Chapter 213: Chapter 213

Violet

A woman was running through a forest, terror on her face. Men were chasing her, wolves among them. There was a clash between magic and claws followed by blood on the ground. A scream echoed but was cut off too abruptly.

Then it shifted to another scene. It was the same woman, but this time she was bound and broken, being dragged toward an ornate mirror. I could hear words being spoken in a language I didn't know but felt in my bones.

The mirror's surface rippled like water as it began to gleam and the incantations grew louder as she was pulled inside, her form dissolving into light and shadow.

I woke with a gasp, my body jerking upright in bed. Sunlight streamed through my windows, telling me the morning had already well advanced. My alarm had gone off at some point and I'd apparently turned it off without waking properly.

I swung my legs out of bed and my foot landed on something that crinkled.

I looked down to see papers scattered all across my floor around the bed. There were dozens of sheets covered in sketches.

I picked one up with trembling hands and saw the wolf and thorns, rendered in pencil on what looked like pages torn from my sketchbook. The second one showed variations of the symbols from the mirror. Another showed the woman's face as she stared back at me.

I gasped and let the paper fall from my hands like it would burn me.

I didn't remember drawing any of this, didn't remember getting out of bed, getting my sketchbook, spending what must have been hours creating these images.

But there they were.

I gathered the papers with shaking hands, shoving them into my bag where I wouldn't have to look at them again. I told myself I'd deal with this later, after work, when I had time to think clearly.

Right now, I needed to maintain some semblance of normalcy, needed to go to the office and pretend everything was fine.

I showered quickly, dressed up and drove to work on autopilot. The building loomed ahead of me and I felt a strange reluctance to enter it.

But I did anyway and quickly reached my cabin, shut the door and opened my laptop and tablet with dread, half expecting to find more unwanted designs waiting for me.

The files from yesterday were still there but nothing new had been added.

I sighed in relief and tried to focus on work, tried to focus on anything except the creeping sense that I was losing control of my own mind, my own body.

Again, I tried to design something, anything, that wasn't related to wolves or thorns or ancient symbols.

But every attempt ended the same way.

By mid-afternoon, I was ready to scream. Or cry. Or possibly both.

I needed to talk to someone. I needed to tell someone what was happening and have them either confirm I was losing my mind or offer some rational explanation I hadn't considered.

And there was only one person I wanted to talk to, even though every interaction with him left me more confused and hurt than before.

Elijah.

I saved my work, closed my laptop, and headed for his cabin. His assistant tried to stop me, explaining that Mr. Lockwood was in meetings all day and couldn't be disturbed, but I brushed past her with a muttered apology.

I could see him through the glass walls, pacing while talking on his phone. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hair slightly disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it.

He looked stressed and tired, almost human in a way he hadn't seemed since I'd arrived at this company.

I pushed open his door without knocking. He turned at the sound, his expression shifting through several emotions too quickly to track before settling on neutrality.

"I'll call you back," he said into the phone, then ended the call without waiting for a response. "Violet. Is there something you need?"

His tone was professional and distant.

I wanted to answer but I caught something red on his sleeve before he'd turned to face me fully, something dark and wet that looked suspiciously like blood.

"Your arm," I said, moving closer despite every instinct telling me to keep my distance. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing," Elijah said, quickly rolling down his sleeves to cover whatever I'd seen. "Just a scratch from earlier. What did you need to discuss?"

But I was already reaching for his hand, grabbing his wrist before he could pull away. My fingers worked at the button on his cuff, undoing it despite his resistance.

"Violet, don't…"

I pushed the sleeve up and my breath caught.

His forearm was covered in marks. They were not just scratches but deep gouges that looked like claw marks, still oozing blood despite clearly being hours old. The skin around them was inflamed, angry red, like his body was fighting an infection.

"What happened?" I demanded, my hand still gripping his wrist as I examined the wounds more closely. "Did someone attack you? Are you…"

Elijah yanked his arm away with such force that I stumbled backward. He pulled his sleeve down violently, covering the marks hastily.

"I said it's nothing," he repeated, and his voice had taken on that cold, clipped tone that meant the conversation was over.

But I wasn't ready to let it go. Not this time. Not when everything was spiraling out of control and he was the only person who might have answers.

"What is going on?" The words were raw with fear and confusion. "Why are you injured again? And don't tell me it's nothing because those wounds are not nothing."

"It's not your concern," Elijah said, moving behind his desk like he was putting a barrier between us. "Was there something work-related you wanted to discuss? Because if not, I have calls to make."

The dismissal stung and made anger flare up to replace the concern.

"Work-related?" I laughed, the sound bitter. "You forced me to work here. You threatened someone I care about to make me sign that contract. You told me to design whatever comes to mind and now I can't stop drawing the same thing over and over and I don't even remember making half the sketches and I'm having dreams that aren't mine and…"

I cut myself off, realizing I was rambling and that I sounded unhinged.

Elijah was staring at me now, really staring, that cold mask slipping slightly. "What did you say about the sketches?"

"Nothing. Forget it." I turned to leave, suddenly regretting coming here. "This was a mistake."

"Violet, wait." His voice stopped me at the door. "Look at me."