother. I try to be understanding."
Dominic leaned forward, fixing his son with glare. "Listen to your wife, Daemon. And listen to me. You treat her like an accessory, but you forget the old laws. You think you can do better? You think the grass is greener?" He paused, his voice dropping to a gravelly warning. "Remember this: It is often what we cannot have, and what we have already lost, that haunts us the most. Don't wait until she's gone to realize her value."
Daemon sat in silence, cutting his meat with violent strokes. He glanced at me, his eyes dark with suspicion. He didn't see a supportive wife; he saw a conspirator who had successfully turned his own parents into her enforcers.
"The roast is truly delicious," Victoria noted, breaking the tension. "It’s a pity I’m leaving in two days. I would have liked to enjoy Ruby's cooking again before we travel."
"I’ll make sure to tell her," I said with a gracious smile, hiding the cold amusement curling in my chest. Don't worry. There will be plenty of opportunities in the future.
As the plates were cleared, Daemon’s phone buzzed against the mahogany table.
He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor shifted from sullen annoyance to predatory alertness. His eyes snapped to mine, filled with a sudden, cold fury.
He stood abruptly. "We're done."
"Daemon, sit down," Dominic commanded.
"No," Daemon said, his voice tight. "Violet and I have matters to discuss. Upstairs."
He didn't wait for me. I excused myself to his confused parents and followed him up the stairs.
He was waiting in the master bedroom, the door slamming shut the moment I crossed the threshold. He walked toward me, backing me against the vanity table. He held his phone up, shoving the screen inches from my face.
It was a photograph.
"You want to explain this?" Daemon’s voice was a low, dangerous hiss.