Violet

My hand is raised, poised to knock on the heavy oak door of Alaric’s office, when I hear Darius’s voice. It cuts through the wood, sharp and venomous.

“I don’t have time to babysit a woman who can barely function in normal society.”

I freeze. My hand hovers in the air, fingers curled but motionless.

His voice continues, muffled but clear enough. Each word lands like a physical blow. “Clumsy…Shy…Sheltered.”

My hand falls to my side, limp.

The cold starts in my fingertips, spreading up my arms like ice water through my veins. I should walk away. Turn around and go back to my room. But my feet won’t move. I’m rooted to the spot, frozen, as the boy I once admired tears me apart.

A lump forms in my throat.

I remember the rare but genuine smile he used to give me. How he’d ruffle my hair when passing me in the hallway. The time he helped me carry my books when I’d gotten sick during a pack gathering and needed to leave early. Small kindnesses that meant everything to a lonely girl who had no one else.

I thought he was different. Kind. Safe.

Alaric’s voice rumbles in response, but Darius cuts him off. The words “second-in-command” and “babysitter” pierce the door with crystal clarity.

The numbness spreads to my chest now, wrapping around my ribs like a vise. There’s an ache building there, deep and strange, like something is trying to claw its way to the surface.

I push it down, deep down where it can’t interfere. Where it can’t make this worse.

I’m here because Alaric asked me to meet him after dinner. I had no idea he intended for me to work at pack headquarters. I certainly didn’t know I’d be working under Darius. Under someone who apparently can’t stand the sight of me.

“Fine.” Darius’s voice cuts through again, sharp and final. “I’ll bring her to work tomorrow.”

My stomach twists.

I hear him approaching the door from the other side. I should move. Should run. But that same paralysis keeps me locked in place.

The door swings open.

Darius stops dead when he sees me. His eyes go wide, shock flooding his features. Then, guilt: raw and unmistakable. His mouth opens slightly, like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

I look past him to Alaric, who is seated behind his desk. The Alpha’s eyes meet mine before they slowly close, regret etched into every line of his face.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” I say quietly. My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. “You asked me to come see you in your study, Father.”

Alaric’s jaw tightens. “I forgot I’d asked you to come.”

A bitter smile tugs at my lips. “I figured.”

The silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. Darius hasn’t moved from the doorway. His eyes are locked on me, something unreadable flickering in their depths.

An inexplicable urge rises in my chest to move closer to him. I’m confused. Why is my body reacting this way after what I just heard? Why don’t I understand what every cell of mine is trying to tell me?

I crush the feeling ruthlessly. Squash it like a bug under my heel. Whatever this bizarre pull is, it doesn’t matter. Darius has made his feelings crystal clear.

I’ve had years of practice hiding what I feel. Smiling when my mother’s hand would connect with my face. Nodding obediently as she stripped away pieces of who I am. This is no different. Just another pain to bury.

“May I come in?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral. Professional.

“Yes,” Alaric says. “Of course.”

I move forward. Darius is still blocking most of the doorway, and I make sure not to brush against him as I slip past. I angle my body carefully, leaving inches between us, as if he is contaminated.

My chest tightens as I pass him. That instinct I don’t recognize pulls me back toward him even as I force myself forward.

He notices the space I’m maintaining. I can feel his eyes tracking every deliberate inch.

Good. Let him see exactly how much I want to avoid him, too.

I stop in front of Alaric’s desk, hands clasped loosely in front of me. My mother taught me this posture years ago, demure, unthreatening, perfectly compliant. “What did you want to discuss with me?”

Alaric’s brow furrows. He glances at his son, who is still standing in the doorway, then back to me. “Ignore what Darius was saying. He’s being foolish.”

I meet the Alpha’s eyes steadily. “It’s fine.”

“Violet—”

“I’m used to being looked down upon.” The words come easily, smoothly, like I’ve said them a thousand times before. Because I have. To myself. In mirrors. In empty rooms where no one can hear the way my voice cracks. “Darius is just one of many. I won’t get my feelings hurt.”

The lie tastes like ash, but my face remains perfectly calm. Perfectly composed.

Alaric’s expression tightens. He opens his mouth, then closes it, clearly unsettled by my reaction. Or lack thereof.

Inside, I’m screaming. Inside, I’m shattering into a thousand pieces. But I’ve learned to lock that away, to build walls so high and so thick that nothing gets through.

Not even this.

“You’ll be working under Darius starting tomorrow,” Alaric says finally, his voice cautious. “He’ll take you to headquarters. Show you around.”

“I understand.”

“Violet…” He trails off.

“Is there anything else?” I keep my tone polite. Detached.

The Alpha stares at me for a long moment, and I can see him struggling with what to say. Probably trying to figure out if I’m genuinely not bothered or if I’m about to break down. “Darius will mentor you. Help you adjust.”

I give him a short, efficient nod.

He waits, clearly expecting me to say more. To argue. To show some sort of emotion.

I don’t give him the satisfaction.

Finally, he sighs. “Go rest. It’s been a long day.”

“Thank you for the opportunity,” I say quietly. Then, I turn and head toward the door.

I don’t look at Darius. Don’t acknowledge his presence as I move past him into the hallway. I can feel his eyes burning into my back, but I keep walking, my stride measured and steady.

I make it three steps past the doorway before his hand closes around my arm.

He yanks me backward, spinning me around. My back slams into the wall, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. His hand shoots up, fingers gripping my jaw and forcing my face up to meet his eyes.

“What are you playing at?” His voice is low, dangerous. His eyes flash with gold in the dim light of the hallway. “Why are you pretending?”

Heat explodes where his skin meets mine. It’s not just warmth—it’s fire, spreading from the point of contact and racing through my veins like liquid lightning. My breath catches. Every nerve ending lights up, aching for something I don’t understand.

Wild desperation surges through me, clawing at my chest. A feeling so foreign and overwhelming, I don’t know what to do with it. Every instinct I didn’t know I had is shrieking at me to lean into him, to press closer, to give in to this insane pull that makes no sense.

I shove it all down. Lock it away with brutal force.

Then, I plant my hands against his chest and push.

He moves back easily, like he was expecting it. Like he let me push him.

His eyes track my movement, and an odd look flickers across his face. Pain? Anger? I can’t tell, and I don’t care.

I take a step toward him, closing the distance he just created. My heart is pounding so hard, I’m sure he can hear it, but I keep my expression cold. Hard. “You don’t like me, right?”

His eyes narrow.

I swallow the pain splintering through my chest like shards of glass and force the words out. “I’m not the same person anymore. I’m not the girl who let everyone push her around. You can’t stand me? That’s fine. I’ll stay out of your way. I’m not interested in spending any amount of time with you, either.”

There’s a strange flash in his eyes, but I’m too raw, too broken to try to decipher it.

“You don’t have to drive me to the office tomorrow,” I continue, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. “I’ll find my own way. And if you don’t want to show me around, ask somebody else to do it.”

I take a step back. Then another.

He doesn’t move. Just stands there, watching me with those dark eyes that flash gold every few seconds, his jaw clenched tight.

I turn and walk away. My legs feel like they may give out, but I force them to move. One foot in front of the other.

Don’t run. Don’t cry. Don’t let him see.

The hallway stretches endlessly. Every step takes monumental effort. My breathing is too shallow, too quick. I can’t seem to get enough air into my lungs.

There’s a howling inside my chest. Not quite a sound, more like a feeling of grief so deep, it has its own voice. It’s unfamiliar and terrifying, and I don’t understand where it’s coming from or why it hurts so much.

I reach my bedroom door, and my hands shake as I turn the handle.

Inside. Just get inside.

I slip through the door and close it behind me, my back pressing against the wood. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the room that doesn’t feel like mine.

Then, my knees buckle.

I slide down the door, my body crumpling until I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest. The first sob rips from my throat before I even know it’s going to happen.

I stuff my fist into my mouth, biting down hard enough to taste blood.

The tears come anyway.

They pour down my cheeks in hot streams, and I can’t stop them. Can’t control the way my body shakes with each ragged breath. My chest feels like it’s caving in, like something vital has been carved out and I’m bleeding internally, where no one can see.

I’ve been insulted before. Called weak, useless, a burden. I’ve survived my mother’s cruelty, the pack’s disdain, years of isolation. I’ve built walls specifically to protect myself from moments like this.

But hearing Darius say those things…

It shouldn’t matter. He’s nothing to me. Just another person who thinks I’m worthless.

Except there’s this wounded thing inside me that’s breaking. Something primal that doesn’t understand why the person I felt so drawn to at dinner would say such terrible things.

I press my fist harder against my mouth, muffling the sobs that keep coming. My whole body trembles with the force of trying to hold myself together, to keep the pieces from scattering completely.

The photograph on my nightstand catches my eye through my tears. My father. Trevor. The people who loved me unconditionally, who made me feel like I mattered.

They’re gone.

And I’m here, falling apart on a bedroom floor because a man I barely know doesn’t want me around.

“Get it together,” I whisper harshly to myself, my voice breaking. “You’re stronger than this.”

But I don’t feel strong. I feel broken. Shattered.

The howling feeling intensifies, a mournful sound that has no voice but echoes through my bones anyway. It’s grief and confusion and something ancient and instinctive that I can’t name.

The sobs continue to wrack my body, each one tearing through me like a storm I have no way to control. I rock slightly, my arms wrapped tightly around my knees, my fist still pressed against my mouth.

Eventually, the tears slow. The sobs quiet to hiccupping breaths.

But the pain doesn’t fade. It settles deep in my chest, heavy and cold, a reminder that no matter how far I run or how much I change, I’ll never be enough.

Not for this pack.

Not for my mother.

And definitely not for Darius.

I decide to skip breakfast.

I want to spend as little time around these people as I can. When I was summoned to return home, I was never under any delusions. I didn’t think my mother had had a change of heart and suddenly the love for me had awoken within her. I never thought I was anything more than an inconvenience to her husband, whom she married only one year after our family had shattered. However, the one thing I held on to was that there was one person in this house who still cared for me, at least to some extent.

But last night, I finally saw Darius’s true face. It hurt more than I would have expected, but life has been a series of disappointments for me, so I can move past this one as well.

I make my way downstairs, my steps echoing in the empty hallways. The house is quiet at this hour, most of the staff still preparing for the day. I head toward the kitchen, hoping to get some food quickly and leave before anyone notices.

The kitchen is warm, filled with the scent of fresh bread and brewing coffee. James is there, directing a younger staff member who is chopping vegetables at the counter. He looks up when I enter, surprise flickering across his face.

“Miss Violet.” James straightens, setting down the clipboard he was holding. “Breakfast will be served in the dining room in about half an hour.”

“I know.” I move toward the counter, keeping my voice light. “I need to head out early, so I wanted to grab something to go.”

His brow furrows slightly. “I can have something prepared for you—”

A voice cuts him off from behind him, sharp and dismissive. “Some people just can’t adjust to how things work around here.”

I go still.

The head cook, a woman in her forties with sharp features and graying brown hair, stands at the stove. She’s stirring something in a large pot, her back to me, but the scorn in her voice is unmistakable.

“Back one day and already disrupting the morning routine,” she continues, her tone dripping with contempt. “There’s a way things are done in this household.”

James’s face goes pale. “Susan…”

I look over James’s shoulder at the woman. My voice comes out calm. Controlled. “What did you just say?”

She doesn’t turn around. “You heard me.”

“Say it again.” I take a step forward. “To my face this time.”

She finally turns, wooden spoon still in hand, her expression disapproving. “I said you’re disrupting the household routine. One day back, and you think you can just change how things work. You don’t even belong here.”

A coldness settles in my chest. That same numbness from last night, but sharper now. Harder. James opens his mouth, probably to try to diffuse the situation, but I hold up a hand. “Don’t.”

His mouth snaps shut.

I walk toward the cook slowly, deliberately. She watches me approach, her lip curling slightly. I reach out and grab her wrist.

She sneers, immediately trying to yank her arm back. Her shifter strength should make the movement effortless, but the moment she pulls, I twist it, stepping into her space and applying pressure to a specific point just below her elbow.

She gasps, her face going pale as pain shoots through her arm. The wooden spoon clatters to the floor.

“What—” Her voice is strangled. “What are you doing?”

“Since you have so many opinions,” I say quietly, my voice cold as ice, “let’s go discuss them in front of the Alpha.”

I start to push her toward the door, maintaining the pressure on her joint. She can’t resist without risking serious injury, and we both know it.

“Wait, stop…” Her voice is panicked now.

“No.” I keep moving, keeping the angle precise. “You said it in front of me. Surely you can say it in front of my stepfather.”

Her face drains of color. “Miss Violet, please…”

James steps in front of us, his hands raised, eyes wide with shock. “Miss Violet, perhaps we should let this matter go. I’m sure Susan—”

“Why?” I stop and look him in the eye. My voice is hard. Uncompromising. “If she can say that to me in front of the other staff, why can’t she say it in front of the Alpha?”

The cook’s wrist trembles in my grip. “Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“You meant every word.” I move so I can look at her directly, letting her see the steel in my eyes. “Own it.”

“Please don’t do this,” she pleads. “I need this job. I have grandchildren…”

Disgust curls through me. I release her wrist, and she immediately cradles her arm to her chest, her face blotchy with tears.

“I may be weak,” I say quietly, stepping back, “but I’m not going to let anyone walk all over me. I don’t mind keeping to myself. I don’t mind staying out of everyone’s way. But if someone tries to disrespect me?” My voice drops lower. “I won’t take it lying down.”

I turn to James. “Could I get some fruit? Or a sandwich?”

He stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Of course, Miss Violet.”

“I’ll prepare it.” The cook’s voice is small now, subdued. She hurries back to the counter, her movements jerky and rushed, still favoring her arm.

James continues to watch me, what looks like respect dawning in his expression.

The cook returns with a neatly packed breakfast: a sandwich, an apple, a bottle of water. “Here you are, miss.”

“Thank you.” I take the bag, my voice neutral. Not warm, but not cruel, either.

She nods quickly and retreats to the far side of the kitchen.

I turn to leave, my heart suddenly pounding wildly against my ribs. The adrenaline is starting to fade, leaving me shaky and unsettled. I force my legs to move steadily; I will not show any weakness.

As I step out of the kitchen into the hallway, I nearly collide with Darius.

He’s standing just outside the door, leaning against the wall like he’s been there for a while. His dark eyes are fixed on me; they are unreadable.

My chest tightens. There’s that pull again, demanding I move closer. I crush it ruthlessly.

“Were you eavesdropping?” I ask, schooling my expression into careful blankness.

“I don’t remember you being this person.” His voice is low, thoughtful. Not quite accusatory, but close.

A bitter smile tugs at my lips. “And? Did you prefer me when I cried and whimpered?”

His jaw tightens, and I catch a dangerous flash in his eyes. “Why aren’t you eating with the family?”

“I prefer to spend as little time around all of you as possible.”

I start to walk past him, but his arm shoots out, blocking my path. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“Thanks, but no.” I don’t look at him. “I’d rather eat nails.”

“Violet…”

I duck under his arm and head for the front door. I hear him following me.

The morning air is cool when I step outside. The sun is just starting to rise, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. A sleek, black SUV is parked in the circular driveway.

“Get in,” Darius says from behind me.

“No, thanks.”

He moves faster than I expect, grabbing my wrist and spinning me around. My back hits the car, and he’s right there, crowding into my space, one hand braced against the window beside my head.

He looks furious. But there’s something else in his eyes, too. Something wild and desperate that mirrors the chaos inside me.

His scent wraps around me like an invisible force. Cedar and smoke and something unique that makes my head spin. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and every inhalation is filled with him. It’s taking everything I have to stay still and not lean into him like my body seems to want to do.

Heat floods through me. My skin feels too sensitive, too tight. I’m hyperaware of how close he is; his chest mere inches from mine, warmth radiating from him like a furnace. A desperate yearning spreads through my body like wildfire, an ache for something I’ve never felt before.

I notice the way his throat moves when he swallows. The sharp line of his jaw. The breadth of his shoulders blocking out the rising sun behind him.

“Stop touching me.” My voice comes out breathier than I like.

“Why?” He leans closer, and I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. His eyes flash gold. “Does it bother you?”

Yes. God, yes. But not in the way he thinks.

It bothers me because I want him to touch me more. I want those hands on my skin, in my hair, everywhere. I want to find out if his lips taste as good as they look.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think. The world narrows to just him, just us, just this impossible moment where everything feels both terribly wrong and desperately right.

A whisper stirs deep in my chest, restless and demanding. A shadow of something that should be there but isn’t quite present. Suppressed. Muted. Like it’s fighting to surface but can’t quite break through.

I shove it into that locked box where I keep everything that hurts.

“Your smell makes me nauseous,” I sneer, putting as much disgust into my voice as I can manage.

Pain flashes across his face, raw and unmistakable, before his expression shutters.

Good. Let him hurt like I hurt.

He opens his mouth to say something, but I don’t give him the chance. I twist my wrist in his grip, the movement quick and precise. His hold breaks. I angle my arm just right, apply pressure to the weak point, and slip free.

Surprise flickers across his face.

I step away from the car, putting distance between us. “Stay out of my way,” I say coldly. “And I’ll do the same.”

Then, I turn and walk toward the gate.

My heart is pounding so hard, I’m dizzy. My legs start to shake, and the breakfast bag rustles in my trembling hand, but I force myself to keep my back straight and my gait even.

That ache is still there, begging me to turn around. To go back to him. Like I’ve just made a terrible mistake. Like I’ve abandoned something vital.

I ignore it.

I am no longer the weak girl who cried when people were cruel. I’ve spent six years building walls, learning to fight, becoming someone who can’t be broken. And no matter how much my body wants him, I refuse to let Darius Moonvale be the one to shatter those walls.

Even if walking away from him feels like I’m tearing myself in half.

I can feel his eyes on my back, burning into me like a brand. My skin feels too hot, my chest too tight. But I don’t look back.

I won’t.

Not for him.

Not for anyone.

I reach the gate. The scarred guard from yesterday looks up, surprise crossing his face when he sees me approaching on foot.

“Miss Violet,” he says, his tone far more respectful than it was when we first met. Word travels fast in a pack house. “Do you need transportation arranged?”

“Yes, please.” I keep my voice steady. “To the corporate headquarters.”

He nods quickly and reaches for his radio. “I’ll have a car brought around immediately.”

Behind me, I hear an engine start. The SUV. Darius.

I don’t look. Not even when I hear the tires crunch on the gravel as he drives past, slowly enough that I know he’s watching me. Waiting for me to change my mind.

I stand perfectly still, my eyes on the guard making the call, until the sound of Darius’s car disappears down the road.

Only then do I allow myself to breathe.

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