Chapter 60
Violet's POV:
I stared into Daemon's blood-red eyes, my heart pounding against my ribs. His words hung in the air between us—he'd never stayed the night at Celeste's place.
"Why?" The question escaped before I could stop myself. "She hasn't accepted you yet? From what I know, she broke up with Zane, keeps asking you for favors, agrees to dinner and meeting your friends, and you still haven't..." I trailed off, heat creeping up my neck.
Daemon's face shifted, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
"But I get it," I continued, forcing my voice to remain steady. "She's different from other women. You have to respect her boundaries. I understand."
His expression darkened instantly. "You don't understand shit. You think you know everything, but you're just guessing blindly."
I wasn't guessing blindly—I'd lived through this story once before, watched it unfold from beginning to bitter end.
I walked to the bed, leaning my back against the headboard.
"I told you," I said, my voice taking on a lazy drawl that masked the sharp edge beneath. "One day you'll regret not doing the ceremony sooner. One day you'll hate that I didn't disappear from your world when you had the chance."
Unexpectedly, he smiled—a slow, dangerous curve of his lips that made something in my stomach tighten with warning. "Is that so?"
He moved closer, each step deliberate and predatory. My pulse kicked up, Ember stirring restlessly in my consciousness. When he reached the bed, his fingers caught my chin, tilting my face up to his. His thumb traced the corner of my mouth with agonizing slowness, and his Alpha pheromones rolled over me in waves that made my knees weak even while sitting.
Every alarm in my head screamed danger, but my body betrayed me, softening under his touch. The mate bond thrummed between us, ancient and undeniable, pulling me toward him even as my rational mind fought to maintain distance. In the depths of my consciousness, Ember let out a low, yearning sound. "Our Alpha," she whispered, and I hated how right it felt, how wrong I knew it to be.
Then his mouth crashed down on mine, claiming, conquering, leaving no room for protest. The kiss was fierce and unrelenting, his tongue sweeping past my lips to taste and possess. My body, already sore from yesterday's skating session, had no strength to fight. When I tried to push against his chest, he caught my wrists easily, pinning them above my head against the headboard.
My mind spun in chaos. The mate bond sang through my veins, making my body respond even as my thoughts screamed that this was wrong.
When he finally pulled back, I was dizzy, breathless, my vision swimming. My hand came up instinctively, connecting with his cheek in a slap that should have cracked like thunder but instead landed soft and powerless, my muscles too weak to give it any real force.
Daemon froze for a heartbeat, then laughed—actually laughed—at my pathetic attempt at defiance. The sound was rough and genuine, and somehow that made everything worse.
"Daemon Blackwood." I gasped for air, my eyes burning with unshed tears of frustration and humiliation. My voice came out hoarse, shaking with barely controlled fury. "If you're just being controlled by Onyx, if you just need someone to fuck, then go find Celeste! Don't come here and ruin me!"
The words hit their mark. I watched something shift behind his eyes, watched him process what I'd said.
But he didn't move away. He didn't apologize. He just stared at me with that unreadable expression, his weight still pressing me into the mattress, his hands still bracketing my body like a cage I couldn't escape.
"Listen to me carefully," I continued, forcing each word past the tightness in my throat, past the way my body still trembled from his kiss. "No woman is generous in love, Daemon. No woman gracefully accepts sharing. Unless she doesn't love you at all."
"If Celeste knew you slept with me, what would she think?"
For a moment—just a brief, flickering moment—his eyes cleared, as if he was genuinely considering my words. But then that darkness descended again, deeper than before, and he leaned in once more.
My psychological gamble had failed.
His lips found mine again, softer this time but no less demanding, and I realized with sinking dread that nothing I said would stop what was about to happen. He was past the point of reason, past the point of caring about tomorrow's regrets.
The night stretched on endlessly. Daemon's need seemed insatiable, his touch alternating between rough possession and unexpected gentleness that confused me more than anything else. My body ached from yesterday's exertion at the rink, my head still tender from the concussion, and exhaustion dragged at my consciousness like an undertow.
"Let me sleep," I finally whispered, my voice hoarse and barely audible. "Please, Daemon. I just got out of the hospital."
The reminder made him go rigid. His movements stopped abruptly, and for several long seconds he simply held himself still, breathing hard against my shoulder. Then, slowly, he shifted behind me, pulling me back against his chest and wrapping his arms around my waist.
In my half-conscious state, I felt his lips brush against my bare shoulder—a kiss so different from everything that had come before, tender and laden with unspoken apologies and something that felt dangerously close to genuine affection.
Despite knowing how wrong this all was, I let myself sink into sleep in his arms, the mate bond humming contentedly as Ember settled with a pleased rumble in my consciousness.
When I woke the next morning, I was alone.
The space beside me was cold, long abandoned. Only the faint scent of cedar and leather lingered on the sheets, evidence that last night hadn't been some fever dream conjured by my injured brain.
My phone showed a reminder for my follow-up appointment at the hospital. Right. I'd almost forgotten in the chaos of everything else.
The hospital was busy with its usual controlled chaos. I checked in and waited, scrolling mindlessly through my phone.
"Violet Goldcrest?"
I looked up to find Evan standing in the doorway, his expression professionally neutral, white coat crisp and perfect.
The examination room felt sterile and safe. Evan reviewed my chart with clinical precision, asking questions about my symptoms, checking my reflexes, examining the fading bruises with gentle, impersonal touches.
"You need an abdominal CT scan," he said finally, his voice flat and professional. "Follow the nurse to radiology."
As I stood to remove my coat, the high collar shifted, exposing my neck. I saw the exact moment Evan's gaze landed on the marks there—vivid evidence of last night's passion. His movements stopped completely, his jaw tightening as his eyes fixed on my throat with an intensity that made me freeze.
When I returned to the examination room, Evan was waiting with results and a prescription, his face carved from ice.
"Your scans show increased intracranial pressure," he said, his voice clipped and professional but edged with something harder. "You've been drinking. You haven't been resting. The injury is worse than when you were discharged."
After reviewing the prescription and care instructions with mechanical precision, Evan suddenly pulled down his surgical mask, revealing the full force of his expression—cold, hard, disappointed.
"Those marks on your neck—did Beck do that?"
The question caught me completely off guard. "What? No! Beck would never—"
"Then it was Daemon."
It wasn't a question. His jaw clenched, something painful and angry flashing through his eyes before he locked it down behind his professional mask.
I couldn't find words to defend myself because what defense was there?
"Rest. Hydration. No alcohol, no strenuous activity, no stress." He rattled off instructions while pulling out his prescription pad, his movements sharp and controlled. "And for God's sake, Violet, take care of yourself. Because clearly no one else is going to."
He handed me the prescriptions without meeting my eyes, then turned and walked out of the examination room.
I made it home in a daze, Evan's words and disappointed expression circling in my head.
My phone rang just as I collapsed onto the sofa—my father's number flashing on the screen.
"Dad," I answered, forcing brightness into my voice that I didn't feel.
"Sweetheart!" His voice was warm and excited. "Your mother and I were just talking. We haven't seen you and Daemon in so long. When are you two coming home for dinner?"
My stomach dropped. In everything that had happened, I'd completely forgotten about bringing Daemon to meet my parents. The request they'd made days ago.
"Oh, I—"
"Can you both come tomorrow?" Dad asked. "Your mother is so looking forward to it."
"I'll ask him," I heard myself say. "Let me check his schedule and get back to you."
After we hung up, I sat holding my phone, staring at Daemon's contact information. My thumb hovered over the call button for several long minutes before I finally pressed it.
The phone rang three times before he answered. Background noise filtered through—male voices in conversation, the clink of glasses, restaurant ambiance.
"What?"
"Are you busy tomorrow?"
"I have to go to Ironridge."
Of course he did. Of course he was busy.
"Okay," I said softly. "I just wondered. It's nothing important."
A male voice called his name in the background, pulling his attention away. I heard him respond to someone else, heard the sound of movement.
Then the line went dead.
---
I must have dozed off on the sofa, exhaustion from the past few days finally catching up with me. I woke to the sensation of familiar arms sliding beneath me, lifting me with practiced ease. My eyes remained heavy, consciousness floating somewhere between sleep and waking as I was carried up the stairs.
Daemon's scent surrounded me—cedar and leather and something uniquely him. Half-asleep, I murmured his name, a question in the drowsy sound.
"Yeah, it's me," he said quietly, his voice rough around the edges. "Go back to sleep."
I felt him lay me down on the bed, felt the mattress dip as he stretched out beside me, pulling me back against his chest.
For a moment, it felt like we were a normal couple—husband coming home late, gathering his wife into his arms, the comfortable intimacy of years together. The mate bond hummed contentedly between us, Ember purring in my consciousness at his proximity.
---
Morning came too soon. I woke still wrapped in Daemon's embrace, his body a line of heat against my back.
Daemon was still asleep, his breathing deep and even.
I carefully extracted myself from his hold, inch by inch, trying not to wake him. When I finally managed to slip free, I grabbed his coat from where he'd dropped it, bringing it to my nose. The scent of expensive whiskey was overwhelming, mixed with cigar smoke and cologne.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand—Dad calling again. My heart sank. I'd promised to check with Daemon about dinner, and now I'd have to—
"Dad," I answered, keeping my voice low so as not to wake Daemon. "About dinner tonight, Daemon and I might not be able to—"
The phone was suddenly plucked from my hand. I spun around to find Daemon sitting up, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot but alert. He brought my phone to his ear before I could react.
"Dad," he said, his voice rough but clear. "We'll be there for lunch. See you soon."