Chapter 41
Violet's POV:
I held the phone to my ear, listening to the silence stretching between us like a taut wire ready to snap. On the other end, Celeste said nothing, but I could hear her breathing, soft and uncertain, the kind of hesitation that came from someone who'd dialed a number without quite knowing what to say once the call connected.
I could picture her so clearly—standing somewhere with morning light filtering through a window, her phone pressed to her ear, wondering if she should ask where he'd been last night or if that would make her seem possessive, calculating how to sound concerned without sounding jealous.
This was the same kind of silence I'd lived through countless times in our previous life, dialing Daemon's number in the dead of night and hearing nothing but the mechanical click of him sending me straight to voicemail.
Beside me, Daemon's eyelashes fluttered, and a low, rough sound emerged from his throat. "Awake?" His voice was thick with sleep, carrying that gravelly quality that morning always brought, and the single word seemed to vibrate through the quiet room.
My entire body went rigid. I jabbed the end call button so fast I nearly dropped the phone, my heart suddenly hammering in my chest. "Yeah, I'm up," I said, throwing off the covers with perhaps too much force and grabbing the first clothes I could reach. "Gonna take a shower."
I didn't wait for his response, just fled to the bathroom with my bundle of clothes clutched against my chest like armor.
The bathroom filled with steam as I turned the shower to its highest setting, and I stood there for a long moment before stepping under the spray, staring at my reflection in the rapidly fogging mirror.
I turned slightly, examining the landscape of marks that covered my skin.
"Is he still holding back with her?" Because these marks didn't look like someone who'd been holding back at all. They looked like someone who'd lost control completely, like he'd been starving for something and had finally been given permission to feast.
I thought about the way he touched Celeste in public—careful, respectful, his hands never straying too far from appropriate zones, always conscious of propriety and her comfort. And then I looked at the evidence written across my own skin and wondered what it meant that he'd never shown me that kind of consideration, that from the very beginning he'd touched me like he had the right to leave marks.
I finally stepped into the shower, letting the hot water sluice over me and wash away the questions I couldn't answer. By the time I emerged, wrapped in a thick bathrobe with my hair dripping down my back, the bedroom was empty. Daemon had vanished.
"Saw Celeste's missed calls," I said to the empty room, tying the bathrobe more tightly around myself. "Back to his precious white lotus."
"She finally showed jealousy," I continued, speaking my thoughts aloud as I moved to the closet. "That's all he ever wanted."
It was funny, really, how quickly the brief strangeness of him staying the night had evaporated. For a few moments this morning, I'd let myself wonder if something had shifted, if the fact that he'd actually remained in the bed until morning meant something. But no. It had just been exhaustion, and the moment reality had reasserted itself in the form of Celeste's name on his phone screen, he'd remembered where he actually wanted to be.
Mara appeared in the hallway as I reached the ground floor, her expression apologetic. "Luna, you have a visitor. Ruby Morrison is here to see you."
My step faltered for just a fraction of a second before I smoothed my expression into polite interest. My mind raced through possibilities as I nodded to Mara.
Ruby stood near one of the large windows in the sitting room, her posture uncertain and her hands clutching a cloth shopping bag. "Luna," she began immediately, her voice carrying genuine distress. "I hope I'm not intruding. I know I should have called first, but I wanted to speak with you in person about what happened at the mines. I know you were hurt because of my brother Wade. I've been sick with worry."
I let surprise flicker across my face, carefully measured. "Ruby, you have nothing to apologize for. You weren't even there."
"But you were injured," she insisted, lifting the shopping bag with both hands like an offering. "I brought you some things from our farm. The vegetables are organic, we grow everything ourselves, and I made the jam just last week. It's not much, but it's from our land."
I took the bag carefully, genuinely touched despite myself. "Ruby, this is incredibly thoughtful. But please, you have to stop carrying this burden. None of what happened was your fault."
She exhaled shakily, some tension leaving her shoulders. "Mason's always been that way. Gets into trouble before thinking things through, charges ahead without considering consequences."
I seized the opening to guide the conversation where I needed it. "Speaking of young people," I said, shifting the topic with careful casualness, "how is your daughter doing? And her mate?"
Something complicated flickered across Ruby's face—pride mixed with concern. "They rejected each other, actually. And now there's someone else pursuing her, someone she won't tell us about."
My heart rate kicked up slightly, but I kept my expression merely sympathetic. "Oh? That must be difficult for you. But I'm sure she has good reasons for keeping it private. Young people value their independence, especially when it comes to matters of the heart."
"That's what Mason says," Ruby admitted. "But I can't help worrying. What if this new person isn't good for her?"
I reached across and patted her hand gently. "I'm sure whoever is pursuing her must be someone decent. Your daughter seems very level-headed from what you've told me about her."
Ruby's expression cleared slightly. "You're right. Celeste has always been sensible. She's studying environmental science, wants to make a difference. She's always been idealistic that way."
Idealistic. The word sat heavy in my mind. Or calculating? She'd known exactly what she was doing when she'd set her sights on an Alpha. But I kept those thoughts locked away behind Luna Violet's gentle facade.
"She sounds wonderful," I said warmly. "Ruby, would you mind showing me a photo of her? I'm just curious to see what kind of young woman she's grown into."
Ruby immediately pulled out her phone, her face lighting up with maternal pride. "Oh, I have so many. Here, this is from last summer." She turned the phone toward me, and I found myself looking at a family photo—Mason Morrison, Ruby, and a young woman who could only be Celeste, all standing in front of a rustic farmhouse.
I let my eyes widen in genuine surprise. "Wait," I said slowly, looking from the photo to Ruby and back again. "She is your daughter?"
Ruby blinked in surprise. "You know her?"
"Yes. The first time was at McDonald's, when I was having a rough day and she was so sweet and kind. And then I saw her again at the hospital. She was so polite, so thoughtful. I had no idea she was your daughter."
Ruby's face transformed with joy. "That's exactly like her. Always looking out for others, always ready to help." She squeezed my hand. "Luna, Celeste would be so honored to know someone like you thinks well of her."
After she left, I stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching her car disappear down the drive.
The rest of the day passed in a strange limbo. Around mid-afternoon, an email came through from Blackwood Dynamics' HR department—a formal notification that due to my back injury, I'd been granted medical leave through the new year, with full salary maintained. I knew Daemon had arranged it.
Dusk came early, the winter sun setting before five o'clock. When I heard the front door open later, heard Daemon's heavy footsteps in the hall, I didn't move from my position in the library. He went upstairs without seeking me out, and eventually the house settled into the kind of silence that came when two people were occupying the same space while pretending the other didn't exist.
By the time dinner was served, snow had begun to fall outside the tall windows, heavy flakes drifting down to blanket the grounds in white. Daemon appeared in the dining room doorway, dressed in dark slacks and a charcoal sweater that made his crimson eyes stand out even more starkly. He moved to his usual seat at the head of the table without looking at me.
"Why didn't you eat out?" I asked, my voice flat as I reached for my water glass.
He didn't look up from his phone. "Didn't feel like it."
I slowly stirred my soup, watching the vegetables swirl in lazy circles, feeling the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on the space between us. The only sounds were our utensils against china.
When I couldn't stand the silence anymore, when the pretense of normalcy felt more suffocating than any argument, I set down my spoon with deliberate care. "Are you going out again tonight?"
"No. Why?"
"Then take me skiing. Tomorrow. Whiteridge Resort."