Chapter 32
Violet's POV:
I stared at Evan, feeling a cold, incredulous laugh bubbling in my chest. He sounded like he was complimenting a lab rat for surviving a maze full of electric shocks.
"Admire?" I repeated, the word tasting like ash. "Admire for what?"
"Your loyalty. I call it the strength of a Luna who understood her place. But this?" He gestured vaguely to the space between us. "This petty revenge game? It’s beneath you, Violet. You’re trading your dignity for a cheap thrill."
The audacity of his moralizing snapped the final thread of my patience.
"If my suffering was so admirable to you, Doctor," I hissed, "then perhaps you should have used your scalpel to cut the bond connecting me to your precious Alpha. Don't stand there and lecture me about dignity when you watched me drown for five years and called it 'swimming.'"
I expected him to flinch, but Evan merely stiffened.
"I’m not blaming you for wanting to leave, Violet. Finding your own path is logical," Evan said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its lecturing tone and gaining a terrifying gravity. "But you are playing with fire, and you seem to have forgotten that Daemon isn’t just a mate you’re unmarking. He is a Prime Alpha."
He took a step toward me, his shadow engulfing mine. "Daemon’s pride is his territory. It is absolute. Right now, he thinks you are just acting out, a rebellious wife making noise. But if he connects the dots? If he realizes you knew Zane before tonight, if he figures out you’ve been maneuvering Celeste and him like chess pieces..." Evan paused, letting the silence hang heavy with threat. "If he realizes he’s been dancing to your tune, looking like a fool while you pull the strings, he won’t just unmark you. He will destroy you. There is no 'safe exit' if you humiliate an Alpha of his caliber. If you want to survive this, stop digging your own grave."
His words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. Evan was right; if Daemon saw the strings, he wouldn't cut them. He would strangle me with them. I stood frozen as Evan got into his car and drove away.
The ride back to the Blackwood estate was a blur of wind and dark thoughts. By the time I guided my heavy motorcycle into the garage, my hands were numb, shaking slightly as I pulled off my helmet.
I avoided the main staircase, taking the servants' stairs to the second floor, desperate to wash the scent of them and my own fear off my skin. I locked the bathroom door and turned the shower on high, letting the steam fill the room before I even stripped off my leather jacket.
I was standing at the sink, splashing cold water onto my face, when the door crashed open.
The lock didn't break; it simply popped under the sheer force applied to the frame. I spun around, water dripping from my chin, my heart leaping into my throat.
Daemon stood in the doorway.
He looked like a fallen god who had crawled his way out of hell. His tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the flushed skin of his throat. But it was the smell that hit me first—a wave of expensive whiskey, heavy and cloying, mixed with the metallic tang of aggression. Beneath that, there was a scent of perfume.
My nose wrinkled instinctively. It was a floral scent, heavy on jasmine and rose—synthetic, overpowering, and distinctly not Celeste’s fresh ocean breeze.
I leaned back against the marble counter, my eyes scanning him with a detachment that surprised even me. A smear of lipstick, a shade too pink to be tasteful, stained the crisp white of his collar.
So, he failed.
The deduction came instantly, cold and logical. If that lipstick belonged to Celeste, if he had spent the evening with his true mate, Daemon would be radiating the smug, intoxicating satisfaction of a successful hunt. He would be insufferable, yes, but he wouldn't be this... chaotic. This dark, roiling energy coming off him was frustration.
A strange, twisted pity curled in my gut. Not for me—I was long past caring who Daemon slept with—but for Celeste. That sweet, naive girl... did she have any idea what kind of life was waiting for her? Did she know she was destined to be the keeper of this volatile, cheating, broken man?
It doesn't matter, I told myself, pushing the thought away. Soon, he will be her problem, not mine.
"You're late," Daemon growled, his voice a rough rasp that sounded like gravel grinding together.
He stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. The space instantly felt too small. The steam from the shower swirled around us, carrying his scent deeper into my lungs, triggering a biological alarm in my blood.
"I was out," I said, keeping my voice steady, though my fingers gripped the edge of the sink behind me until my knuckles turned white. "Go to sleep, Daemon. You're drunk."
"Drunk?" He let out a harsh, broken laugh and took another step toward me. His eyes were blown wide, the pupils dilated so much that the irises were barely visible rings of crimson. "I wish I was just drunk. They put something... something in the reserve."
He swayed slightly, then lunged.
I tried to dodge, to slip past him toward the door, but he was unnaturally fast. His hand slammed onto the counter beside my hip, trapping me. His other hand gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh with a strength that bruised.
"Daemon, stop!" I pushed against his chest, but it was like pushing against a concrete wall. He was burning up, his skin radiating a fever heat that seared through my clothes.
"I can't," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His breath was hot and ragged against my skin. "It hurts, Violet. It feels like my blood is boiling. Help me."
The vulnerability in his voice was jarring.
"Get off me," I snapped, panic rising. "Go find the owner of that lipstick on your collar."
"She was nothing," he mumbled, his lips grazing my pulse point, sending a jolt of unwanted electricity down my spine. "Useless. It didn't work. I need... I need you."
The irony was suffocating. He needed me not because he loved me, but because I was the only vessel his biology recognized as a temporary fix until he secured Celeste. I was the antidote, not the desire.
I prepared to knee him in the groin, to fight him off with everything I had, when my ears twitched.
Through the heavy oak door, over the sound of the running shower and Daemon’s labored breathing, I heard the distinct, soft tread of footsteps in the hallway.
Ruby.
It had to be. She often brought up a hangover tonic when Daemon returned late.
My mind raced, the gears turning faster than the panic.
If she saw the luna embracing her alpha, passionately, willingly... if she saw us as a united, inseparable front?
Celeste was a good girl. She valued family. If her mother told her that Daemon and Violet were deeply, physically in love, that they were intimate and connected, Celeste’s moral compass would make it that much harder for her to accept Daemon’s pursuit. It would be a massive boulder on the road to their happy ending.
The footsteps stopped just outside the door. I could hear the faint clink of porcelain on a tray.
I made my choice.
My hands, which had been pushing against Daemon’s chest, slid up. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in the damp hair at the nape of his neck.
Daemon froze for a microsecond, shocked by the sudden lack of resistance, before a low, animalistic growl ripped from his throat. He took my surrender as permission. He crushed his mouth against mine, his kiss bruising, desperate, and devoid of tenderness.
I didn't pull away. Instead, I arched my back, pressing myself against him, and let out a soft, throaty moan that I knew would carry through the door.
"Daemon..." I whispered against his lips, pitching my voice to be heard. "Yes... right there."
The doorknob turned slightly, then stopped. Through the crack in the door that Daemon hadn't fully latched, a shadow fell across the sliver of light from the hallway.
I kept my eyes open, staring over Daemon’s shoulder at the gap. I saw the flash of a uniform. I saw the hesitation. And then, I saw the shadow retreat.
Checkmate, I thought viciously.
But my victory was short-lived.
Daemon, fueled by the drugs in his system and the shock of my sudden, feverish initiative, snapped. The last tether of his restraint severed. He didn't know it was a performance. He didn't know he was being used.
He growled, a sound that vibrated through my entire chest, and hoisted me up onto the marble counter, his grip tightening possessively.
I gasped, realizing too late that in setting a trap for his future, I had locked myself in the cage with the beast right now.