Chapter 46
Violet's POV:
My phone buzzed against the silk sheets, Celeste's name glowing in the darkness. I stared at it for three rings before answering, bringing it to my ear without speaking. The silence stretched between us, filled only with her shallow breathing, and I could practically hear her internal debate about whether to ask where Daemon had gone tonight, whether he'd mentioned her name, whether whatever they'd shared in that northern city had meant anything at all.
"Violet?" Her voice was tentative.
"It's late, Celeste," I said quietly, my hand gripping the duvet that still smelled faintly of Daemon's cologne.
"I know, I just—I saw you were online and I thought..." She trailed off, then pivoted with practiced casualness. "Daemon mentioned he's heading back tomorrow for his father's birthday celebration. I'm so jealous you get to spend time with your family like that."
The words were light, conversational, but I heard what lay beneath them—she knew his schedule, knew his obligations, knew enough about his life to comment on it as if she had a right to that knowledge. My chest tightened as I recognized the strategy, the careful probing disguised as friendly chitchat.
"Mmm," I murmured noncommittally, refusing to give her the reaction she was fishing for.
Another pause, then her tone shifted, became more intimate. "I heard you and Zane went to rescue a stray dog today? That's so sweet. You two seemed like you were having a great time."
Ice flooded my veins. How did she know about that? Had Daemon told her, thrown my afternoon with Zane in her face as proof of my infidelity while he'd been free to wine and dine her in hotel conference rooms?
Before I could respond, she continued, her voice dropping to something that almost sounded apologetic. "Actually, I should probably be honest with you about something. I've suspected for a while that Zane has feelings for you—different feelings, I mean. That's part of why I chose to end our bond. It didn't seem fair to hold him back when his heart was clearly wandering toward someone else."
The statement landed like a carefully aimed blade, wrapped in the guise of confession and self-sacrifice. She was telling me she'd stepped aside for Zane's sake, that she was the noble one who'd noticed his affection for me and graciously removed herself from the equation. The subtext was clear as crystal—she was warning me, establishing a narrative where I was the interloper who'd stolen her boyfriend's attention. Guilt twisted in my stomach because I had been using Zane, hadn't I, leveraging his kindness to fill the hollow spaces Daemon left behind.
Behind me, the bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam and the scent of pine and mint body wash. Daemon emerged in a black robe that hung open just enough to reveal the defined lines of his chest, his dark hair still damp and tousled. I fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping it as I scrambled to end the call.
"I have to go," I whispered into the receiver, not waiting for her response before disconnecting.
I stood quickly, the room tilting slightly as blood rushed from my head. "I should get back to the guest room," I said, my voice steadier than I felt, and moved toward the door.
His hand caught the doorframe before I could reach for the handle, his body blocking my exit. "Where do you think you're going?" The question was quiet, almost conversational, but the steel underneath made my spine straighten instinctively.
I forced myself to turn and face him, to meet those blood-red eyes. "Back to my room. This is your space."
"This is the master bedroom," he corrected, his voice still that dangerous calm. "It belongs to both of us, remember?"
I didn't get to start. His mouth crashed against mine with a force that stole my breath, his hand fisting in my hair to angle my head exactly where he wanted it, and there was nothing gentle or loving in the kiss—it was pure possession, a physical claim designed to remind me who I belonged to. I tasted copper where our teeth clashed, felt the sharp sting as he bit down on my lower lip hard enough to break skin. When I tried to shove against his chest he simply caught my wrists and pinned them against the door, his larger frame caging me completely as he swallowed every protest.
The bond flared hot and insistent, Alpha pheromones flooding my senses until my knees went weak despite the fury burning in my chest, my body responding even as my mind screamed at me to fight harder. When he finally pulled back we were both breathing hard, blood on both our lips.
"You're mine, Violet," he growled against my mouth, his thumb roughly wiping blood from the corner of my lip before capturing my mouth again, slower but somehow more invasive. "This bond, this mark, this body—all mine."
He walked me backward toward the bed, his hands never gentle as they pushed my robe from my shoulders, and I hated how my body arched into his touch even as I cursed and fought and told him to go to hell with every breath I could catch. The sheets were cool against my back when he pressed me down, his weight settling over me in a way that left no room for escape.
"I hate you," I spat out, the words raw and honest, and his dark laugh was the only response I got.
The hours blurred into stubborn resistance and unwilling surrender, my body betraying me while I kept my jaw locked and my eyes defiant, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my compliance. When he finally realized I would never soften for him, his touch became almost clinical in its precision, using his knowledge of my body to force responses I didn't want to give. In the aftermath, as I lay trembling and furious and exhausted, he started to retreat to his side of the bed like he always did, and rage gave me strength I shouldn't have had left.
I lunged at him before he could escape, using surprise to reverse our positions, and the shock in his eyes would have been funny if I wasn't so utterly destroyed. My hands pressed against his shoulders as I straddled him, my hair falling around us. "You wanted this," I whispered against his ear, my voice wrecked. "So let's finish it." And I rode him with a violence that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with reclaiming some scrap of agency, reducing this twisted bond to the physical mechanics it had always been for him.
I woke to my phone alarm, my entire body one continuous ache, and stumbled to the bathroom without looking at the bed. The mirror reflected a stranger—tanned skin marked with purple bruises along my throat, eyes hollowed by exhaustion, lips swollen and split. Concealer and foundation became my armor, applied until most of the damage was hidden. A high-necked burgundy sweater covered what makeup couldn't fix, paired with tailored black slacks.
Daemon appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit, his hair perfectly styled and his expression coolly neutral as though the previous night had never happened. "Be ready to leave in thirty minutes," he said without preamble. Then he was gone.
The drive passed in tense silence, snow falling steadily as Daemon navigated with mechanical precision. I dozed fitfully, too exhausted to stay conscious, and when I woke we were already parked.
The dining room fell silent when I pushed through the doors. Dominic and Victoria sat at an enormous table, but they weren't alone—aunts, uncles, cousins filled every seat, their conversations cutting off as they turned to stare. Victoria's face lit up as she gestured to the empty seat beside her. "Come sit, darling."
I slipped into the chair with a practiced smile, murmuring greetings while internally cataloging every assessing look. "Your gifts are lovely," Dominic said, raising a crystal tumbler. "Abyssal Amber Whiskey from the Tidecrest territory. I didn't think anyone could acquire this." Victoria lifted a golden box revealing frost lotus flowers. "However did you manage it, Violet?"
The meal stretched through eighteen courses, and I played my part perfectly—attentive to Victoria, respectful to Dominic, engaged with the family while Daemon remained mostly silent. Then Aunt Sophia bounced her grandson on her knee. "Victoria, you really should start pressuring these two for grandchildren. Violet's been married five years now."
Every eye swiveled toward me and Daemon. Dominic's voice cut through the silence, sharp with frustration. "Daemon, you need to take your responsibilities seriously. This pack needs heirs." Daemon's jaw clenched, and within moments he'd excused himself to the back terrace.
When I finally escaped to the garden, I found him beneath a bare oak tree, smoke curling from his cigarette. We stood in brittle silence until his phone shattered the quiet with a ringtone I'd learned to recognize—Celeste's. He answered without hesitation. The bond transmitted his pleasure clearly enough, and I turned away before I could watch him smile at his phone the way he'd never smiled at me.
I was halfway back to the house when Victoria appeared at the terrace doors, her expression pleasant but her eyes sharp. "Violet, dear? Could you come with me for a moment? There's something I'd like to discuss."